Page 225 of Money Reigns
I miss him.
God, I miss him.
I nod.
Ella doesn’t smile, doesn’t press. Just watches as I pull my hair into a low bun and grab the coat I left slung over the desk chair.
Downstairs, Dean is lacing up his boots.
He looks up when I reach the bottom step. “You going?”
“I’ll takeyour car.”
He arches a brow but doesn’t argue, just tosses me the keys before heading out the front door and across the street, where the inn hums with the sounds of renovation.
The drive to Murphy’s is short. Familiar.
The kind of path you could take blindfolded.
But my pulse pounds the whole way there.
The parking lot is mostly empty. The diner glows warm in the fading light. I park, take a breath, and head inside.
The bell above the door jingles.
I scan the booths. The barstools. The corner table where my dad always sits with his paper.
But War isn’t here.
My heart sinks, and I hate that it does.
I tell myself it’s better this way. That I can just grab the pies and go.
Sue sees me from behind the counter and waves. “Got three ready for pickup, sweetheart. Be right back.”
I nod, gripping the edge of the counter to ground myself.
The door jingles again.
I don’t even turn at first.
But then I hear it—boots on tile. Slow, steady. A low voice murmuring a polite “Thank you, ma’am” to one of the waitresses.
I turn.
And there he is.
A dark winter jacket half-zipped over a charcoal shirt. Fitted jeans. Work boots scuffed at the toes. His collar dusted with snow melt. Paint smudges streak one hand where his glove must’ve been pulled off.
He looks…human. Solid. Out of place and yet perfectly placed, like some kind of mirage I summoned with grief.
My lungs stutter. He’s too close. Too real.
But he doesn’t see me.
He doesn’t look at me.
The waitress hands him two bags of food. He passes her a folded bill. I know it’s too much, healwaystips too much. He murmurs a quiet thanks.
