"Best coffee in town," Sarah says, already moving. "Tom, your usual?"
"Just coffee today, thanks."
While Sarah prepares the order, Jackson wanders over to look at the pastries in the window display.
"Thank you," she says. "For this. For all of it. I know I keep saying that, but I mean it."
"You don't have to keep thanking me."
"I do, though." She turns to look at me. "I can't remember the last time someone helped me without wanting something in return."
What kind of life has she been living? What kind of people has she been surrounded by?
"I don't want anything," I say. "Except maybe to see you and Jackson settled and safe. That's all."
Chapter 4 - Claire
I don't believe him.
I want to. God, I want to believe that this man, this sheriff with his kind blue eyes and his gentle way with my son, is exactly what he appears to be. Someone who helps because he can. Someone who expects nothing in return.
But five years with Derek taught me better than that.
Everyone wants something. Everyone has an angle. The question is just what they're hiding, and how long it takes before they show their true face.
Sarah hands Jackson his muffin and chocolate milk with a grandmother's smile, and I watch my son's face light up like Christmas morning. It's such a small thing: a muffin, some milk, but we've been living on gas station sandwiches and whatever I could afford from convenience stores for days. This is the first semblance of real food he's had since we left.
"What do you say, Jackson?" I prompt.
"Thank you!" He beams at Sarah, then holds up Rex. "Rex says thank you too!"
Sarah laughs, that warm sound that older women make when they're genuinely delighted by a child. "You're very welcome, sweetheart. And Rex too, of course."
I pay for our order, counting out the bills. Thirty-two dollars for the motel room last night. Now six-fifty for breakfast. That leaves me with three thousand, one hundred and seventy-nine dollars and fifty cents. Every purchase makes my chest tight, watching my safety net shrink.
But Jackson needs to eat. That's non-negotiable.
Tom insists on paying for his own coffee, waving off my attempt to cover it. "I'm a regular. Sarah gives me the friends and family rate."
"Friends and family rate is still paying," Sarah says firmly, taking his money. "You're not a charity case, Tom Harris."
There's affection in her teasing, the familiarity of people who've known each other for years. It makes me ache for something I can't name. Connection, maybe. Community. The kind of roots that take time to grow.
I had that once. Friends who knew my coffee order, parents who called just to say hello, a life that felt solid and real. Derek took all of it, piece by piece, until I was completely isolated and dependent on him for everything.
I won't let that happen again. I won't let anyone, not even this seemingly kind sheriff, have that kind of power over me.
We sit at one of the small tables by the window, Jackson swinging his legs and taking huge bites of his muffin. Chocolate smears across his cheek within seconds.
"Slow down, baby," I say, reaching over to wipe his face with a napkin. "No one's going to take it from you."
"But it's so good!" He looks at Tom with kind eyes. "This is the best muffin in the whole world!"
"Sarah's been making them for thirty years," Tom says. "She's got it down to a science."
Jackson takes another enormous bite, then pauses. "My daddy says dinosaurs aren't real."
The words hit me like a slap. I freeze, napkin halfway to his face.
