No More Waiting for You

"Turn the heat up, will you?" I yelled over the roaring wind.

Ethan Calloway laughed. The sound barely cut through the gravelly baritone of Johnny Cash blasting from the cracked speakers.

"Heater's busted, Eve. You'll have to survive on pure adrenaline."

He steered the beat-up, graffiti-sprayed Ford F-150 onto Highway 93 North.

I studied his profile as we sped past the blurry streetlights. He was twenty-two, but he carried himself with a rougher, sharper edge than the Ivy League boys I usually surrounded myself with. A silver stud caught the glare of the dashboard in his left ear. A faded tattoo peeked out from the rolled-up sleeve of his gray flannel shirt. When he smiled, a shallow dimple appeared on his left cheek.

"You saved my life back there," I said, leaning closer to the center console so he could hear me over the wind.

"That dinner was a hostage situation," Ethan replied, keeping his eyes firmly on the dark road. "I couldn't leave you sitting next to that stiff in the three-piece suit."

"William isn't a stiff. He just likes things a certain way."

"Right. Like suffocating everyone around him. I watched him order your food for you, Eve. He didn't even ask what you wanted."

"He knows what I like."

"He ordered you a dry salad. You're currently shivering in a freezing truck. You need carbs, not lettuce."

I crossed my arms over my chest, defensive but unable to argue with his logic. "We've been friends for ten years. He's just protective."

"Protective." Ethan scoffed, the sound harsh over the country music. "Is that what they call it in his tax bracket?"

Rain started hitting the windshield in heavy, angry drops. Ethan rolled his window up halfway, but the freezing wind still whipped my hair into a tangled mess across my face. I didn't care. For the first time all week, the crushing weight on my chest lifted. The suffocating pressure of William's demands, of Victoria's oblivious perfection, faded into the rearview mirror.

"Hungry?" Ethan asked, hitting the turn signal.

"Starving."

He pulled off the highway and into the gravel lot of a 24-hour diner. The flickering red neon sign bled into the foggy, rain-slicked night, casting long, eerie shadows across the hood of the truck.

We dashed inside through the downpour. The bell above the glass door jingled sharply. We grabbed a faded vinyl booth in the back corner, away from the few truck drivers hunched over the counter.

A tired waitress walked over, not bothering to hand us menus.

"Two orders of blueberry pancakes," Ethan told her, pulling some damp napkins from the metal dispenser. "And a hot chocolate for the lady."

"You remember my order from the shop?" I asked, sliding out of my wet jacket.

"I pay attention."

"I only came into the garage once to drop off my car for an oil change."

"You bought a hot chocolate and a blueberry muffin from the vending machine while you waited," Ethan pointed out. "Pancakes are the diner equivalent. Upgrade."

He rested his arms on the sticky Formica table. I stared at his hands. Dark grease stained the deep creases of his knuckles, and tiny, healing cuts covered his fingers. He spent his days pulling engines apart as an apprentice at a Cambridge auto repair shop. They were the hands of someone who worked for every single dollar.

The waitress dropped our plates on the table with a loud clatter. Ethan immediately pushed the larger stack of pancakes across the table toward me.

"Eat," he ordered gently.

I picked up my fork, slicing into the syrupy stack. "Aren't you going to eat?"

He picked up his own fork and poked at the top pancake. He didn't take a bite. The diner grew quiet, save for the hum of the old refrigerator in the kitchen.

"I didn't see you for the first time at the restaurant," he said. His voice dropped, low and careful, as if afraid he might scare me away.

I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth. "What do you mean? We met at the garage on Tuesday."

"No." He shook his head, his eyes fixing on the table. "I officially met you on Tuesday. I saw you three months ago."

"Where?"

"New England Aquarium."

My stomach plummeted. I set my fork down. The metal clinked sharply against the thick ceramic plate.

"You were standing in front of the jellyfish tank," Ethan continued. He kept his gaze on his food, pushing a stray blueberry through the dark syrup. "You were completely alone, holding two massive sticks of blue cotton candy. And you were crying."

I swallowed hard, my throat turning dry. "You saw that."

"Hard to miss. You were wearing this bright red sweater. A little girl in a yellow raincoat bumped right into your knees. She dropped her stuffed animal. You dropped a cotton candy. Then you both just squatted there on the floor, wiping each other's tears."

My throat closed up entirely. The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

I had bought those aquarium tickets weeks in advance. William had promised he would go. *I need a break from studying, Eve. Let's go look at the sharks.*

I stood by the entrance from the minute the glass doors opened. I watched families walk in, couples holding hands, school groups laughing. Four hours later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I remembered staring at the glowing screen in the dim blue light of the aquatic tunnel.

*Sorry, the firm needs me. Rain check?*

I waited from opening until closing. I didn't eat. I didn't move from the exhibits. I stayed until the security guards politely asked me to leave.

"Hey." Ethan's voice pulled me back to the cold diner booth.

I blinked, and a hot tear slipped down my cheek, tracing a wet path to my jaw.

He reached across the table. His thumb brushed just below my eye, catching the drop before it fell. His skin felt rough against my face. The thick calluses from wrenches and heavy engine blocks scraped gently against my cheek.

It was ten thousand times warmer than William's perfectly manicured, pampered hands.

"Why were you crying, Eve?" he asked softly, his thumb lingering for a fraction of a second before he pulled away.

"A boy," I whispered, staring down at my hands.

"He's a fool."

"He's my best friend."

Ethan leaned back against the red vinyl, his jaw tightening. The muscles in his neck flexed. "A best friend doesn't leave you crying in an aquarium."

"You don't know the whole story."

"I know enough." His tone sharpened, cutting through the quiet diner. "I know he dragged you to that dinner tonight just to show off your roommate. I know you looked like you were going to shatter into a million pieces before I pulled the fire alarm."

I stared at him, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. "You pulled the alarm?"

"I told you. Hostage situation." He offered that dimpled smile again, though the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. "Eat your pancakes, Eve."

I picked up my fork again, my hands trembling slightly. The diner felt completely isolated from the rest of the world, a safe bubble suspended in the foggy night.

Then, my phone buzzed violently in my jacket pocket.

The harsh vibration shattered the quiet.

I pulled the device out. The screen lit up the dark corner of our booth, flashing William's name in bold black letters.

"Ignore it," Ethan instructed, his expression hardening instantly.

"I have to answer it." I swiped the screen and pressed the cold phone to my ear. "Will?"

"Where are you?" William's voice didn't just sound angry. It sounded frantic, bordering on unhinged. "The fire department cleared the building, but Victoria is gone. And my watch is missing."

I froze in the booth. "What?"

"My grandfather's Rolex, Eve. It's gone. Who the hell did you leave with?"