Made in Moonlight

One

Being on the run sucks.

No, seriously. I haven't had a shower in days, I'm running out of cash, and I've been walking for miles.

"Sucks" is an understatement.

I stand at the edge of the highway, debating if I should risk hitchhiking, or if I should start begging for bus money.

My feet ache. I've been walking for hours. I'm lost, and I have no idea where I would even find a bus this time of night.

My decision is made for me. I jam a thumb into the air and wait.

Almost immediately, a truck slows down, and I glimpse the man in the driver's seat. He smiles a gummy grin, and his front bumper is covered in stickers like "I heart boobies." I shudder.

Begging it is.

I drop my arm and turn back to the gas station, leaving my dignity on the road.

I've never been out as rural as this area. Hell, I don't even know what the nearest town is. Beside the gas station and its attached diner, there's nothing here but miles of untouched forest.

It's rural, but not far enough.

Bianca will find me here. I know she will, so I keep walking until I'm inside the warm lights of the attached diner.

There are only three people in here, which is already more than I expected. One person in a hoodie, tucked away in the corner of the diner; a thin, willowy man sitting near the door; and the only front-of-house employee who seems to be almost dozing away.

I beeline for the employee. He seems young. Maybe I can charge my phone while I beg for cash.

God, this is what I've come to, huh?

"Hi," I say, trying to conjure my sweetest smile. He stares down at me with dead eyes and says nothing. It almost falters me. If I hadn't just gone through the week that I've had, I probably would turn around and never come back.

But I've seen worse things than an unfriendly waiter this week, so I swallow my pride, and keep smiling.

"Any idea where the nearest bus stop is?" I ask.

He shrugs wordlessly. Great. This was a bad start.

"Well, do you mind if I charge my phone?" I hold up my dead phone as if to prove a point.

"That's against restaurant policy," he says, his voice as dead as his expression. I sigh.

"Look," I say, slapping a hand down on the counter. "Can I borrow a few bucks? Anything will help."

He stares at me with those hollow eyes and stamps out the last remaining sparks of hope within me. "Are you going to order something, or am I going to have to call the cops?"

I hesitate. It's warm in here and I'd love to snuggle up in a cushioned booth until sunrise, but I only have a few dollars left. It's not worth it, I decide, but before I can say anything, a voice interrupts.

"She's with me."

I jump, turning to find the person in the hoodie standing a foot away. Now that he's standing, I can see just how he towers over me. He must be a hockey player or a football player, judging by his height and the broadness of his shoulders.

The first thing that hits me is his scent. Not cologne, but something more organic, something earthy. He smells like he's bathed in pine needles, and— something else I can't put my finger on. Whatever it is, I want to lean closer. I want to bottle it and drink it.

Even more, I want to see him better.

His hoodie is pulled just over his brow, shadowing his features, but I can see the sharpness of his eyes as they train on me. A bright blue, like I've never seen before. His stare doesn't waver, even as I meet his eye—almost like a challenge of sorts.