Ask Matilda what's got her smiling.

Fuck, this was gonna be awkward enough... It'd be a hassle, but he'd rather know why she was staring at him like that. "What? Somethin' on my face?" the novelist asked.

"Oh, no." She lowered one of her arms, resting her chin in the palm of her other hand. The arm resting on the table fingered random patterns in the tablecloth. "Nothin'... Just was curious 'bout ya, Mr. Carter."

Robin groaned. "Then ask your damn questions."

She giggled, an action that sent ripples through her fat tits. "What brought ya'll to Silent Hill?"

He cocked a brow. "I'm a novelist. Thought I'd find the muse for my next novel here."

Her face lit up. "Oh, ya'll a writer? I went to college for culinary arts! I only wish I could write!" She's a cook?

"Can I take your orders?" the waiter asked, appearing so suddenly that Robin jumped.

"Oh! Gimme a big stack a flapjacks! Lots a syrup, whipped cream, n' strawberries! Oh, n' some milk n' bacon!" Matilda ordered. Wow, quite a sweet tooth on this girl. Might explain her weight.

Robin looked at the menu on the table. "Hash omelet and black coffee, I guess. Side of sausage."

The waiter nodded, writing it down. "You got it!"

As the waiter left, Matilda turned back to the novelist. "So what ya'll write? Any genres?"

Oh, maybe this could get her to leave him alone. "I'm a horror novelist."

She gave some small claps. Robin's eyes again were drawn to the way it made her breasts jiggle. Damn, those things looked so soft, it was like the slightest movement sent them undulating... "Oh, I love horror!" What. This bubbly girl liked horror? "Any books I might know ya'll written?"