Page 90 of Ashes of Us
I did as told and silence settled over the parking lot, broken only by the distant hum of traffic on the highway.
He appeared at my window again, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Definitely the alternator. You're not driving this anywhere tonight."
"Great." I let my head fall back against the seat. "So I wait for the tow truck."
"Yeah. Did you check with AAA?"
"Sure did," I replied. “Two to three hours wait.”
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself. Without the engine running, the temperature was already dropping. My breath fogged in the air.
"You're freezing," he said.
"I'm fine."
"Piper." He gestured toward the far end of the parking lot. "My truck's got heat. You can wait there instead of turning into a popsicle."
I hesitated. Sitting in his truck felt... different. Definitely more intimate than standing outside talking. More enclosed.
"I'll leave the keys with you," he added. "You can lock the doors, blast the heat, whatever. I'll wait out here if you want."
That was the thing that got me. Not the offer of warmth, but the way he framed it. He was giving me the option, not assuming things.
Another gust of wind cut through my cardigan and made the decision for me.
"Okay," I said. "But you're not standing out here in the cold for two hours. That's ridiculous."
Something flickered across his face. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
His truck was parked four rows over. We walked in silence, my arms wrapped around myself, him carrying his grocery bag. The parking lot lights hummed softly, casting everything in that sickly yellow glow that made the whole scene feel surreal.
He unlocked the passenger door first, then held it open while I climbed in. After rounding to the driver's side, he started the engine and immediately cranked the heat. Warm air blasted from the vents.
"Thank you," I said, holding my hands up to the vent.
"Yeah." He adjusted the temperature, then settled back in his seat, careful to keep space between us. The center console felt like the Grand Canyon.
We sat there with the engine running, the heat building. Neither of us knowing what to say.
"So," he said finally. "How's the bakery?"
"Good. Busy." I rubbed my hands together. "That Sweet Dreams place on Third is cutting into the morning crowd, but the catering's picking up. The charity breakfast helped. And thank God for that, because marketing definitely isn’t my thing."
"Good. That's good."
More silence. I stared out the windshield at the grocery store entrance, watching people drift in and out.
"Your shoulder?" I asked, because apparently we were doing small talk now.
"Better. Physical therapy's done. Still gets stiff when it rains, but…" He shrugged. "Could've been worse."
"Yeah."
The heat was finally reaching my fingers. I flexed them, watching condensation start to form on the windows.
"Remember that time your tire went flat on Route 9?" he asked. "You called me at two in the morning?"
