Page 27 of Hearts Storm

“Listen, Smirky...”

The nickname makes me pause.

Fingers tangled gently in her hair, I tip her face up to check her pupils. “Smirky, huh?”

She shrugs.

Damn, she’s beautiful.

Satisfied she’s at least physically okay, she’s still a little disheveled, so I help her brush the dirt off her knees and straighten her dress.

Smoothing a hand over her hair, I say, “Look. Lemme buy you breakfast. Maybe if you get to know me a little, you might feel comfortable enough to tell me your name. Deal?”

She mulls over my offer for a moment. “Deal.”

Lacing my fingers with hers, I guide her down the street. She’s still trembling slightly, and I want to make sure she doesn’t bolt on me.

This time of year, the night air is getting cooler, but I barely notice. My focus is entirely on the woman beside me.

“Just a couple blocks,” I tell her, nodding toward the corner ahead. “Best breakfast ever, and I’m not just saying that because I’m friends with the owner.”

She gives me a skeptical look. “Breakfast at two a.m.?”

“Trust me, Pretty. You’ll thank me.”

As we round the corner an old train car comes into view. The sign hovering above it casts a warm, welcoming glow across the sidewalk, flashing the words: DINA’S DINER.

“Wait, is that an actual train?” She stops, staring at the converted dining car with wide eyes.

“Yep.” I can’t keep the pride out of my voice. This place has been my go-to stop after a night out any time I’m here. “Used to be part of the Northern Pacific line back in the day. Now it serves the best damn waffles in all of Portland.”

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon hits as I hold the door open. “After you.”

Inside, it’s warm and cozy. Red vinyl booths line the windows, and a long counter with stools takes up the center. The walls are decorated with vintage train memorabilia and photos of Portland from decades past.

“Brex!” A middle-aged woman with silver-streaked hair calls out from behind the counter. “Haven’t seen you in a while!”

“Hey, Dina. Been busy with work.” I guide us to my favorite booth in the back corner.

The owner laughs, shaking her head as she hands us menus. “You two want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Pretty says. Her voice sounds steadier now.

“Coming right up. The usual for you, Brex?”

“You know it.”

“So you come here often enough to have a ‘usual’?”

“Been coming here for a few years.” I lean back in the booth.

“What brings you to town now?” she asks, keeping her eyes on the menu.

I contemplate her question, not sure if it’s a good idea to offer up too many details. Not yet, at least.

“Meeting up with my brothers. We all get together every couple of months or so. Hang out and catch up.”

She looks up from her menu. “How many?”