It’s sweet.
It’s almost enough.
We talk about school and work and the way the world feels smaller when the clouds hang low. He makes me laugh once, real and surprised, and for a second I forget the note, forget the glove, forget the blood on that paper like it was written with somebody’s pulse.
Then the bell over the door jingles and the room shifts.
Not because Oaks walks in. He doesn’t.
Because Bethany does.
She steps into the diner with her lipstick perfect. Hair smooth. Smile sharp enough to skin something. She’s dressed too clean for this place, like she’s making a point. Like she wants everyone to see her be the kind of woman who belongs and decide I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t.
Her eyes find me immediately, because of course they do.
Elijah notices my posture go rigid. “You okay?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I lie.
Bethany doesn’t come to the booth. Not yet. She takes her time, talks to the waitress, laughs too loud at something a man says like she’s a movie star blessing the locals. Her gaze flicks my way again and again, casual as a knife being palmed.
I try to breathe through it. I try to be normal.
Elijah reaches across the table and covers my hand with his, thumb brushing my knuckle like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he ain’t afraid of being seen with me. Like I’m not a liability.
My throat tightens, because the touch is gentle and the intent is kind, and my body still flinches like I’m waiting on somebody to yank me by the hair.
Bethany finally slides into the booth behind me. Not across from me. Behind. Close enough that her perfume crawls into my lungs.
“You enjoying your little attention?” she asks sweetly.
I keep my face forward. I don’t give her the satisfaction of watching me flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She laughs, soft and mean. “Stupidity. You always think that saves you.”
Elijah stiffens. “Ma’am,” he starts, polite and cautious.
I fight a laugh as it lands like he’s calling her old. She is, as old as Oaks.
Bethany ignores him like he’s furniture. Her gaze rakes over me, like I said it. She’s taking inventory. My clothes. My age. My cheap earrings. My life. She does it like she’s deciding what I’m worth.
“He fucks plenty of girls,” she says casually, like she’s discussing the weather. “Did you think you were special?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I never.”
She leans in closer, voice dropping to something intimate in the ugliest way. “You embarrassed me.”
I turn enough to meet her eyes. “I didn’t touch your husband.”
Bethany’s smile sharpens. “I saw your hand in his pants.”
The words hit like a slap.
In his pants? I swallow as the scene I can’t remember gets worse every time.
Elijah’s hand tightens on mine. “You need to leave her alone,” he says, voice still polite, but the edge is there.
Bethany finally looks at him, and her eyes are cold. “Who are you?”
