Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
LuLu’s Diner was a fever dream of bohemian charm and cheeky brothel vibes.
Clotheslines crisscrossed the ceiling high above, strung from corner to corner and clipped with vintage lingerie in every size, color, and era imaginable.
Pink ruffled knickers fluttered above the booths like odd little flags of rebellion, making newcomers laugh and locals roll their eyes fondly.
The plates didn’t match. Neither did the silverware.
Every cup, saucer, and bowl looked like it had been rescued from a thrift store shelf, adding to the place’s haphazard personality.
According to town legend, the lingerie line started after a few drunk patrons left behind their underthings during late-night “sober-up” meals.
LuLu decided to lean into the chaos. Now, it was part of the charm—a conversation piece hanging over every table.
Brandi loved it. Loved the mismatched comfort, the bold weirdness, and the fact that LuLu served the best damn pot roast in five counties.
The door jingled as she stepped inside, Killer close behind her. She didn’t get two steps before her body locked up.
At the counter, hunched slightly over a steaming plate, sat Tool. Even with his back to her, she knew it was him. Broad shoulders. Wavey hair. That way he rested one elbow on the counter like the world didn’t weigh him down anymore.
Killer nearly walked into her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, then followed her gaze. His mouth tightened. “We can go somewhere else.”
Brandi didn’t move for a breath. Her stomach twisted—not in fear, but in old, unresolved ache. Then she straightened her spine, rolled her shoulders, and turned toward the nearest open booth.
“No,” she said evenly. “I want pot roast. And LuLu’s has the best.”
Killer gave her a look but didn’t argue. As they slid into the booth, Tool still hadn’t turned around. Maybe he hadn’t noticed them. Maybe he had and just didn’t care.
Either way, Brandi wasn’t here for him. At least, that’s what she told herself as she reached for the laminated menu she already knew by heart.
Tool didn’t look their way—not at first. He stayed hunched at the counter, finishing his meal with the kind of focus that made it clear he wasn’t in a rush.
Brandi kept her back straight and her gaze on the menu she didn’t need, pretending she wasn’t tracking his every movement in her peripheral vision.
Killer kept the conversation light, talking about LuLu’s ridiculous coffee mugs and the mismatched silverware, but she could hear the same edge in his voice that she felt in her chest.
Eventually, Tool pushed his plate forward, dropped a few bills on the counter, and stood. Brandi heard the stool scrape and the bell over the door chime as he approached—but instead of leaving, he stopped beside their booth.
“Afternoon,” he said, his voice low, steady. That familiar grit made her fingers curl under the table.
Killer looked up first. “Hey, brother.”
Tool nodded once. “Didn’t expect to see you two here.”
Killer gave a half-smile. “Brandi wanted pot roast. And we dropped her car off at the garage on the way in.”
That caught Tool’s attention. His gaze shifted to her. Direct. Focused. “You bought a car?”
Brandi lifted her eyes slowly, already regretting this conversation. “Yeah.”
“What kind?”
“A Bug,” Killer offered casually. “Old one, but clean. She’ll make it shine.”
Tool kept his eyes on her. “You brought it to our garage?”
“We did,” she answered, voice calm even though her pulse wasn’t. “Wrench is giving it a once-over.”
A pause. Barely a beat, but heavy all the same.
Tool nodded. “Good.”
His fingers tapped the table once—nothing urgent, just enough to leave the ghost of his presence behind.
“If anything’s off with it,” he said, tone dropping to something quieter, “you know where I am.”
Then he was gone.
The bell over the door jingled again, sunlight spilling into the diner as Tool stepped out. Brandi sat back against the booth, her breath leaving her slowly, controlled.
Killer didn’t say anything right away. Then, with just a hint of dry humor, “You sure you don’t want to throw your pot roast at him?”
She smirked without looking up. “Not yet.”