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Chapter Eighteen

She was halfway to the little café diner when a black car pulled up next to her. Greg's black car. She could just barely make out the sight of those khaki pants. It made her heart pound and her palms sweat, despite the cold.

God. She didn't know what to do with him.

The window rolled down. "Get in."

"You don't even know where I'm going."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not gonna let you walk there. It's twenty degrees outside."

"Fine."

Warm air blasted from the heaters, hitting her in the face as soon as she opened the door. She put her hands to the little vents. It had been cold out there, and she hadn't been wearing any gloves. She didn't look over at Greg, only focusing on her hands. He was quiet beside her. The whole car was silent, besides the sound of blowing air.

"Did you eat breakfast?" she asked.

He was quiet for a long time. "No."

"Did you eat anything last night?"

"What do you think?"

She rolled her eyes, rubbed her hands together. "I'm just asking."

"Well, the answer is no. I didn't eat. But I'm not hungry."

"I'm gonna get a cup of coffee over at Countryside. You might as well come in with me."

"I'm not gonna order anything."

"I didn't ask you to. But it looks like you're my ride, and I'd really rather not drink my coffee all alone, staring wistfully out a window. It's too cliché."

"Fine."

He shifted the car and drove the few minutes that it was to Countryside Diner. The silence was tense. She couldn't tell if he was angry or not. She couldn't even tell if she was angry. These past few days, Claire didn't know what she felt. There was grief, that one was a for sure, but other than that? Contentment, maybe? For a little while, at least. Was it happiness? Was it leaning more towards sadness? She simply didn't know.

He pulled into the parking lot. She could tell that he was looking at her, but she kept her eyes fixed on her hands. They'd come to this diner a lot when they'd been dating. It still looked the same. A little dingy, the pavement cracked, and the signs faded, but she remembered all the good food, the smells of grease and fountain soda. She remembered sitting across from Greg as he made her laugh.

"Come on," she said.

She didn't wait for him, just opening up her door and walking into the diner. She picked a booth, put down her purse, and picked up the menu. But her hands were shaking. It was only a few seconds later before the bell by the door rang and Greg was walking towards her, but they felt like an eternity.

He sat down across from her. All she could see from behind the menu was part of his forehead and his hair. She could just barely make out the tops of his dark brows. There was that wrinkle in his forehead, though.

When the waitress came to their table, Claire ordered a coffee, an egg white omelet with spinach, and the breakfast platter. It came with scrambled eggs, hash browns, pancakes, and four grilled sausages. It was what Greg usually got whenever they'd come here for breakfast. When she finally put down the menu and looked at him, he was frowning.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm not hungry."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not for you."