Rae worked the rest of her shift on autopilot.
Her body handled the choreography—coffee, plates, orders, banter—while her brain replayed the parking lot scene in a loop.
Kline’s eyes.
Noah’s hand on her jaw.
The heat of the asphalt pressed against her back through her shirt when he pinned her to the car.
*Girlfriend.*
He’d said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She’d swatted it away like a wasp and then let him kiss her until her toes curled.
“You gonna burn a hole in that plate, Sunshine?” Mace asked around nine, nudging a stack of clean dishes away from where she’d been staring at them too long.
She jerked.
“What?” she said.
“You’re scrubbin’ it like it owes you money,” he said. “You good?”
She huffed a laugh that sounded thin in her own ears.
“You gotta stop asking me that,” she said. “Answer’s been ‘no’ for weeks.”
He tilted his head.
“Fair,” he said. “You wanna… talk about it? Or you wanna keep holdin’ onto it ‘til you explode in the syrup station?”
She set the plate down carefully.
“Mace,” she said. “If I told you… you were right about something… would you die of shock?”
“Depends,” he said. “How right are we talkin’? ‘That guy’s gonna stiff you on the tip’ right or ‘you’re makin’ out with trouble’ right?”
She grimaced.
“Second one,” she admitted.
He sighed.
“Shit,” he said. “What happened?”
She glanced around.
Jenna was restocking the dessert case, earbuds in, humming.
Bob was wrist-deep in ground beef at the grill.
“Not here,” she said.
Mace nodded.
“Parking lot,” he said. “After my eggs.”
***
They sat on the curb behind the diner on his break, steam rising faintly from the asphalt as the evening heat slowly leached away.
He lit a cigarette.
Offered her one.
She wrinkled her nose.
“Quit three years ago,” she said. “Not relapsing for your aesthetic.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, taking a drag. “So. Spill.”
She told him.
Not everything.
Not the way Noah’s tongue had slid against hers or the way her knees had almost given out when he’d called her his girlfriend.
But Kline, the letter, the photo, the meeting in the parking lot?
All of that.
Mace listened, face going darker by degrees.
“That son of a bitch,” he muttered when she finished. “Goin’ after you? That’s… below even PI paygrade.”
“He’d argue it’s in the job description,” she said. “Everyone adjacent is… fair game.”
“Yeah, well, his game sucks,” Mace said.
She snorted.
“Bob said pretty much the same thing,” she said.
“Bob’s smart,” Mace said. “Even if he refuses to install a real coffee machine.”
She picked at a crack in the curb.
“He… wanted me to… steer Noah,” she said. “Toward… safer choices. Less… messy truth. More… redemption arc.”
Mace made a face.
“Of course he did,” he said. “Man’s lived his whole life avoidin’ messy truth. That shit makes his job harder.”
“I told him no,” she said.
Mace’s brows shot up.
“You did?” he said, impressed.
“Yeah,” she said. “Then Noah kissed me against my car like an idiot, so… you know. Mixed messages to the universe.”
Mace laughed.
“Storm’ll do that to a man,” he said. “Scrambles the brain. Makes you think romance is a good idea.”
Her throat tightened.
“Is it?” she asked quietly.
“Romance?” he said. “Never. But… love… ain’t always a bad call.”
She snorted.
“Don’t go soft on me,” she said.
He took another drag.
Blew smoke out slow.
“You’re scared,” he said.
“Understatement,” she muttered.
“You scared ‘cause of the PI,” he went on. “Or ‘cause of the boy?”
“Both,” she said.
He nodded.
“That tracks,” he said.
Silence stretched.
The hum of the interstate floated over, tires hissing on asphalt.
“You ever think about… leaving?” she asked suddenly.
He glanced at her.
“Like… leavin’ the road?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Parking the truck. Doing… anything else.”
He laughed, short and harsh.
“Every day,” he said. “Then the next load comes and the next bill hits and the next town shows up and I’m back in the cab, talkin’ to AM radio hosts about nothin’.”
“So why don’t you?” she pressed.
He shrugged, a heavy roll of muscle and resignation.
“What else am I good for?” he said. “I been drivin’ since I was eighteen. This is… what I know. And yeah, it’s killin’ my back and my knees and probably my lungs, but… it’s mine.”
She looked at him.
“This is… mine too,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the diner.
“Yeah,” he said. “But yours got… side doors. Mine’s just cab and road.”
“Side doors?” she echoed.
“Class,” he said. “That writing thing. Your sister’s couch in California. Some job in town where you don’t smell like burgers at nine in the mornin’.”
“You keep volunteering my sister’s couch like you’re tryin’ to get rid of me,” she grumbled.
He chuckled.
“Nah,” he said. “Just… sayin’. You got options. Even if they’re hard. Even if they’re… scary. Boy like that”—he jerked his chin toward the vague direction of the highway, where Noah had likely disappeared hours ago—“he ain’t the reason you stay or go. He’s… at best… a bonus level.”
She laughed despite herself.
“Bonus level?” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “You know. Extra life. Boss fight. Whatever. He’s not… the main quest. That’s yours.”
That… helped.
A little.
“Main quest sounds exhausting,” she said.
“It is,” he said. “Worth it sometimes, though.”
She flicked a pebble with her toe.
“You really think… he’s worth all this?” she asked finally. “The PIs. The cops. The… family drama. The… mess.”
Mace tipped his head back, considering.
“I think…” he said slowly, “he’s tryin’. That’s more than I can say for a lotta men I’ve met at two in the mornin’.”
“That’s a low bar,” she said.
“Humans are disappointing,” he said. “We take what we can get.”
She smiled.
He finished his cigarette.
Crushed it under his boot.
“Clock’s runnin’ on this whole situation, Sunshine,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. “One way or another, it’s gonna… resolve. You can’t keep it… balanced on the edge forever.”
“I know,” she said.
“Just… make sure when it falls, you’re on the side you chose,” he said. “Not the one someone else shoved you onto.”
He went back inside.
She stayed a minute longer.
Alone.
The summer evening buzzed around her.
Crickets.
Distant rumble.
The clatter of plates through the open kitchen window.
She looked toward the dark line of the interstate.
Imagined his car out there.
Her life, like his, was on a road with exits she’d been ignoring.
Maybe it was time to pick one.
Even if it meant… leaving the stretch of highway she knew by heart.
***