But it ain’t offering it up yet.
Naomi returns from the bathroom just as the tank is nearing full. She gets close to me and puts her arms around my neck.
“I really did need that bathroom,” she says, her mouth close to mine.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting close enough that I can whisper. And forgiving you for getting us lost.”
She looks up at me, lovingly. I’m supposed to be the hardened veteran here. My heart rate hasn’t spiked once from the possible threats around us. But I bet she can feel my heart thumping against her chest, which she has pressed against me.
“Do you have a read on that guy?” Naomi asks.
“I don’t. You?”
She shakes her head, but dreamily, like I said something apologetic and romantic. “What do we do now?”
Her lips are so close.Kissis all that comes to mind. But that wouldn’t be enough. I want to devour her.
“You hungry?” I say instead.
“Starving,” she says. But it comes out breathy and like it has nothing to do with food. But I’m being stupid. She doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s just trying to make sure she’s not overheard.
The bell above the door jingles as it swings shut behind us when we enter the diner. The two truckers at the counter and a middle-aged couple by the window don’t look up when we enter. But they also don’t look like they’re trying to ignore us.
A stout woman with graying hair in short, tight curls looks up from the register. Her name tag reads "Maude" in faded letters against a backdrop of coffee stains.
"Welcome, you two," she calls out, grabbing menus and a coffee pot in one practiced motion. "I’m guessing you two didn’t long haul your way here."
Naomi slides into a booth, looking exactly like a frustrated wife who's been in a vehicle too long. I marvel at how naturally she slips into character.
"No. Trying to go on an adventure without GPS," she says, rolling her eyes dramatically in my direction.
I slide in across from her, playing my part. "Not working out too great."
Maude laughs, the sound like rusty wind chimes. "Well, I wouldn't say that. We got the greasiest eggs and the best BLTs in Texas." She winks at us. "Best pie to boot."
I don’t smile at Maude ’cause I don’t want to scare her since Naomi taught me that’s not my forte. But I do adopt a relaxed tone when I ask, "Say, where exactly is 'here'? Been driving so long I ain't even sure what town we're in. Can't seem to find it on the map."
I watch her face carefully, searching for a flicker of wariness or calculation. Nothing there but sun-weathered wrinkles and what looks like genuine amusement at our predicament.
"You're in Devil's Gulch, hon," she says, pouring coffee into our mugs without asking if we want any. "Don't feel bad about not finding us. The rest of the world forgot we exist after they rerouted the interstate back in '98."
Naomi wraps her hands around her mug, looking every bit the relieved traveler. "That explains a lot. We've been driving in circles forever."
Maude nods sympathetically. "Used to be a proper town with hundreds of folks. Now we're down to a fraction of that. You see all those empty houses coming in? More buildings than people these days."
I take a sip of the coffee, which is surprisingly good, and keep my expression neutral. "Must be tough, being so isolated."
"Got its perks too," Maude says with a conspiratorial wink. "Whole lotta tax benefits being off the map." She taps her pen against her order pad. "Now, what can I get you two lovebirds?"
Naomi reaches across the table and pats my hand with affection. I don’t need to act like a husband pleased with the touch. I just am. We lock eyes, and we share an unspoken thought. It’s not about the mission. It’s not about the town or how strange it is.
It’s that we both don’t like tomatoes. So it doesn’t matter how good the BLTs are.
And I love that I know that about her, and that she knows that about me.
“Breakfast for dinner?” I ask with a raised brow.
