Page 113 of What We Burn

I stare at him. “Yeah. That’s . . . yeah.”

“So here’s what I’m going to say, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want.” He folds his arms on the table. “Nothing makes a person want to crawl out of their skin more than being treated like they’re made of glass. You need girl time. You need stupid, pointless, laughing-until-you-snort time. And I am fully qualified to provide that. I’m basically an honorary girl. I have strong opinions about cuticle care. I will hold your bags at Nordstrom. I can be on ‘Sage Watch’”—he makes air quotes—“for a few hours while the big scary men take a break. I promise to return you in one piece.”

“It’s really not that simple.”

“It really is.” He holds up a finger. “One evening. A movie, or the mall, or pedicures, or just sitting in a parking lot eating drive-through. Whatever you want. Call Amy. Make it a three-way.”

I glance toward the front window. Eli’s car is parked across the street in his silver sedan with the driver’s side angled toward the entrance. He’s got papers spread across the steering wheel—kindergarten stuff, letter tracing worksheets and reading logs. I watched him circle a smiley face on one earlier. A man who can take a person apart without blinking, drawing smiley faces for five-year-olds who stayed inside the lines.

“I can’t just disappear on them,” I say, but I can hear it in my own voice. The want. The desire to make a decision without telling a single soul.

“I’m not saying disappear. Tell them you’re a grown-ass woman who’s going out with friends—live! They can literally sit in the parking lot of wherever we go and wait for us to come out.”

My phone buzzes in my apron and my spine straightens until I remember that I blocked that asshole. No more deadman texts for me. Fucker.

Amy

Hey stranger. Coffee? Please? I’m starting to think you’ve been kidnapped. If you HAVE been kidnapped, text me a pineapple emoji and I’ll call the police.

“Amy’s ears must be burning,” I say and show Jamie the screen.

He reads it and grins. “See? Kismet! She misses you. And I miss all three of us together. Call her!”

“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll talk to the guys.”

“Don’t talk, Sage, my dear—tell.”

It’s then that my boss sticks his head through the kitchen window. “Sage, you can head off if you want. No point paying you to stare at the walls.”

Jamie raises both eyebrows at me. “This feels like an opportunity,” he stage-whispers.

I’m untying my apron before I’ve decided anything.

“Fuck it. Let’s go right now. Out the back door, before someone can stop us.”

Jamie blinks. “What? I mean, I love backdoor stuff but are we really going on the run?”

“No.” I laugh. “If we go out the front, Eli will see me leave and he’ll follow.”

“And we don’t want that?” Jamie looks at me, concern flashing in his eyes.

“We do. It’s just . . . You were right before—I can’t breathe. I want to feel normal. I want to be spontaneous⁠—”

“You want to escape through the back of the diner and play hooky with your delightfully quirky bestie,” he supplies.

I laugh. “Yeah. And if we go out the back, we can be gone before he notices. And what’s the saying—better to ask forgiveness than permission?”

He nods. “Back door. Got it.”

“You’re not going to tell me that’s messed up?”

“Oh, it’s extremely messed up. But sneaking you away under their nose feels exciting and fun. Very James Bond.” He stands, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Go clock out. We’ll call Amy and tell her to meet us on the way.”

My hands are shaking as I duck into the kitchen. “See you Tuesday,” I say to my boss as I clock out. I pull out my phone to call Amy before I can talk myself out of it.

She picks up on the second ring. “I was about to call the police!”

“Why? I didn’t send you a pineapple.”