Every once in a while--and only because they met there; after all, as Rodney is quick to point out, he makes much better pancakes--John and Rodney go to the Carrows up near the freeway exit. Even with all the other restaurants in their area, Carrows is always packed on Sundays, but that's part of the fun because they sit at the counter and Rodney snarks with Sam or Jesse about the blue-haired old ladies and their polyester clad husbands, or the hipsters who try to act like they came for the irony of it all and not the cinnamon bun French toast.

Sometimes John gets the corned beef hash and eggs combo, and sometimes, in strawberry season, he gets the Belgian waffle with strawberries and whipped cream, and yeah, sometimes he has the cinnamon bun French toast combo, although he only gets that on days when he has nothing else planned and can go home, watch a game and revel in the carb-induced coma.

Rodney always gets the same thing--the pancake combo, eggs lightly scrambled, and both bacon and sausage, with extra butter and syrup. John always grins because it's what Rodney was eating at three in the morning when John, unable to sleep, had wandered in all those years ago.

After breakfast, before they do errands or go home, John pushes Rodney up against the car and kisses him, licking the taste of coffee, butter and real maple syrup out of his mouth. It tastes like Sundays, like tradition and yeah, a lot like love.

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