Ask about the area

You decide to take your time. The mechanic isn’t expecting you back for a while anyway, and you’re curious now.

When Kristen swings by your table again to refill your coffee, you lean back in the booth and give her an easy smile.

“So this area,” you say. “Pretty quiet, huh? You lived here long?”

She pauses, one hand resting on the edge of the table. The movement makes her soft chest press lightly against the pink fabric of her uniform. “Born and raised,” she says with a small laugh. “Never really left. My whole family’s from around here. Most people either grow up and stay on the farms or leave for the city and never come back.”

You nod, keeping your tone casual. “The farms seem pretty spread out. Must get lonely out there sometimes.”

Kristen’s expression shifts for a split second — something like recognition flickers in her eyes before she schools it back into a polite smile. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the motion making the loose neckline of her uniform dip again.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Some of them especially. Big properties, not many people around. My cousin used to help out at one of the bigger ones during harvest season. Said it could get real quiet.” She hesitates, then adds, “You were staying at one, right? Before your car broke down?”

You keep your answer vague. “Just for the night. Nice old guy. Let me crash in the spare room.”

Kristen’s eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary. There’s definitely something she’s not saying, but she doesn’t push. Instead she straightens up, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt. The fabric pulls tight across her hips and ass for a brief second before settling again.

“Well,” she says, voice a little brighter, “if you’re stuck in town for a few days, there’s not much to do, but the diner’s open late if you get bored. And there’s a little bar a few streets over that’s not terrible on weeknights.”

She gives you another shy smile before heading off to check on another table, her rounder figure moving nicely under the slightly oversized uniform.

You watch her go, mind turning over what she said. She knows the farms. She might even know which one you stayed at. But she didn’t say anything specific.

Your phone sits on the table. Still no call from Miller yet.

Kristen glances over from across the diner and catches you looking again. This time she doesn’t look away immediately.