My fingers tap against the water glass. “Maybe not running from, but... trying to outgrow something.”
She doesn’t press. Instead, she nods and takes another sip of her coffee. People are staring in our direction.
“Fair enough,” she says finally. “We’ve all got our stories.”
Her acceptance makes me wonder if she has her own past tucked away. Something about the way she carries herself—shoulders straight but not rigid, eyes that see more than she lets on.
I follow her gaze. From our booth, I can see most of the town center—the hardware store, the library with its faded brick, the park where earlier I’d watched children climb on equipment that looked unchanged since the eighties.
“I can see the appeal of small towns,” I say, and I’m surprised to find I mean it. After the chaos of the last year, the predictability feels like a gift.
“Lawson Ridge has a way of collecting people,” she finally says. “Most folks here have a story they don’t tell right away.”
For the first time in months, I feel something loosen in my chest. Not healing, not yet, but the possibility of it.
“Including you?” I venture, watching her carefully.
Ellie’s smile turns enigmatic. She fiddles with her napkin, folding it into smaller and smaller triangles. “Maybe especially me.”
Before I can respond, the bell above the diner door jingles. Ellie’s eyes flick up, and something in her expression shifts—a tightening around the mouth, a wariness that wasn’t there before.
“Evening, Chief,” calls the waitress from behind the counter.
I turn to see a tall man in a police uniform scanning the room. His gaze lands on our booth, and he nods slightly. Not at me, but at Ellie.
“Friend of yours?” I ask.
“Miles Garrett. Town police chief.” She takes another sip of coffee, but I notice her knuckles have whitened around the mug. “And my ex-husband.”
That explains the tension. The chief makes his way to the counter, but his presence seems to fill the diner.
“Complicated?” I ask.
“Isn’t it always?” She sets her mug down with deliberate care. “Small town. Can’t avoid your ghosts when they patrol the streets.”
I know something about ghosts. Mine are just far away—for now.
“How long were you married?”
“Eight years. Divorced for three.” She glances at her watch. “Listen, I should probably get going. Early shift tomorrow.”
I sense there’s more to it than that, but I’ve just met her. No right to pry. “Let me get the check and we’ll go home.”
“I’m gonna run to the restroom real quick.”
As she turns to leave, Miles steps away from the counter. They pass each other in the narrow aisle, but no words are spoken. Ellie disappears, and he’s watching me. He doesn’t approach, just nods once returning to his conversation with the waitress.
I try not to stare, but there’s something in his posture that draws attention—authority wrapped in casual confidence. The waitress laughs at something he says, her hand briefly touching his arm. Small town dynamics on full display.
When Ellie returns, her face is composed, but I notice she’s reapplied her lipstick. A small armor.
“Ready?” she asks, not looking toward the counter.
Outside, the evening air has cooled. Main Street is quiet now, most businesses closed except the diner and a bar down the block where neon beer signs glow in the window.
“Thanks for coming to dinner.”
“Of course. Though I should warn you being the chief’s ex-wife comes with its own special category of town gossip.”
