Ethan looked at the clock on his dashboard. 10:47 p.m. His jeans were still soaked. His shirt was beyond saving. And he probably smelled like wet dog and motor oil.
He typed, "I'll be there in 10 minutes. I'll order coffee. " He started the engine, and this time when the check engine light came on, he just laughed. The diner was called Rosies, and it looked exactly like every other late night Seattle diner. Vinyl booths patched with duct tape, fluorescent lights that hum too loud, a jukebox in the corner that probably hadn't worked since 1987. The smell of coffee and grease hung in the air like a permanent fixture.
Ethan spotted Viven immediately. She was sitting in a corner booth, still wearing the expensive coat, but looking somehow different than she had on the roadside, less guarded maybe, or just exhausted. Her hair was starting to dry, curling slightly at the ends, and she'd wiped away most of her makeup. She looked up when he walked in, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Then she smiled.
A real smile, not the almost smile from earlier. "You made it," she said. Barely. Ethan slid into the booth across from her, very aware of how out of place he probably looked. I should have changed first.
If you'd changed, I would have known you were trying too hard. She pushed a mug of coffee across the table toward him. Black. You seem like a black coffee person. Good guess.
He wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into his cold fingers. So, this is weird, right? Extremely weird, but also kind of perfect. Viven finished. Yeah.
A waitress appeared, looking deeply uninterested in anything except taking their order. What'll it be? Vivien glanced at Ethan. I'm getting a burger. The biggest, greasiest burger they have.
I've been eating salmon and quinoa at business dinners for 3 weeks, and I'm done. Two burgers, Ethan said. And fries. The waitress grunted and disappeared. They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the fluorescent lights filling the space between them.
Outside, rain continued to assault the windows, turning the city into a watercolor blur. "I Googled you," Vivian said finally. Ethan's eyebrows rose. "Yeah. " Cole's Auto Repair, Georgetown District, three-star average on Google. Most complaints about the location and the building condition.
That's fair. The building is a dump. The five-star reviews all say you're the most honest mechanic in Seattle. Those people are lying to make me feel better. Viven laughed, and it was a good sound, genuine.
Do you always deflect compliments? Do you always research people before having coffee with them? Always. She wrapped her hands around her own mug. It's a habit.
Know your opponent before you sit down at the table. Is that what I am? An opponent? I don't know what you are yet. Fair enough.
The waitress returned with two massive burgers and a mountain of fries. They ate in comfortable silence for a while. The kind of silence that didn't need to be filled with small talk or performance. "So," Ethan said eventually, wiping grease from his fingers. "Investment banker? " Vivian paused midbite.
"What? That's what Sarah told me. You're an investment banker. " "I'm not an investment banker. " "Then what are you? " She sat down her burger very carefully. I run a company. What kind of company?
Manufacturing industrial components mostly. Some tech development. We operate in 17 countries and employ about 40,000 people. Ethan stared at her. You're joking.
I don't joke about my company. Hart Industries, he said slowly, pieces clicking into place. You're that Vivian Hart. Guilty. Jesus Christ.
Is that a problem? Ethan sat back in the booth trying to process this. Viven Hart, he'd seen her name in the news, on business websites, probably on the side of buildings he'd driven past without paying attention. She wasn't just successful. She was stratospherically, impossibly, almost obscenely successful, and he'd made her hold an umbrella while he fixed her car in the rain.
"I think I might throw up," he said. Vivien's expression shuddered immediately. I see. No, not because he ran a hand through his hair. I just fixed a billionaire's car and charged her nothing.
My accountant would kill me. She relaxed slightly. You don't have an accountant. How do you know? Because you operate a three-star repair shop in Georgetown and your truck's check engine light has been on for at least a month.
3 weeks. Even worse. They looked at each other across the table and then they were both laughing. Real helpless laughter that made the waitress glance over with a look of deep concern. This is insane.
Ethan managed finally. Completely insane, Vivien agreed. You know I showed up to meet you in muddy jeans because I spent an hour fixing your car, right? Yes. And you know I own a failing repair shop and I'm about 3 months away from foreclosure, right?
I assumed something like that. Yes. And you're still sitting here. Viven met his eyes, and her expression was suddenly serious. You fixed my car in the rain without knowing who I was, without wanting anything from me.
Do you know how rare that is? Probably pretty common if you hang out with normal people. I don't hang out with normal people anymore. She picked up a fry, examined it like it held secrets. Everyone wants something.
A contract, an investment, an introduction. Even the people I'm supposed to trust. Especially the people I'm supposed to trust. That sounds lonely. It is.
She ate the fry. But it's also safe. You can't be disappointed if you never expect anything real. Ethan thought about his own life. The shop that was slowly dying.
The electricity bill he couldn't pay. Sophie asking him every morning if he was okay. The weight of trying to be enough for everyone while feeling like he was failing at everything. I get that. He said quietly.