“She’s my fiancée.” The word comes out smooth, practiced. “We fought. She took off. I’m here to bring her home.”
The lie lands flat. Fiancée. The word tastes wrong even from across the counter.
Jonny’s eyes flick to me for half a second, then back to the man. “Haven’t seen anyone matching that description. Have you tried the community center? They know most newcomers.”
“I did. The lady there said she works there. Wouldn’t give an address. Said privacy laws or some bullshit.” The man’s voice hardens on the last word. “I just want to talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.”
He leans forward slightly. The posture isn’t aggressive, not yet, but there’s an edge to it. A promise of pressure if the answer isn’t the one he wants.
Jonny shrugs. “Can’t help you. Coffee’s on the house if you want one.”
The man straightens. His gaze sweeps the diner again, slower this time. Lands on me.
Our eyes meet.
His narrow. Recognition? Calculation? Hard to tell.
“You local?” he asks.
I don’t answer right away. Just hold his stare. Let him read whatever he wants in the silence.
Finally, I speak. “Yeah.”
“Seen her?”
I take a slow sip of coffee. “Seen a lot of people.”
He smiles thinly. There’s no warmth. “She’s got a habit of running when things get hard. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t need to come home. Family looks out for family.”
The word family twists in his mouth like a weapon.
I set the mug down carefully. “She’s a grown woman. Makes her own choices.”
His smile tightens. “Sometimes she needs help remembering what those choices should be.”
The diner has gone quiet. The regulars are watching now, forks paused halfway to mouths. Jonny’s hand rests near the register, close to the bat he keeps under the counter for rowdy nights.
The stranger notices. His posture shifts—subtle, but enough. Backing off without retreating.
“Well,” he says, voice light again. “If you see her, tell her Travis is in town. Tell her I’m staying at the motel on the highway and I’m not leaving without her.”
He turns and walks out. The bell jingles behind him, sounding cheerful and wrong.
Silence lingers a beat.
Jonny exhales. “That guy’s trouble.”
“Yeah.”
I stand, drop cash on the counter. “Keep an eye out.”
Jonny nods. “Always do.”
I step outside. The air feels colder now. The sun is low, painting the harbor in long gold streaks. Travis’s rental car, a sleek black sedan that looks out of place, pulls away from the curb, heading toward the highway.
I watch it go, then I turn toward the bluff road. She needs to know he’s here, and she needs to know I’m not letting him near her.
Not tonight.
