Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T he next morning, Bridget drove into town, mentally checking her grocery list for the shepherd's pie she planned to make for Garvin and Kevin. The thought of cooking for them brought a smile to her face, but it was tinged with worry about her past. She checked her phone one last time, confirming the message from Carl, a friend from her old life who still had connections.

As she pulled into the Roadside Diner's parking lot, Bridget spotted Carl sitting in a booth. She could see even through the window that the diner's walls looked greasy and dirty, the once-gleaming stainless steel counter now dulled and sapped of vibrancy. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an unflattering glow over the handful of patrons scattered among peeling vinyl booths.

Bridget hesitated for a moment, questioning her decision, but the need to protect herself and those she cared about propelled her forward. She stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling. She carried a large purse, its contents soon to be altered.

Sliding into the booth across from Carl, Bridget managed a tight smile. She could see the tension on his face, his eyes darting around the diner.

"Hey, Bridge," Carl greeted her, his voice low. "How you doing?"

"Good. You?" Bridget replied, trying to keep her tone casual.

The waitress approached their table, her expression bored. "What can I get you folks?"

"Just coffee for me, please," Bridget answered, her stomach too knotted to consider food.

"Me too." Carl nodded in agreement, and the waitress walked away to fetch their drinks.

Bridget glanced around the diner, ensuring no one was paying attention to them. There was only one other patron, a disheveled man sitting on one of the stools at the counter, his back to them. She reached down, grasping the large purse at her feet. With a subtle movement, she handed it to Carl under the table.

Carl took the purse, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. He unzipped a pocket, retrieving the envelope filled with cash that Bridget had carefully placed inside earlier. In exchange, he slipped a small, cold object into the purse—the gun Bridget had requested.

The waitress returned with their coffees, setting them down on the table. Bridget and Carl thanked her, waiting until she was out of earshot before continuing their conversation.

"So, how's Jackie doing these days?" Bridget asked, sipping her coffee and trying to appear that they were two old friends catching up.

Carl shrugged. "Last I heard, she was still working at that dive bar downtown. You know, the one where we used to hang out?"

Bridget nodded, memories of their past lives flickering through her mind. "Yeah, I remember. Those were some crazy times."

They reminisced about old acquaintances and haunts, their voices low and their laughter forced. The weight of their transaction hung between them, unspoken but ever present.

"Well, guess I better get going. Nice seeing you." Carl stood and tossed a ten-dollar bill onto the table.

"You too. Thanks." Bridget took another sip of coffee as she watched him walk out. She wanted to wait a few minutes, just in case. She didn't want anyone to notice them leaving at the same time.

A familiar car pulled in. What the heck? Was that Kevin? What was he doing here?

Kevin pulled into the Roadside Diner parking lot, and his brow furrowed as he spotted Bridget through the window. He’d just been to Rita’s to pick up a fruitcake, the dense, unappetizing brick now sitting on the passenger seat like a forgotten paperweight. Taking his usual route past the diner, he was surprised to see Bridget there again, and wasn’t that the same shady guy he’d passed on the road?

Kevin’s mind raced with questions. Was that a boyfriend? No, he hadn’t gotten that vibe the last time he saw them together. But why did Bridget keep meeting with him? Kevin hoped she wasn’t in trouble. He cared about her, more than he wanted to admit.

As he stepped out of the car, the cold air nipped at his face. He made his way toward the diner entrance, the bell above the door jangling as he pushed it open. The familiar sounds of clinking dishes, sizzling grills, and murmured conversations enveloped him.

Kevin approached Bridget’s booth with a grin. “Don’t tell me you come here because you like the coffee?”

Bridget made a face. “They do have a mean corn muffin, though.”

Kevin laughed as Bridget gestured for him to sit. He slid into the booth across from her. “Was that your friend that I saw you with before that I passed on the road out there?”

Bridget’s smile faltered, a flicker of unease in her hazel eyes. “Yeah, he’s just an old acquaintance.”

Kevin leaned forward, his voice gentle. “If you’re in trouble, you can tell me. I’m here for you.”

She shook her head, shaggy brown hair brushing her freckled cheeks. “I’m not in trouble. Just being careful.”

He nodded, understanding the need for caution all too well. Lowering his voice to a whisper, Kevin said, “I know you noticed I’d misfiled some things at the station. And I know you never mentioned it to anyone.” His blue eyes met hers. “That’s how I know I can trust you. And you can trust me too.”

Bridget’s gaze softened as she squeezed Kevin’s hand. “After what we went through at Hazel Webster’s place, I know I can trust you. If it wasn’t for you, Jo might not even be alive.”

Warmth spread through Kevin’s chest at her words. It felt as if their shared experience and secrets were forging a bond between them, and he liked that.

Bridget’s lips curved into a smile. “That’s why I’m making you a special surprise.”

Kevin chuckled. “I hope it’s not a fruitcake. I already have one of those.”

Bridget laughed, the sound like a bright melody in the dingy diner. “Nope, a casserole. I’m making one for Jo to take to Garvin McDaniels, and I’m going to double the recipe and make one for you too. I’ll bring it to the station tomorrow afternoon.”

Kevin’s heart swelled with gratitude. Bridget’s thoughtfulness touched him deeply. He knew he would protect her, no matter what secrets she held close. Whatever she was up to, he would keep her confidence. But a part of him longed for her to open up, to share the burden she seemed to carry alone.

“Thanks. I never get anything home cooked. I’m sort of a macaroni-and-cheese-in-the-box kind of guy,” Kevin said.

“Jo figured you’d appreciate some home cooking. That’s why she suggested it when I mentioned I wanted to do something special to thank you for the whole Hazel Webster thing.”

The fact that Jo had suggested it and it wasn’t something Bridget had thought of dampened his spirits a little. Maybe he was making too much of it. Best to slow down and not read too much into that.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the diner’s clatter fading into the background. Kevin wished she would confide in him, but he knew he had to be patient. Bridget would tell him when she was ready.