The highways of San Marta rolled around their car as they drove down the road. Miranda couldn't shake the thought that continuously clung to her thoughts that morning. “Do you really think Lloyd would go for it?”
“I think so, if you're sure.” After a long night of sweat and sex, topped off with a morning of packing, this was the last topic Tyler wanted to get his head to form around. A straight shot down the highway and they already pulled off an exit. At the top of the ramp, a small diner squatted with a shiny exterior and a few cars in its lot. A semi-truck stuck out from behind the diner, as if it were a child trying to hide behind a skinny tree trunk. “Can we talk about this after we eat?”
“Sure,” Miranda replied softly, as they pulled into the parking lot of the diner. She glanced around the lot, keeping an eye out for any recognizable vehicle or motorcycle. Nothing pinged across her inner alarm system. Tyler didn't seem worried at all as he climbed out of their car and headed for the diner. Miranda scurried after him, her muscles protesting to movement after a night of 'exercise.'
Sleep gnawed at Miranda's thoughts as she slumped into the diner booth. Tyler took up a position across from her, looking as tired as she felt. He yawned, covering his mouth with a hand as he stretched his arms over his head.
Coy thoughts flared to life in her thoughts. Miranda grinned as she inclined her head to him, “Tired?”
“You should know,” he replied, the corners of his lips lifted into a smirk.
Heat kissed across her cheeks and she averted her gaze. Images of last night danced across her thoughts, teasing her with tingling sensations. Why couldn't every day be like this? Waking up in the same bed, sharing a breakfast, letting the aches of last night constantly remind them of their time together. Satisfaction steamed through Miranda's thoughts. Heat licked hotly across her cheeks, though. Her gaze flicked to Tyler, wondering how he'd react to hearing the thoughts that echoed through her head.
Her personal embarrassment interrupted as a wizened waitress whisked up to the table. She slapped down a couple laminated menus, coughed out the specials, and took their drink orders. Then, the waitress spun away, her apron strings slapping against her rotund backside. The two gleaned over the menus, though neither was hungry.
Both harbored worries concerning their situation. No clear-cut leads, other than Francesca, left them in a grey limbo zone.
Anxiety raked over Tyler's nerves. He needed to release some nervous energy. As he scooted out of the booth, he answered Miranda's unspoken question, “I'm going to go take a whiz.”
“I told you, you should've gone before we left,” she teased, though the tone didn't carry into her words. Somehow, the thought of waking every day in Tyler's arms sifted into her thoughts and taunted her. A small part of knew it'd never happen. Not with him.
“Coulda, shoulda, woulda,” he chuckled as he headed for the restroom.
She watched him swagger down the row of tables. Something ached in her thoughts. Something that wanted to share every breakfast with him. She shook the thought from her head and dragged her eyes back to the menu. This was not the time. After they took Pete down, they could discuss where they'd both go and what became of their…relationship. Miranda fiddled with peeling corner of her menu and focused on the menu, considering her options.
“Excuse me,” someone tapped on the end of her table.
She started and tore her gaze away from the menu. Francesca Munoz stood at the edge of the table. She was draped in a rich purple dress and gold jewelry. Miranda suddenly felt a twinge of self-consciousness attack her as she sat in her large t-shirt and jeans. The woman tugged her purse strap as Miranda eyed her. “Miss Munoz.”
“I-I think I was a bit rash yesterday,” the woman stuttered. Her gaze, shamefully, went around the patrons of the diner before drifting to her feet. “Would you mind talking?”
“Sure, take a seat.” Miranda motioned to the opposite side of the booth.
Francesca eyed the booth with a mixture of disdain and uncertainty. Her gaze swung around the diner before she leaned closer to Miranda. Her voice dropped down low, “I was thinking we could talk in my car, if that's all right. There are a lot of people here.”
“Sure,” Miranda nodded. She knew Francesca would change her mind. The woman needed help out of her situation. Her gaze caught the flashing sign to the restrooms and she suddenly remembered herself, “Do you mind if we wait for Tyler?”
Francesca's eyes slid to the restrooms. She pressed her lips together, but seemed on the verge of scowling. Her eyes flickered back to Miranda. An uncertain awkwardness radiated from her words, as if there were something she didn't want to say. “I'd like to talk to you, alone. Just, some things I don't want to say in front of him.”
“O-okay,” Miranda's mind momentarily warred. Tyler would be out any second. Surely, the woman's talk could wait until then. But she didn't want to talk with him present. Miranda wondered why. Looking at Francesca, and knowing what domains were tied to her name, Miranda could guess. Quietly, she slid out of the booth and padded after Francesca. She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Tyler. She didn't want him to come out, not knowing where she had gone.
* * *
Tyler's gait slowed as he returned to his table. Emptiness hung in the air and chilled his bones. His eyebrows furrowed as he glanced around the diner. Had she gone to the restroom? For a split second, his heart thrummed in his chest. Or was her disappearance more sinister?
“Just missed her, hon.” The old waitress bustled to the table, arms laden with dirty dishes. She paused by Tyler, words taking on a nasally unpleasant tone, “She left with the town tart.”
“What?” He spun toward the waitress, his eyebrows furrowed.
The waitress wove a scowl between her syllables as she intentionally mispronounced the name, “Fransessca Munose.”
“Shit!”
The waitress barely had a chance to blink before Tyler shoved his way out the front door. The only thing left in his wake was the chime of the doorbell. She stared at where he last stood, eyebrows raised. She grunted to herself and shrugged her shoulders. Kids these days were an odd bunch. She bustled into the kitchen after letting the hostess know table eighteen free for anyone who needed it.