5:36.
He had planned to close at six.
Evergreen Café was fifteen minutes away in good weather.
Twenty-five tonight.
He still needed to shower.
Change.
Convince himself that sitting across from Sophia Lauron for one hour did not mean betraying Claire, replacing Claire, forgetting Claire, or promising anything to anyone.
It was coffee.
Dinner maybe.
Two adults talking.
That was all.
Jake stood.
“Fine.”
Avery grinned.
“You’re going?”
“I said I would.”
“You should wear the black sweater.”
“I own other clothes.”
“The black sweater makes you look less tired.”
Jake stared at her.
“I’m raising a monster.”
“You made me.”
“Your mother contributed.”
Avery smiled at that.
Jake did too.
That was another thing grief eventually allowed.
Claire’s name could be funny again.
Not always.
But sometimes.
By six-thirty, Jake had showered in the tiny apartment behind Morrison Auto & Tire, changed into dark jeans and the black sweater Avery had selected, then ruined the effect by putting his brown work jacket back over it because Montana did not care about blind dates.
Avery stayed with Jake’s older sister, Leah, who arrived carrying a casserole and entirely too much amusement.
“You nervous?”
Jake reached for his keys.
“No.”
Leah looked at Avery.
Avery said, “He changed twice.”
“Traitor.”
Leah leaned against the doorframe.
“Maya likes this woman.”
“Maya also thinks adding cinnamon to chili is acceptable.”
“That was one time.”
“Once is enough.”
Leah smiled.
“Jake.”
He stopped.
She softened.
“You don’t have to like her.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to go on a second date.”
“I know.”
“And if you do like her, that isn’t a crime either.”
Jake looked away.
Leah knew him too well.
She had sat beside him through Claire’s final weeks.
She knew which parts of grief had healed and which parts he protected because healing them felt dangerously similar to letting go.
“I’m going for coffee.”
“Good.”
“Maybe dinner.”
“Wild.”
Jake opened the door.
Avery called after him.
“Don’t talk about carburetors the whole time!”
Jake looked back.
“What if she asks?”
“She won’t.”
“Then how do you know she’s right for me?”
Avery groaned.
Jake walked out smiling.
The smile lasted exactly eleven minutes.
Then he saw the hazard lights.
A black Mercedes sat half on the shoulder of the mountain road, angled slightly toward a snowbank. Its hood was raised. Snow had accumulated across the roof and windshield. A woman stood beside the front fender holding a phone toward the sky as if better reception might descend from the clouds if she asked correctly.
Jake slowed.
He glanced at the dashboard clock.
6:47.
He could keep driving.
He was already going to be close to late.
The woman had an expensive car.
Probably roadside assistance.
Maybe someone was already coming.
Jake drove another fifty feet.
Then muttered something Avery was not allowed to repeat and pulled onto the shoulder.
He backed carefully until his truck sat behind the Mercedes with hazard lights flashing.
The woman turned.
Even through the snow, Jake noticed she was badly dressed for the situation.
Not badly dressed in general.
The opposite.
She looked like she had stepped out of an expensive winter campaign.
A long chocolate-brown faux-fur coat wrapped around her body, its oversized collar framing a face that was striking enough to make Jake immediately look away because staring would be rude. Beneath the open coat he caught a glimpse of a fitted black dress. Her chestnut-brown hair fell in thick waves nearly to her waist, already dusted with snow. Gold earrings. Black heeled boots that belonged on a hotel terrace, not an icy mountain shoulder.
She also looked terrified.
That part mattered more.
Jake got out.
“You okay?”
She exhaled visibly.
“My car died.”
“I gathered.”