Killer gave her a look but didn’t argue. As they slid into the booth, Tool still hadn’t turned around. Maybe he hadn’t noticed them. Maybe he had and just didn’t care.
Either way, Brandi wasn’t here for him. At least, that’s what she told herself as she reached for the laminated menu she already knew by heart.
Tool didn’t look their way—not at first. He stayed hunched at the counter, finishing his meal with the kind of focus that made it clear he wasn’t in a rush. Brandi kept her back straight and her gaze on the menu she didn’t need, pretending she wasn’t tracking his every movement in her peripheral vision.
Killer kept the conversation light, talking about LuLu’s ridiculous coffee mugs and the mismatched silverware, but she could hear the same edge in his voice that she felt in her chest.
Eventually, Tool pushed his plate forward, dropped a few bills on the counter, and stood. Brandi heard the stool scrape and the bell over the door chime as he approached—but instead of leaving, he stopped beside their booth.
“Afternoon,” he said, his voice low, steady. That familiar grit made her fingers curl under the table.
Killer looked up first. “Hey, brother.”
Tool nodded once. “Didn’t expect to see you two here.”
Killer gave a half-smile. “Brandi wanted pot roast. And we dropped her car off at the garage on the way in.”
That caught Tool’s attention. His gaze shifted to her. Direct. Focused. “You bought a car?”
Brandi lifted her eyes slowly, already regretting this conversation. “Yeah.”
“What kind?”
“A Bug,” Killer offered casually. “Old one, but clean. She’ll make it shine.”
Tool kept his eyes on her. “You brought it to our garage?”
“We did,” she answered, voice calm even though her pulse wasn’t. “Wrench is giving it a once-over.”
A pause. Barely a beat, but heavy all the same.
Tool nodded. “Good.”
His fingers tapped the table once—nothing urgent, just enough to leave the ghost of his presence behind.
“If anything’s off with it,” he said, tone dropping to something quieter, “you know where I am.”
Then he was gone.
The bell over the door jingled again, sunlight spilling into the diner as Tool stepped out. Brandi sat back against the booth, her breath leaving her slowly, controlled.
Killer didn’t say anything right away. Then, with just a hint of dry humor, “You sure you don’t want to throw your pot roast at him?”
She smirked without looking up. “Not yet.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Brandi drove past The Firehouse,scanning for a place to park. The lot out front was packed, not a single open space. With a sigh, she turned left down the next street and headed for the back parking lot behind the restaurant—a hidden gem mostly known to employees and locals.
Pulling into a spot near the wall, her headlights caught on a row of bikes. Half a dozen of them. Her gaze landed on one in particular, and her stomach twisted. Tool’s bike.
Of course it was his.
If Riley hadn’t asked her to come for dinner, she would’ve turned around and ordered a pizza at home. She even reached for the gear shift to back out but stopped herself. She squared her shoulders, drew in a breath, and made a silent promise:You’re not going to let him ruin your night.
She hadn’t seen him since she brought the Bug in for an oil change. That had been quick, civil, and distant. Before that, their last real interaction had been that awkward dinner drop-off. Everything else? Just glances and ghosts.
You can do this,she told herself, shoving open the car door.You have to do this if you ever want your life to get back on track.
