"He’s picking up speed. Killing faster than he used to." I mumble more to myself than to Tommy as he places his order.
"He’s agitated, all right.” He hands a wad of cash to the vendor before taking the hot dog and immediately burying it inside his mouth. "Did you see the mouth on that cunt…" He shakes his head, his mouth full of food. “I would have throttled that one real good.”
I pass him a look of complete disgust, but it goes unnoticed. "Finish. Chewing. Please."
But he just laughs, bits of hot dog escaping his mouth. That’s about the time I decide to walk away. I hear him shuffling behind me as I cross the street, and I roll my eyes as he grunts through the last of the hot dog. He catches up, wiping grease from his face with his suit jacket, just as my phone rings.
I pull it from my pocket and answer the call. "Hello?"
"Um, is this, uh, Jax?" a familiar voice asks.
"This is him. May I ask who's calling?"
There's a pause before the woman clears her throat. "Miranda. I, uh… met you in that bar the other night…"
Now I’m left without words. I know exactly who she is, though I didn't spend nearly enough time with her, because she hasn't left my mind in the day since I met her. I was hoping she'd call, but I surely wasn't expecting it.
"Miranda? Yes, of course. Sorry, I wasn't really sure if you'd call or not." I swallow hard, fighting back the nerves. "I'm glad you did though."
"Yeah, I don't really do stuff like this and I—" There's a rustle over the line, and I can make out her whispering to someone. "Fine, Janine," Miranda says with a groan. "Look, I'm in Asheville. Do you want to have coffee or something?"
Without a second’s thought, I respond, "Off Fletcher and Richter Streets. There's a little coffee joint down there. It's right by the baseball stadium. Would that work?"
"Yeah. Sure. Um, what time?"
"I gotta drop my partner off at the station. Give me fifteen?" I ask, pushing Tommy away as he's started eavesdropping.
"Yep. See you there."
"I look forward to it," I say before hanging up. Without my even realizing it’s happened, a shit-eating grin has taken up my face.
“What the fuck was that?” Tommy asks, a suspicious look in his eyes.
“Don’t you worry about it, fucker. C’mon, let’s go.”
She's already in the diner when I walk in, seated at the counter with her back to the door and a coffee in her hands. For a fleeting moment, I think about turning around and hitting the liquor store, maybe grabbing some last-minute liquid courage. Instead, I muster up the natural stuff and work my way toward her. When I tap on her shoulder, her head turns.
"Hey, Miranda, sorry I'm a little late. Traffic here can be a pain."
She smiles. "It's fine."
I notice her foot bobbing up and down, a lip between her teeth. She looks more settled today, more relaxed, like whatever was bothering her the other day has been lifted. I like that a lot. She was beautiful when she was sad, but with just a little more light in her eyes, it takes my best not to be a bumbling asshole.
When I realize that I've been standing entirely too long, I put up a palm and motion to the stool beside her. "Mind if I take a seat?"
"Nope." She smiles—just barely—nodding at the stool, and I sit before the nerves take my legs completely out from under me.
I motion to the waitress for a coffee of my own then redirect my attention to Miranda, though her rich hazel eyes are scanning the countertop.
"So…" Words are lost to me. I haven't been on a date, or whatever the hell this is, for a long time. And certainly not sober. I’ve almost forgotten how the fuck to do it. Fucking say something, man! "I gotta say, you were the last person I was expecting on the other end of that call. And you even ignored the three-day rule. Nice!" I say as playfully as I can, though I probably come off sounding more like a total jackass.
She shrugs. "Yeah… something like that.” She brings the coffee cup to her lips, her gaze dropping to the grease-stained floor.
She's so short with me that I can't tell if she's not into me or just quiet. I remind myself that she probably wouldn't have called if it were the former as my sweaty hands fumble with a fresh cup of coffee.
"How much longer do you have here?" I ask.
Her eyes lift back to mine. "A few weeks. But, um, I'm not actually staying here, you know, in Asheville."
"Oh, that's right. So where about are you? I've lived here in North Carolina my whole life."
"In the middle of East-Budda-Fuck up in the mountains. About fifty miles outside of town, I guess. Some place called Devil's Hatchet. Fitting place for an author, huh?"
My eyes go wide, the coffee mug settling back on the counter. There's only one author anyone knows up in those mountains, and he happens to be one of my favorites. "Wait a second. EA Mercer lives up that way. And you said you were here for writing research. So…"
She cracks a grin. "You know the name?"