It was kind of famous, though—not for the gas, definitely not for the bathrooms, but for the breakfast burritos. Foil-wrapped, suspiciously heavy, the kind of thing people planned their mornings around. Contractors swore by them. High school kids lived on them. Half the town pretended they didn’t eat gas station food while absolutely eating the Stop & Go’s breakfast burritos. By eight a.m., the warmer was usually empty. By nine, someone was complaining about it like a personal betrayal while begging Elizabeth’s Aunt Donna to make more.
The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside, the familiar mix of burnt coffee, spicy burritos, and faintly sweet cinnamon rolls greeting me like an old acquaintance. I clocked in, pinned my name tag to my jacket, and took my place behind the counter.
Elizabeth had hired me the same way she did most things, efficiently, with mild sarcasm and no unnecessary sympathy. We’d gone through school together, traveling in the same circles of friends since kindergarten. She was sarcastic, always good for a laugh, and one of my favorite people in town.
“Show up on time, don’t steal, and don’t freak out when someone pays in change,” she’d said. “Congratulations. You’re qualified.”
I knew the rhythm of the place now—the slow afternoons when the sun slanted through the windows and painted long golden rectangles on the floor, the regulars who bought the same scratchers every day, the exact shelf where the good beef jerky disappeared first. I liked the predictability. I liked that the worstdecision I had to make on most shifts was whether to restock the cooler or wipe down the counters first.
Elizabeth was already there when I showed up, leaning against the counter with a coffee and a look on her face that said she was already over the day. She glanced up as I came out of the back, eyes flicking over me with practiced efficiency as she balled up a burrito wrapper and tossed it into the trash.
“You’re early,” she said.
“I respect the sanctity of breakfast burritos,” I replied. “And the people who would riot without them.”
She snorted. “Good answer. You restocked the bathrooms yesterday, right?”
“Yes. And the chip display.”
“Excellent.” She took a sip of her coffee, then tilted her head at me. “Did you sleep last night?”
One time. On my first day, I mentioned I was tired. That I couldn’t sleep. She asked me about it every shift. But she was cool. Just enough concern to let me lie to her without turning it into a whole thing.
“A few hours,” I said.
She nodded once, like that was acceptable. “Good. I’ve got paperwork and a dentist appointment I’m pretending not to dread. Try not to burn the place down while I’m out.”
“I make no promises. But I’ll do my best.”
“Hey, that’s all I can ask.” She grinned, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, “Oh—and if anyone asks, we’re out of breakfast burritos because you personally ate the last one. I would never.”
“I’ll cover for you,” I laughed, as the bell chimed behind her.
The store settled into its afternoon pace almost immediately. A contractor came in for snacks and a soda, grumbling good-naturedly about the price of gas. A mom with two kids argued over candy choices at the register. I wiped down the counter,straightened a crooked rack of sunglasses, and told myself—again—that I was perfectly fine. I was safe here.
The Stop & Go was the kind of place everyone passed through, whether they meant to or not. I liked that it was central. Public. Visible. I liked that there were windows on three sides and a camera mounted in the corner near the ceiling, angled just enough to catch the counter and the front door. Elizabeth had pointed it out on my first day, tapping the monitor with her pen.It records,she’d said. It helped. Knowing that.
The bell chimed, and a man I didn’t recognize stepped inside.
Mid-thirties, maybe. Clean jacket. Nice boots. The kind of smile that looked easy without being warm. He paused just inside the door, eyes moving slowly over the store like he was taking it in.
“Afternoon,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral.
He wandered the aisles without picking anything up, fingers brushing the edge of the shelves. Stopped by the front window, gaze drifting past the gas pumps, toward the road. Toward the river beyond it.
“Busy today?” he asked.
“Comes and goes.”
He nodded, as if that answered something for him. “Nice town.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
He bought a bottle of Coke. Then gave me a small, polite wave and left, the bell chiming cheerfully behind him.
I stood there for a moment after he was gone, staring at the door. The image of him walking away slid uncomfortably into place alongside the memory of that red light blinking through the trees. Of a shape half-hidden by branches. Of the feeling that someone had been there. It was the vibes he gave me. I toldmyself it didn’t mean anything. But my hands shook anyway, and no amount of fluorescent light made that feeling go away.
