Page 25 of Life After You

He considers this, then shrugs. “Won’t take long. Theirs is done.” He jerks a thumb toward the Porsche. “Might as well. Safer.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Alright, man. Probably just needs some water in the radiator. Hasn’t been out much.”

“Shame,” he says, nodding in understanding. Then, with a sharp whistle, two skinny teens bolt out of the shop like a pit crew, one carrying seat covers, the other reaching for my keys. They move fast, too fast.

It takes me a second to process.

I offer my hand. “Logan.”

The big guy grips it firmly. “Si.”

“I’ll leave her in your care.”

“Logbook?”

I nod toward the glovebox. “Should be in there. Neat stack of cassettes next to it.”

He raises a brow but says nothing, disappearing inside.

I loiter for a minute, shifting my weight as I take in the street. Mac was here. Not long ago. That means I’m close.

Si returns, wiping his hands. “Steering columns loose. Wheel bearing needs work. Rust spots. Radiator’s almost shot.”

My stomach sinks with every word.

“How long to fix it?”

“Parts take time, but I can make her roadworthy in a few hours.”

I hesitate. I don’t have a few hours.

“I’m on a time crunch,” I admit. “Looking for someone.”

Si studies me for a long beat. Then, finally, he jerks his chin toward the diner down the street. “You good. Go.”

Behind him, the Charger disappears into the shop.

My stomach growls, and I realize I’d fucking kill for something to eat right now.

Guess I’ll start at the diner.

The diner is exactly what I expected—checkered floors, neon lights buzzing faintly, and booths packed with napkin dispensers and enough condiments to start a small war. It smells like bacon and fresh coffee, which is a fucking relief. Everywhere else in Portland feels like a vegan retreat, but this place? This place feels tried and true.

I slide into a booth near the back, keeping my hat low, and grab a menu. Before I can even decide what I want, a woman shuffles over, her name tag reading Patty. She’s got one of those ageless faces—could be mid-forties, maybe fifties—but her smile is warm, her voice welcoming.

“What can I get you, hon?”

I hesitate, still scanning the menu. “Uh, I was just gonna see what you have on, Ma’am.”

She waves me off like I’m wasting her time. “Tell you what, sugar, how about I sit you down with a nice half-stack of pancakes, bacon, and eggs? And a coffee.”

“That sounds like heaven.”

She grins. “We also got a real good peach pie or coconut cream pie.”

“Don’t you tempt me now.” I chuckle. “I’ll take your first offer, please.”

She beams as she pours me a steaming mug of coffee. I take that first sip, the scalding liquid hitting just right, warming me from the inside out.

---