Fair.
"Friends?"
"I don't—" She stops, and I can see the admission costs her. "I don't really have anyone here yet. Not anyone I'd call at ten p.m. to rescue me from the side of the road."
Something about that hurts. The idea that she's been here for months and she's alone. No one to call. No one except—
I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts. There aren't many. Tom from the community center. Casey, though he won't answer. A few other guys I've worked construction with.
I try Tom first. It rings six times before going to voicemail.
"Tom, it's Nash. Car broke down on Route 47. Give me a call if you get this."
I try the next number. Bill, who helped me with a roofing job last month. Straight to voicemail.
Then Rick. No answer.
Casey, knowing it's useless. Voicemail.
I lower the phone and Claire is watching me with wide eyes.
"No one?" she asks quietly.
"Everyone's either asleep or not answering."
"So, we're really stuck here."
I look around. Dark road. Empty fields. No houses in sight, no lights except the stars. We're at least two miles from the nearest building, probably more.
"We could walk," I say, though the thought of her walking two miles in heels and that dress makes something protective flare in my chest.
"In the dark? On this road?" She shakes her head. "That seems like a good way to get hit by a truck."
She's right.
"We could wait in the car," I say. "Until morning. Call Casey when he opens at eight. Tell him it’s an emergency"
Claire looks at the car, then at me, then back at the car.
"You mean... spend the night here? In the car?"
"Unless you want to call your parents."
"I'd rather sleep on the side of the road," she says immediately.
Despite everything, I almost smile.
"Car it is, then."
She hugs herself tighter, and I realize she's shivering. The dress she's wearing is thin, meant for fancy restaurants with climate control, not standing on the side of a dark road for the next eight hours.
I shrug off my button-up shirt before I can think better of it, leaving me in just the white undershirt beneath.
"Here," I say, holding it out.
She stares at it. "Nash, you don't—"
"Take it."
