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Gladly.
The lights from a passing car that slows down startle us both, and my heart skips a beat when I notice it’s a county sheriff’s car, searchlight in hand, before they turn off for the diner.
“Guess we should skip a bite to eat then,” Jasmine shivers, and I pull her closer, shielding her from the weather.
“No way am I skipping a hot meal. But, C’mon,” I urge her, bundling us both back in the car and following the tail lights of the law, we park right next to the patrol car as it starts to really come down in buckets.
“I’m waiting for the rain to stop,” I mumble to Jasmine, refusing to let go of her until I feel more warmth coming off that soft little body of hers.
Having her pressed so close drives me wild, but it’s a feeling I’m getting used to.
Once it’s clear the rain won’t stop, we make a silent pact to make a run for it with a glance into each other’s eyes.
I’m noticing we’re talking less but understanding each other better by the minute.
Her roaming hands to match mine are only helping me feel better about her not being so shy anymore.
Muddy from splashes outside, we skid a little on the old linoleum flooring entering the diner, but we’re not the only drenched couple in the place, with almost every seat and booth filled with motorists or locals looking to get out of the storm.
Nobody seems to blink, but I don’t want a damned cop eyeballing me either.
“Good thing we could get off that damned road, honey,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I hope whoever owns that car off the road back there is okay….”
Jasmine isn’t a dummy, and she takes delight in adding to my plan.
“I’m sure they’re okay. Someone would’ve picked them up by now.”
The sheriff perks up at Jasmine’s words. He pushes the wet brim of his hat back to keep it from dripping on his uniform.
“Car off the road, you say? Where?” he asks as if he expects an answer.
“About a mile back that way,” I tell him, deliberately sounding simple and jerking a thumb behind me.
“European sports car parked sideways. Can’t miss it,” I call after him, easier in my mind only when he’s gone and the waitress has our order.
The weather outside is getting worse, but it looks like some people have other places to be, like it or not.
But Jasmine and I are on our third round of burgers and fries.
She is munching on some fries after only managing one burger, but for me, I can’t get enough of whatever it is they’re putting between two pieces of bread out here.
Being a small-town kind of place, I overhear some locals discussing things, from the weather to something else that might help me right now.
“…Been out past the old Feinberg place…,” a low voice drones.
“Yeah? Locked up tight in all this weather. Hasn’t floated away, eh?” says another.
“…Main gates off its hinge. But I’ll send word to the estate agent on Mondee… Nobody’s gonna go out there on a night like this anyways.”
Except maybe me and my new girl.
It doesn’t sound like what a suitcase of money can afford for the night, but it will keep our profiles low, and I’m technically still doing what Papa wants.
The real Maria Portello is definitely hidden away, someplace even I don’t know about.
And the one he thinks is Maria? Well, nobody would ever think of looking for us out here.
