they needed to be fixed, and for reasons unknown to her, Adam hadn’t done it since they broke over a year ago.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sounds of conversation and laughter wash over her.
It was funny how a small town with so few people could contain so many layers.
There were the people who went to lunch after church on Sunday, and the early risers who went to breakfast before. The people who didn’t go out on a Sunday at all, least of all to church. There were the people who preferred the trendy cafés, or who never went out unless it was to one of the nice Italian restaurants, which might cost more, but made for an infrequent and welcome treat.
There were those who went to Fog in the morning for their coffee, served in cups that were only one size, the brew containing a tangy aftertaste that Rachel just couldn’t acclimate to. And those who went to the Sunset Bay Coffee Company, which had been there for more than twenty years.
J’s attracted the older crowd that had lived in town for years. It attracted the loggers, the ranchers, the fishermen.
And it suited her perfectly.
Because it was where she went to be known only by name.
Her life had changed in the weeks since she’d been down to town.
But she also knew that they wouldn’t have changed here.
When she saw Adam come out from the kitchen, her whole chest lifted. Like a breath had been drawn for her.
They had an unconventional friendship, that much was true. One that existed with a diner counter between the two of them, but that didn’t make it less important than any other friendship.
In fact, over the past few months it had been the most important friendship she had. Because there was a freedom in it.
She’d met him when he’d first come to town—J’s had been a go-to for her to get takeout for years—but it wasn’t until Jacob had gotten cancer that she’d started to rely on the diner, and Adam.
One night after Jacob had gotten discouraging blood work, she’d been too exhausted to cook, and too tired of herself to stay home. She’d gone to town to get hamburgers for herself and Emma, with Jacob sound asleep and with no appetite to speak of, anyway.
And she’d sat down on one of the red stools, and Adam had come over. Asked her about baseball and what she wanted for dinner, and nothing about Jacob’s health. And the profound relief she’d felt to just...talk about something else had been a gift she hadn’t known she’d needed.
She’d started getting dinner from J’s once a week after that.
And for a few moments she’d sit, let someone make food for her, let someone take care of her. Talk to her. Maybe even make her laugh. And then she was able to go back and be the caretaker she had to be.
She wondered if the real reason she hadn’t come here since Jacob died was that she was afraid to see if she’d lost this sanctuary. That Adam would want to look at her gravely and offer platitudes, and she didn’t think she could stand platitudes from Adam. Not when he’d never given them before.
“Rachel,” he said, a slow smile crossing his face. “It’s been a while.”
Her shoulders sagged. Her forehead relaxed. Eyebrows lowered.
Just looking at him was comforting. Made her want to settle back into that old routine. Sitting down, waiting for food, talking about nothing. It was funny that she found Adam soothing, because she didn’t know that he was innately soothing as a human.
He was sort of hard-edged and crabby, which was at odds with his appearance. Bright blue eyes, dark blond hair and beard, and an athletic build. He looked approachable. But he could be gruff, and it had taken quite a while for her to work up a rapport with him.
“Yeah,” she said. “I need a cheeseburger. Really bad.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “And a side salad, I assume?”
Some of the weight she’d carried down the mountain with her lifted away. It was always like this. A mini vacation from her life. From herself.
She got to pretend, for just a while, that things were okay, and she couldn’t do that with her family.
“You know where you can take your side salad and shove it,” she said, feeling the first real smile tug at the corners of her mouth in a good while.
“French fries, then.” He started writing before she confirmed it. But