Harlow Pov
I unbuckled the helmet and handed it to him. My hands were shaking, and it had nothing to do with the cold air. I didn't say a word as I turned my back on the motorcycle, walked past him, and pushed the doors of the diner open.
A rusted bell chimed above my head. The place looked exactly the same as it had five years ago. Red vinyl booths repaired with duct tape, faded checkered floors, and the smell of stale coffee and fried bacon hanging thick in the air. At three in the morning, it was completely empty except for a trucker asleep at the counter and an older waitress wiping down tables near the kitchen.
I walked straight to the back corner booth and slid in. Torin followed, sitting down in the booth across from me. He took up most of the space, his broad shoulders practical
