I spot the diner again as I round the bend in the road, the same squat little building with its flickering neon OPEN sign and snow-dusted windows.
I’d only stopped for coffee half an hour ago—long enough to thaw my fingers and pretend I was a normal person just passing through.
Apparently, I’m not very good at pretending.
I sigh and pull into the gravel lot, tires crunching loud in the morning quiet.
The cold bites immediately when I step out of the car, seeping through my sweater, my breath puffing white in front of my face.
The coat wasn’t optional.
It was survival.
I picked it up at a Walmart when I was driving through Virginia. That was when I started to notice the drop in temperature.
The fleece-lined windbreaker seemed perfectly toasty down there, but here,well, I wish I had two more.
Whatever. One is better than nothing.
Inside, the diner smells like bacon grease and fresh coffee.
Warmth wraps around me like a blanket I didn’t know I was holding my breath for.
A bell jingles softly as I step in, and the same older woman from earlier looks up from behind the counter.
“There you are,” she says, smiling, and turns to grab something dark and familiar from behind the counter.
Relief loosens something tight in my chest.
“Thank you for keeping it safe,” I say, forcing a smile as she hands me my windbreaker.
My fingers linger on the fabric like I’m reassuring myself it’s real.
“No trouble at all.” She tilts her head, studying me. “You never did say where you were headed.”
It’s said lightly, but the question lands heavy.
I shrug, casual. Too casual.
“Just passing through.”
“Mmm.” She hums like she doesn’t quite buy it. “Passing through where?”
I hesitate, then take a breath. I didn’t plan on stopping here again, but something about the town I passed through—the quiet, the trees, the way it felt tucked away from the rest of the world—kept pulling at me.
“Actually,” I say, “can you help me? I’m looking for Woodhaven.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, then she laughs, warm and genuine.
“Oh, honey. This is Woodhaven.”
My stomach flips. “This is Woodhaven?”
“Sure is.” She gestures vaguely with her coffeepot. “Planning on staying?”
“Oh—no. I mean—” I fumble. “I guess I’m just, um, passing through.”
I repeat myself. Like an idiot.
