Page 4

As I look out my window, I can see the quaint little town. This place is not at all like New York City, and I love it. Then, my mind starts to rethink my plans. Maybe a big place like Seattle isn’t my endgame. Maybe I need a small town like this to hide in. Weston might just be my new home.
I jump off the bus and take a look around. Immediately I smell the air, fresh and clean. It’s quieter here too. There’s an absence of car horns that I instantly notice. I can hear birds chirping around me. Again, vastly different than home. The sky is a crisp blue, and there is a slight breeze that feels nice on my face after being on a cramped bus. Down the street from where I’m standing, I spot Joan’s Diner. My stomach growls the moment my eyes land on the neon sign. It’s at that moment I realize I haven’t eaten much since yesterday; I was too distracted with getting away. It’s definitely time to get some food. With my bag in tow, I start walking.
Towering brick buildings cast shadows on the street from the angle of the sun, and streetlamps line the sidewalk. It seems like a casual place, and no one is really dressed to the nines like NYC. Everyone seems so relaxed and comfortable. Walking up to the diner, I catch my reflection. Shit. The bruises and cuts. While they’re better, the bruises are yellowing, and the cuts are still prominent on my face. I pray no one will bring them up.
Keeping my head down, I see there’s a section of empty stools at the end of the counter.Perfect, I think. Sitting on the one closest to the wall, I place my bag on the one next to me, warding off anyone that wants to come near me. Straightening, I reach over to grab a menu that’s slid in between the condiment bottles.
The diner looks like it was pulled right out of the 1950’s. Black and white tile checkers the floor, and blue and red leather seats fill the interior. White tables with metal edges hold patrons dining on hamburgers and waffles, the usual grub. Pendant lights gleam down while Betty Boop paraphernalia dots the walls. There’s even a juke box and an Elvis cardboard cut-out, which makes my lips twitch into a small smile.
“Hi there! You’re not from around here, are ya?” Looking up from the menu, I’m greeted by a friendly and very chipper voice. It’s from a bouncy blonde with her hair pulled back into a ponytail that sits high up on her head. She’s staring at me with a wide grin from behind the counter.
“Hi. Um, no I’m not.” My gaze shyly falls back down to the menu.
Her eyes sparkle. “Well, what can I get started for you?”
I look back up at her and ask, “What do you recommend?”
“Hm.” She taps her pen on the notepad in her hands. “Can’t go wrong with our All-American Cheeseburger or our BLT. Those would be my picks. Oh! Our Club Sandwich is good too.” Positive Polly’s enthusiasm is killing me.
“A cheeseburger would be good, and extra pickles, please. And a Coke, if you’ve got it.” I give her a soft smile and then look down at my hands.
“Comin’ right up, dear!” With that, she saunters away to the open window across from me and gives my order to the kitchen staff.
Taking a look around, I notice this place is filled with town folk. People come in through the door and are instantly greeted by others already in the diner. Patrons are chatting about their day, waving at each other and hugging. It’s almost like everyone knows everyone here.
Turning back to my spot, I sit and wonder about my family and Mitch. Not that I give a shit about Mitch, but I’m curious if he even gives half a shit that I left.
I run my hands over my face, hissing when I irritate the cut on my cheek. That’s all the reminder I need that I did what was best for me.
I don’t even miss him. My heart doesn’t even break for him. I miss the life I had before he turned bat shit crazy. My friends, my goals, and everything about who I was. He cut my wings, taking away my ability to soar.
Well, that changes now. This bird’s going to fly.
While lost in thought, I don’t see the person that comes up and sits in the seat next to my bag.
“Saving the seat for someone?” The deep voice wakes me from my thoughts. I turn my head, and my breath catches.
Staring back at me are the most inviting set of blue eyes. They’re mesmerizing. He has a face that can stop you dead in your tracks. My mouth drops open as I take in the stranger next to me.
His jaw is strong and square, his cheekbones high. He has tattoos up and down his left arm, and his shirt hugs every muscle on him—and boy, is he ripped. His hair’s dark and cut short on the top and shaved on the sides. This man is sex on legs. He’s tall, dark, and fucking handsome.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” The man reaches over and places a hand on my shoulder. I instantly recoil.
“Please don’t.” I look at his hands as he holds them up in front of him in a non-threatening manner. “What did you ask me?”
“First, I apologize. Second … well, originally, I asked you if this seat was taken,” he says with a drawl.
“Oh, no. It’s not. Feel free to sit there.” Turning my head away from his face, I fuss with my hair to try and hide some of the bruises. Because it’s at that moment that I realize he’s an officer.
Fuck.
“You aren’t from around here. My name is Ryker Holliday.SheriffRyker Holliday, actually. And you are?” He holds out his hand again, his expression kind.
Staring at him, I hesitate, not sure if I want to make nice with the locals. Then again, he’s the sheriff, so I probably should. I reach out to take his hand in my own. “Zoey. Zoey Krause.” The second we touch, I feel the zap of the electricity coursing through my veins. Quickly, I pull it away.
“So, uh, just need to ask. Are you okay, ma’am?” The sheriff leans in closer to me.
My head snaps away. I bite my lip and then take a deep breath. “Can you please not call me ma’am? That makes me feel old. And why are you asking if I’m okay?” His closeness allows me to take in his scent. It’s a woodsy aroma. Sandalwood, maybe?