Chapter 3 — Waiting in the Storm

Kate

The rain battered the shop’s small, grimy windows with renewed ferocity, each droplet catching the flicker of the neon sign outside. Kate sat rigidly in one of the mismatched chairs in the waiting area, her back straighter than a ruler, her low heels pressed neatly together. The room—a chaotic mess of scuffed linoleum, clunky vending machines, and oil-stained air—was an affront to her sense of order. She clenched her hands in her lap, her fingers digging faint crescents into her palms, as though sheer willpower could impose some structure onto the chaos around her.

Her gaze darted to her wristwatch for the seventh time in what felt like an eternity. Its steady ticking felt louder, sharper, almost accusatory. Every second brought her closer to missing the meeting she’d spent the week perfecting. It wasn’t just the thought of missing it—it was the idea of someone else taking over, fumbling through her carefully constructed presentation. The image made her stomach churn, her mind flashing back to that disastrous urban planning presentation years ago when a teammate had botched her work. She’d stood frozen then, unable to fix it, and the echoes of that humiliation lingered still. No, she wouldn’t let chaos win again. But here she was, stuck in a shop where even the crooked, buzzing vending machine seemed to mock her.

Her eyes darted around the room in restless frustration. The smell of rubber and oil clung to the air, mingling with the faint metallic clatter of tools from the garage. The television mounted on the wall played static-heavy local news, the image crackling as if it, too, were a victim of the storm. Her world felt as disheveled as this place, and she hated how out of control it made her feel.

Her gaze landed on the man sitting across from her—Nate, she thought he’d said his name was. He sprawled in his chair like the chaos didn’t touch him, his long legs stretched out lazily, boots leaving wet streaks on the linoleum. A small leather notebook rested in his hands, his pen moving in idle loops across the page. Occasionally, he tapped the pen against his lip, his green eyes distant, dreamy, as if the storm and the shop were worlds away. His damp hair stuck up in messy tufts, and his relaxed posture radiated a kind of careless ease she found utterly infuriating.

Unable to stop herself, she spoke. “Are you always this… relaxed about being stuck in the middle of nowhere during a storm?” Her voice carried a sharper edge than she’d intended, but she didn’t try to soften it.

Nate glanced up slowly, deliberately, as though savoring the moment. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Are you always this uptight about things you can’t control?”

Her jaw tightened reflexively. “I’m not uptight,” she snapped, straightening further in her chair as if posture alone could prove her point.

“Right,” Nate drawled, clicking his pen closed with a maddening air of nonchalance. “That’s why you’ve been staring at your watch like you’re trying to bend time to your will. Very zen of you.”

“It’s called checking the time,” she retorted, her fingers wrapping tightly around the strap of her bag. “Some of us have schedules to keep.”

“Schedules,” he repeated, nodding sagely. “Got it. Very important. Very serious. But maybe the universe doesn’t care about your schedule, huh? Maybe this little rainstorm is the universe telling you to chill.”

Kate’s grip on her bag tightened. There was something about his tone—light, teasing—that made her feel ridiculous for caring. She drew in a sharp breath, her frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “And what about you?” she shot back. “Don’t you have anywhere better to be?”

“Not really,” he said with an easy shrug, tucking his notebook into his jacket. “Besides, I like this place. It’s got character. Mismatched chairs, snacks that survived the Cold War, Jerry’s charming disposition—what’s not to love?”

She stared at him, incredulous. “Character,” she repeated flatly. “That’s what you think this is?”

“Sure,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s like a time capsule of small-town charm. Don’t tell me you don’t see it.”

Kate opened her mouth to reply, but the garage door creaked open before she could. Mo stepped into the room, a wrench in one hand and a lopsided smirk on his face. His overalls were tied at the waist over a graphic tee that read, “Let’s Get Syrup-y,” complete with a cartoon waffle. His dark curls were streaked with grease, and he leaned casually against the doorframe.

“Good news and bad news,” he announced, his voice carrying an air of mock cheer.

Kate braced herself. “Bad news first.”

“The rain’s slowing us down,” Mo said with a shrug. “We’re backed up. Gonna be at least another couple hours before we can get to either of your cars.”

A sharp pang of frustration flared in her chest. A couple of hours. Her grip tightened on her watch as though the steady ticking might somehow offer a solution. She could already imagine the meeting spiraling without her, her colleagues fumbling their way through her notes. She might as well call and tell them to salvage what they could.

“And the good news?” Nate asked, sounding almost amused.

Mo grinned. “Good news is, we’ve got free coffee in the garage. Tastes like motor oil, though.” He turned to Kate with a wink. “Oh, and Jerry owes me twenty bucks. You are wound tighter than a lug nut.”

Kate’s face flamed. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She was too stunned by the audacity of the comment—and by the laughter it drew from Nate. He nearly slid out of his chair, clutching his sides.

“That’s gold,” Nate said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Mo’s got you pegged already.”

Kate stood abruptly, her chair screeching against the linoleum. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.”

“Hey,” Nate said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Ignoring him, Kate stalked to the vending machine. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor as she fished a few quarters from her wallet. She jabbed a button at random, the machine whirring to life before spitting out a bag of pretzels. Picking it up, she stared at the crinkled packaging, noticing the expiration date was smudged beyond recognition. It figured.

“Want me to give it a pep talk?” Nate called. His tone was teasing, but when Kate turned to glare at him, she hesitated. His grin had softened, the humor in it less pointed. He looked genuinely amused, but not unkind.

“Just trying to help,” he added with a shrug.

Kate sighed, her shoulders slumping. She stared at the pretzels, debating whether to respond. “You really don’t take anything seriously, do you?”

“Not true,” Nate said, leaning forward slightly. “I take snacks very seriously. And music. And…” He paused, his voice softening. “…people who are obviously having a rough day, even if they won’t admit it.”

The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard. For a moment, the relentless ticking of her watch seemed to fade into the background, the storm outside muffled and distant.

“Look,” he said, his voice warm but still playful, “I get it. This whole situation sucks. But maybe, just maybe, it’s not the end of the world.”

Kate glanced at her watch, the steady movement of its hands suddenly less oppressive. Letting out a long breath, she allowed herself to meet his gaze. “I guess I’m stuck here either way.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Nate said, his grin returning in full force.

She rolled her eyes, but the faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. It was small, fleeting—but real.

The rain continued to pour, but for the first time, it didn’t feel quite so heavy.