She nodded.“Yeah.We didn’t really eat much before we left.”
That was my fault.I’d been too wound up to think about food.Too focused on getting out.
I walked her toward the window and pushed the door open.The bell chimed overhead, loud in the small space.
The cashier straightened like he was trying to look older than he was.“Uh, hey.”
I nodded once.“Any good place to eat around here?”
His gaze flicked to my cut again.He swallowed.“Yeah.Yeah.Um.On Main Street.There’s a diner.It’s calledMabel’s Skillet.Best food in town.”
Clove leaned on the counter, smiling like she didn’t live surrounded by men who could make people nervous just by existing.“What do you recommend?”she asked him.
The kid’s face went red.“Uh.Chicken pot pie.Or the patty melt.And… the pie’s good.”
“Pie is always good,” Clove said, dead serious.“The last pie I had was great.”
I huffed a laugh.
“There’s a bookstore next door,” the kid added quickly, like he was trying to be helpful.“Paper Moon Books.And, uh, the candy store across from it.Sugar & Stitch.Florist too, Bloom & Branch.And antiques.A couple of those.Dusty Sparrow AntiquesandSecond Chance Salvage.”
Clove’s eyes lit up at the word bookstore.She used to sit on the clubhouse stairs with her legs crossed and a paperback in her lap while chaos happened around her.“You hear that?”she said, turning to me.“Bookstore.”
I pretended to sigh like it was the biggest burden of my life.“Yeah, baby.I heard.”
She blinked like she’d just realized I’d called her baby in front of a stranger.
I didn’t care.
The cashier cleared his throat.“Mabel’s is… two blocks down.Can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” I said.
We walked back out, the bell chiming again, and I caught a couple people across the lot watching.Not openly hostile.Just curious.Small-town curiosity.
Clove’s fingers slid into mine.
I squeezed her hand gently and led her toward the bike.
Main Street looked like a postcard.
Brick buildings with big front windows.A couple old lampposts with hanging flower baskets.A faded mural on the side of a building that saidWELCOME TO JUNCTION in peeling paint.
We parked in front of Mabel’s Skillet.Heads turned as soon as I cut the engine.
Clove didn’t flinch.She just climbed off and tucked in close to me like this was normal.For her, it was.
For them, it was a show.
I held her hand as we crossed the sidewalk.
Mabel’s Skillet was small, warm, and smelled like butter.A bell above the door rang when we stepped in, and a woman behind the counter looked up and smiled with practiced friendliness.
“Seat yourselves,” she called.“I’ll be right with you.”
Clove headed straight for a booth by the window.
We slid in, me on one side, her across from me.The vinyl seat squeaked under my weight.