"Generally I'd agree. My mom'd make this great orange Jell-o thing that would be perfect before she'd dump in can of pimentos and some chopped celery," Frankie mused, shaking his head. He pushed open the door, listening to the familiar chime of bells above the threshold, and stepped to the side.
"After you," he offered, gesturing with his free hand. "Grab a booth along the back wall. Better safe than sorry."