The diner is out of the way for folk who don't travel the route or have business in Jamestown, but he isn't anxious. Coyote has faith in his friends, and his howling can guide the lost if he so wishes. It's the wait he can't stand, and he goes ahead and orders his food and beer without them, licking his lips when the steaming bowl of chili con carne is brought out, and twisting the lid off the frosty cold one with his teeth. The thought of not having to pay makes him that much hungrier, and even with how quickly Silver Fox moves to be with him, he has already poured half of both bowl and bottle down his throat when she arrives.
He doesn't stand, only glances over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening, one arm draped along the back of the booth. It does wonders for his high opinion of himself when Silver Fox bounds over to him as if on springs, fraught with energy and enthusiasm, and he closes his eyes and smiles lazily as her arms go around him, copying her gesture with his arm sliding behind her waist. Now he stands, lifting her off her feet as he spins them in a circle, an echo of times when the world was still young and hadn't been danced into being. "If it isn't my favourite fox," he growls into her scalp, nose buried in her hair so he can drink in the familiar smell of her, before he sits back down, setting her on his lap rather than back on the seat.
After all that, Onatah's lukewarm greeting is... disappointing, if not unexpected. Coyote's eyebrows arch up towards his hairline, and he leans in over the table, past the goddess in his arms. "How long has it been, Maize? Fifty years? One hundred? And all I get is 'hello, Coyote'?" Leaning back into his comfortable slouch, he snorts. "You could learn a thing or two about hellos from Fox."