𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 & 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 ━ girl meets world²

18│INTERLUDE : IF SHE WOULD'VE BEEN FAITHFUL

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❛ ʟᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ & ʟᴀᴄᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ɪɴᴛᴇʀʟᴜᴅᴇ : ɪғ sʜᴇ
 ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ғᴀɪᴛʜғᴜʟ ꒱

❝ IF SHE COULD HAVE BEEN TRUE
 THEN I WOULD'VE BEEN CHEATED, I
WOULD NEVER KNOW REAL LOVE, I
WOULD'VE MISSED OUT ON YOU ❞

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It had been a hell of a night. 

Scratch that— it had been a hell of a month, of a year, ever since he'd found out that his wife had been cheating him. Not in the having-an-affair-outside-of-marriage way, either; that he could have handled. His accountant had been suspicious of her since the beginning, but Janet was sneaky and had funneled away his money into accounts of her own before they could catch her. Now it was too late: she'd up and left without so much as a clue to where she'd gone and he was stuck trying to track her down so they could get a divorce.

The night was gloomy and rainy beyond the warmth of his fogged-up taxi windows. He'd taken a last-minute trip to New York that he could now ill-afford, but he'd just had to get away; he couldn't stand another minute stuck in that stuffy old house that could only speak of ghosts and loneliness. As the cab trundled slowly along the water-slicked roads, Jack Montacute stared out past the glass panes to the blurry streets beyond. There was the odd, lone figure huddled on the sidewalk or under an awning, but most pedestrians were either warm in their homes or cozy in a restaurant somewhere.

The bright lights of a diner came into view when they turned on the next street. The sign read Nighthawk Diner, and the yellow glow of the lights inside drew him in like a moth to a flame. Leaning forward, he asked the driver, "can you pull over? Here is fine."

Nodding, the driver nosed the car into the next lane and stopped at the side of the road as soon as he could. After paying the fare— which, normally, he wouldn't balk at, but the feeling of the meager bills in his wallet leaving his hands made him wince now— he stepped out into the drizzly evening. He hadn't been expecting a downpour and hadn't brought anything with him for his last-minute trip, so he was soaked through instantly.

A slight ding of the diner's bell announced his entrance, which went mercifully unacknowledged by the other patrons. He knew that he must look exceptionally bedraggled with his sodden, rumpled suit, unkempt hair that was plastered to his face and dark eye-bags. Jack didn't even have the energy to go up to the register and decide on what to order; he just went to the nearest seat and flopped down in it, exhausted.

He rested his head on his arms, which were folded on the table. The darkness that surrounded his vision was a comfort and paired with the quiet murmur of diner-goers, he was tempted to fall asleep right there.

The faint clink of something being set down next to his ear made him look up blearily. With his unfocused gaze, the blonde woman bringing him coffee and a slice of pie looked nothing short of an angel. Blinking to get her into view, he looked up at her in awe, still finding her beautiful— even more so now that he could see her properly. She had short, blonde hair that curled around her shoulders, the front parts held back by a clip. Her wispy bangs framed her brown eyes, which were as warm as the coffee that she set down before him.

Clearing his throat to rid it of the persisting raspiness, Jack mumbled, "I-I didn't order this. . ."

"It's alright," she answered kindly. "It's on the house; you look like you could use it."