Kendis loved her husband beyond reason. The thing was that even after a year of being together, her love for Tony Stark had only grown. But that didn’t mean she needed him all up in her face every day, and the space between their separate workshops in the basement was not enough.

Okay, that wasn’t fair to Tony. He wasn’t doing anything other than being aggressively Tony, and it might be because this was the first time Kendis felt settled. They had lived together for a few months now and Tony was no longer dying. And for the first time in a while, Kendis didn’t have MACUSA and the British Ministry knocking at her door.

Yet, all of that pent-up tension had crawled under her skin and never left. One day, Kendis was hanging out in Tony’s workshop instead of her own across the hall. She picked up a pen and started clicking it and fidgeting with it.

“If I increase the titanium-gold ratio by another three percent, the plating becomes lighter without sacrificing impact resistance. The downside is that it may vibrate at high altitude-” Tony paused and then turned to her to shoot her a soft, affectionate smile. Kendis felt her cheeks flush and his face softened as she forced her hands to still.

“Sorry about that,” Kendis coughed and looked away.

“No worries,” Tony shrugged. “You were just stimming.”

“Not stimming,” Kendis shrugged. “I just feel-” Kendis tried to put all of her feelings into words. “I just feel restless.”

Tony put down his tablet and walked over and pulled her into his arms. Kendis sighed as she laid her head against his shoulder. “I don’t know why I am like this. Things are finally peaceful.”

Tony cupped her head and their eyes met. “This last year has been-“

“Hell,” Kendis finished. “I never want you to think that I ever regret marrying you, but it seems like we’ve been going from one crisis to another.”

“Yeah, being with me is not the easiest,” Tony shrugged with a self-deprecating smile.

“Don’t,” Kendis put her finger to his lips. “Don’t act like I don’t bring enough baggage to fill King’s Cross.”

Tony sighed and pressed a kiss to her finger. Kendis couldn’t repress the small smile. “I just feel like I’m going to come out of my skin.”

“Didn’t Hortense mention something about a motorcycle convention?” Tony said, frowning.

Kendis lifted an eyebrow because Tony usually didn’t remember his own events, and now he remembered Kendis’s? She shook her head. “Yeah, it’s down in Houston.”

“Why don’t you ride down there?” Tony shrugged, “A long bike ride would do you some good. I know when I get antsy, I take the suit for a ride.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kendis replied, dryly. “You had poor Pepper looking for you for two hours because you decided to take a quick trip across the country in your armor.”

Tony frowned, “Hey, it’s self-care.”

Kendis snorted and rolled her eyes. “It’s you dodging your adult responsibilities.”

Tony pouted at her, and Kendis giggled as she kissed him on the cheek. “So you really think I should road trip to Houston?”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “I would of course, miss you like crazy. But everyone needs alone time sometimes.”

A few weeks later, Kendis made sure her saddlebag was packed. She kissed her husband, her dog, and the bots goodbye and made her way out of the garage of the Concord House, down the driveway, and east toward Texas.

Kendis couldn’t repress the grin as she felt her bike thrum beneath her, the wind whipping across her as she watched the city lights of Los Angeles fade away into desert. It had taken three days to make the distance.

Lucky for Kendis, her bike had JARVIS integrated so he was able to direct her better than any GPS, and she knew that it would make Tony feel better if he could see her location when she was so far away. It should have chafed at her independence, but surprisingly, it didn’t.

It made her feel safe.

Kendis made it to Houston tired, grimy, and hungry. She pulled up to the nearest restaurant, which happened to be a Waffle House near 728 N Sam Houston Parkway. The Waffle House was a one-story brick building with black letters that spelled Waffle House.

She had heard about the memes about Waffle House, but Kendis was British and spent most of her time in California or over in Britain, but never in the South. She parked her bike and took off her helmet.

Her cornrows were sweaty and Kendis already knew that her edges were a mess. Kendis was absolutely going to have words with herself about it. ‘Worth it,’ Kendis shook her head and smiled as she brought in her helmet. She made sure her anti-theft spells were in place and headed into the Waffle House.

The interior looked like a diner. A person in a black apron over a blue button-down shirt and a yellow name tag was working the register that sat on a long steel counter. Beyond was the kitchen full of metal fryers, a refrigerator, a coffee maker, and an industrial stove. She could hear the grease sizzling and the place smelled like syrup and coffee. At the counter, a few truckers sat on red stools, talking loudly and arguing about the latest Cowboys game.

Kendis walked past a group of exhausted college students, a church group, and a couple shouting loudly about something that sounded like tax fraud. Most didn’t care about the scene the couple was having in one of the booths. The patrons just continued to eat, some watching but most not caring at all.

As if it were just all background noise. As Kendis slid into the booth in the back, she was fascinated. This was just so different than regular diners. Hell, Kendis and Tony often went to Arnold’s, but Arnold’s was 1950s nostalgia wrapped up in Santa Monica vibes.

But the Waffle House? The Waffle House was exactly what it said it was. It was unpretentious and honest in a way that grabbed Kendis’s attention.

A woman came out of the back with a coffee pot in hand. She was a plus-sized Black woman who looked to be in her fifties. She had dark umber-brown skin, and her long dark locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, showing off the gray edges.

But it was the sharpness in the woman’s dark brown eyes, the aura of authority as other waiters and bussers came to ask her questions, the way she stopped a fight, and how she moved around the floor with the ease and command of a queen overlooking her territory that caught Kendis’s attention.

Without a word, the woman handed her a laminated menu and pulled out a pad and paper. Kendis’s eyes flickered to the bright yellow name tag pinned on her uniform that said, “Dionne.”

“What are you drinking, suga?” Dionne asked, her Texan twang thick like syrup.

“Coffee,” Kendis immediately said, “And keep it coming.”

Dionne lifted an eyebrow, her eyes flickering to the motorcycle helmet, then back at Kendis. “You ride all the way here?”

“Yeah, all the way from California.” Kendis gave a tired sigh as she leaned back against the red leather booth.

Dionne whistled, “Damn, that’s a long ride.”

“It was fun,” Kendis said, giving her a wide grin, and Dionne snorted.

“You crazy as hell,” Dionne said, and Kendis’s smile grew wider.

“Waitress!” A man bellowed, and Dionne’s faint smile faded into a grimace. “Stop gabbing and get your ass over here with my food.”

Kendis and Dionne turned to see a white man frantically gesturing a few booths back. His face was red with anger. Dionne pushed her shoulders back and the aura of fed-up auntie came over her so strong that Kendis thought her Aunt Ejo would have been impressed.

“You take a look at the menu and I’ll be right back with your coffee,” Dionne said and marched over to the man.

“Finally!” The man with too much audacity and no hair threw up his hands. “You decided to gab on the job when I have been waiting twenty minutes.”

“I don’t know who the hell you’re talking to,” Dionne said, her voice flat. “But I know damn well you ain’t talking to me.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” the man blustered.

“I give what I get back,” Dionne shrugged. “Now, Mike over there is still working on your order, and it’s been eight minutes, not twenty.”

“I want to talk to your manager.” The man gestured angrily to Dionne.

“You are going to have to find him. Last time I checked, he was doing ‘inventory,’ which means that he is getting drunk on the company dime again.”

“Hey-“

Dionne put up her hand and glared at the man. “You are going to shut up, wait patiently for your hash browns and coffee, or you are going to get out.”

Dionne spun on her heel and made her way to the kitchen part of the place. Kendis whistled because she was impressed. The thing about Kendis was that she was not the type of person who got intimidated by strong women. No, Kendis had a habit of collecting them like Pokemon, and she was constantly getting dragged for it.

But it was not just Dionne. It was Dionne and the atmosphere of the place that grabbed hold of Kendis and didn’t let go. It replaced the restless energy that had been haunting her.

Kendis wanted a Waffle House, wanted to transplant this peak Southern energy and drop it right in the middle of Los Angeles.

And Kendis wouldn’t stop until she got it.