I didn’t know how to convince her of that, but I wanted to assure her she was safe until she could get out of town.
Probably in a different car, though I didn’t mention that.
I crouched by the front of her car, hands moving on instinct—hook, latch, strap, check. I’d done this a thousand times. For neighbors, tourists, stranded college kids with glitter bumper stickers and vape pens. But I’d never had someone watch me like she did.
Like I might bite.
She didn’t even flinch when I knelt near her tire. Didn’t move. Just stood there in scuffed up sneakers, mouth set in a line, jaw locked like she was chewing on a warning she’d given herself.
Don’t trust anyone. Don’t owe anyone. Don’t stay.
Most people, when their car gives out and someone shows up to help, they start loosening at the edges. You can feel the sigh come out of them, feel the moment they stop trying to fix it alone. That didn’t happen here.
She wasn’t loosening. She was coiling tighter.
I stood, brushing gravel from my hands. “You ridin’ with me?”
Her eyes snapped to mine—bright and blue andpissed. “Do I have a choice?”
“Always.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, opening her mouth for further interrogation, but I gestured toward the diner.
“I’m not tryin’ to make you uncomfortable,” I offered. “My sister-in-law could drive you, or my friend Del…”
I trailed off. Maybe not Delilah; I didn’t want her putting any ideas in Noelle’s head about me needing to be married off.
“Or my friend June,” I said instead, then looked back at the diner window to point. Of course, my whole family was watching—and Delilah wiggled her fingers at Noelle with a downright sinister smile.
Noelle didn’t wave back, though it did seem to set her just a little bit at ease. Even if Delilah had a touch of evil about her, she didn’t look like some kind of smalltown housewife.
“Fine,” Noelle said.
Then she stalked toward the passenger side of my truck like she was the one doing me a favor.
I climbed into the driver’s seat, watching Noelle out of the corner of my eye. She was picking at the dog hair covering the passenger seat, but she didn’t look grossed out or anything…more skeptical, like I’d placed the dog hair there on purpose to give her a false sense of security.
“You good?” I asked.
She wrapped her arms around herself fast. “Peachy.”
“Right,” I chuckled as we pulled out of the parking lot. “Because we’re in Georgia.”
She didn’t laugh—didn’t even crack a smile—just kept her eyes fixed out the window, arms locked tight.
We rolled past a row of camper vans and dusty pickup trucks, most of them plastered with bumper stickers:I BELIEVE, SQUATCHWATCH 2024, one that just said GATOR SEX IS LEGAL IN FLORIDAwith no further context. She didn’t comment on any of it, which only raised more questions. In fact…she didn’t seem remotely surprised by any of this. Anyone else? They would have been saying it was weird.
She was just…annoyed.
“So what brings you to Willow Grove?” I asked as we rolled down the street. “Don’t seem like your kinda place.”
“You get that from the sarcasm or the rage?”
“Bit of both.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m supposed to be in Atlanta for a con. I run a podcast—ended up on a detour I didn’t mean to take.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “That tends to happen around here.”
