Chapter 2 — Shelter from the Storm

Maren

The rain came suddenly, sweeping across the windshield in heavy sheets and swallowing the highway in a blur of water and headlights. Maren pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the storm cascade down the darkened landscape. The soft hum of the truck’s engine felt oddly comforting, a steady presence against the chaos outside, though the tension knotted in her chest refused to fully unwind.

Atlas gripped the wheel, his knuckles pale under the dim glow of the dashboard lights. His focus didn’t waver as he scanned the road ahead, the wipers working overtime to clear his view. Maren stole a glance at him—silent, stoic as ever. There was something about the way he held the wheel, fingers firm but steady, that made her wonder how much weight he carried under that calm exterior.

“Grace’s Diner’s up ahead,” he said, breaking the heavy silence. His voice was low and even, though it carried the kind of certainty that made Maren sit up straighter. “We’ll stop there until this clears.”

She nodded, grateful but masking it with a casual shrug. “Sure. Beats drowning out here. Unless you’ve got superhuman gills I don’t know about.”

A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth—amusement, maybe—disappeared as quickly as it came. His eyes remained fixed on the faint neon glow cutting through the rain, the diner’s sign flickering like a tiny beacon in the storm. The truck slowed, tires hissing on the wet pavement, and Atlas guided them into the gravel lot with unerring precision.

Maren stepped out first, wincing as cold rain soaked her jacket and jeans in seconds. She slung her duffel bag over one shoulder and jogged toward the diner’s entrance, her boots splashing through shallow puddles. Inside, the warmth hit her like a wave, carrying with it the scents of coffee, bacon, and something sweeter—pie, maybe. For a moment, she hesitated just inside the door. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag as her eyes darted around, scanning the room. The place felt too safe, too welcoming, and some part of her braced for it to vanish the moment she let her guard down.

The diner was small but inviting, with mismatched chairs and faded photographs covering the walls. A jukebox hummed softly in the corner, playing an old country tune she couldn’t name. Behind the counter stood a woman with curly silver hair and a colorful apron tied over her blouse. She looked up as the doorbell jingled and smiled, her warmth cutting through Maren’s lingering unease.

“Come on in, honey, before you catch your death,” the woman said, already reaching for a towel to offer her.

Before Maren could respond, Atlas stepped in behind her, shaking rain from his jacket. His presence seemed to fill the room, and the woman’s smile widened instantly.

“Well, would you look at that. Atlas Reed, braving the storm to grace my diner,” she teased, her tone gentle but knowing.

“Grace,” he said with a small nod. His voice softened just enough to hint at familiarity, though he didn’t elaborate.

Maren’s curiosity flickered, but she stayed quiet, accepting the towel from Grace and running it over her damp hair. Grace’s eyes shifted to her, warm and perceptive, the kind that seemed to take in everything without judgment.

“And who might you be?”

“Maren,” she replied, managing a faint smile. “Thanks for this. It’s, uh, wet out there.”

Grace chuckled, the sound soft and soothing. “That’s an understatement. Well, Maren, you’re in good hands now. Coffee’s hot, pie’s fresh, and there’s a booth right there with your name on it.”

Before Maren could protest, Grace was already bustling behind the counter, pouring coffee into two thick ceramic mugs. Atlas moved quietly to the booth Grace had indicated, his stride unhurried but deliberate. He slid into the seat closest to the wall, leaving the side facing the door open, and Maren hesitated. She glanced around the room again, part of her still unsure if she belonged in a place that felt so rooted. Finally, she slid into the seat across from him, careful not to let her bag slip from her shoulder.

The coffee arrived moments later, along with two plates of pie: one with a flaky crust bursting with cherries, the other a dense slice of pecan.

“On the house,” Grace said with a wink. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Maren cradled the coffee mug in her hands, letting its warmth seep into her chilled fingers. She took a small bite of the cherry pie, and her eyes closed briefly at the sweetness. It was the first real food she’d had since yesterday, and it almost made her forget the rain pounding against the windows.

Across from her, Atlas ate methodically, his movements precise as always. He didn’t look up, but his presence felt steady, like the low rumble of the truck’s engine. Maren watched him for a moment, searching for something unspoken.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence, “you’re a regular here, huh?”

Atlas’s hazel eyes flicked up briefly, meeting hers before sliding back to his plate. “Stop here when I’m passing through.”

She leaned back slightly, studying him. “You don’t strike me as the small-talk type. Grace seemed pretty happy to see you, though.”

He paused, taking another sip of coffee before answering in his usual clipped tone. “Grace talks enough for both of us.”

Maren smirked. “I can see that.”

The jukebox switched songs, and for a while, the only sounds were the faint twang of a guitar and the rain hammering against the diner’s roof. Maren’s gaze wandered over the photographs on the wall—smiling families, truckers posing beside their rigs, and a much younger Grace with a man she guessed was her husband. The photos told stories she’d never know, but their presence felt grounding, like this place had soaked up years of life and held it close. For a fleeting moment, she imagined herself in one of those pictures, rooted in a place like this. The thought both warmed and unsettled her.

“It’s nice here,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Atlas followed her gaze but stayed silent. His hand curled around his coffee cup, the tension in his fingers betraying just how much he was holding back. She wondered what he saw in those photographs—if they reminded him of something he’d lost or something he’d never had to begin with.

Grace returned then, refilling their coffee with a practiced ease. “So, what’s your story, Maren?” she asked, her voice light but carrying a weighty kind of curiosity.

Maren hesitated, her fingers tightening around the mug. She glanced at Atlas, who was watching her now with that same unreadable expression.

“Not much to tell,” she said finally, keeping her tone breezy. “Just… traveling. Seeing where the road takes me.”

Grace tilted her head slightly, her silver curls catching the warm light. “Sounds like you’re looking for something.”

Maren forced a smile. “Aren’t we all?”

Grace didn’t press, her gaze kind but knowing. Instead, she shifted the conversation to lighter topics—how the storm had been brewing all week, the challenges of running a diner in a town most people only passed through. Maren listened, laughing occasionally at Grace’s stories about unruly truckers and burnt pies, but her mind wandered. She noticed how Atlas’s shoulders eased slightly as Grace talked, the tension she’d come to associate with him softening in this space. It made her wonder what it would take to break through the rest of his walls.

When Grace stepped away to tend to another customer, Maren leaned forward, her voice low. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

Atlas met her gaze directly this time, his hazel eyes steady. “Don’t see the point in talking just to talk.”

“Fair enough,” she said, though her lips quirked in a faint smile. “Must make life on the road pretty quiet.”

He shrugged, offering nothing more, and she let the conversation drop. Some silences, she thought, held more weight than words ever could.

The storm began to ease, the rain shifting to a soft patter against the windows. Grace returned with a worn towel, tossing it onto their table. “For your hair, honey. No sense in catching a cold.”

Maren smiled, this time without forcing it. “Thanks.”

As they prepared to leave, Maren felt a strange reluctance to step back into the night. The diner, with its warmth and laughter, had offered a fleeting sense of safety she hadn’t felt in years. She wondered if Atlas felt it too, though his stoic demeanor gave nothing away.

“Take care of each other,” Grace said as they headed for the door, her words carrying more weight than their casual tone suggested.

Outside, the air was sharp and cool, the storm’s edge retreating into the distance. As they climbed back into the truck, Maren glanced at Atlas, searching briefly for something she couldn’t quite name.

“Grace is something else,” she said softly.

Atlas nodded, his gaze on the road ahead. “Yeah. She is.”

And with that, they were off again, the highway stretching endlessly before them.