The Shadow that follows
1089 Words
Grace kept her head down at the diner, scrubbing the counter with more force than necessary.
The dinner with Ethan hadn’t left her—not for a single second. His words haunted her like a shadow: I don’t remember what normal feels like.
Why did he have to say that?
Why couldn’t he just stay the heartless monster she could fight?
Now, every time she thought of him, she remembered the flicker of loneliness in his eyes. And it made her chest ache in a way she didn’t want to admit.
“Grace, you’re gonna polish a hole into that counter,” her co-worker, Tanya, said with a laugh. “What’s gotten into you?”
She has now turned to her other job, her backup plan. Hopefully, Ethan wouldn’t ruin this one for her.
Grace forced a smile. “Nothing. Just tired.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
It was Ethan Cole.
The bell above the door chimed, and Grace’s stomach dropped.
Because there he was.
Ethan Cole.
In her diner.
The fluorescent lights didn’t soften him; if anything, they made him sharper. Out of place in his perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his presence swallowed the small space whole. Conversations quieted. Even Tanya froze mid-step.
Grace’s first instinct was to duck into the kitchen. Her second was to throw her rag at his face. She did neither.
Ethan’s eyes found hers instantly, and his lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile.
No. Absolutely not.
She grabbed a menu, marched over to his booth, and slapped it onto the table. “What are you doing here?”
He arched a brow. “Ordering lunch. Isn’t that what diners are for?”
“Not for you,” she hissed under her breath.
His gaze dropped briefly to her uniform, then back to her eyes. “You look good in this.”
Grace nearly choked. “Excuse me?”
“It suits you.” His tone was casual, almost teasing—but his eyes… they were too intent, like he meant every word.
Her face burned. She snatched the menu back. “You don’t belong here.”
“On the contrary.” He leaned back against the booth, completely at ease, like he had all the time in the world. “I think I do.”
Grace glared at him. “If you think showing up at my job is going to make me—”
“Grace,” Tanya interrupted nervously, holding a coffee pot. “This… this your friend?”
Grace opened her mouth to deny it, but Ethan spoke first.
“Yes.” His answer was smooth, confident, and final. “She’s my friend.”
Tanya’s eyes widened, flicked between them, then she scurried off, whispering something excited to the cook behind the counter.
Grace clenched her jaw. “You can’t just—”
“Coffee,” Ethan said, like it was a command.
She wanted to throw the pot over his head. Instead, she turned on her heel, poured a cup, and slammed it onto the table.
“Black, no sugar?” she asked sarcastically.
His lips curved. “You remember.”
Her stomach twisted. She hated that she did.
The next thirty minutes were torture.
Ethan sat there, perfectly composed, sipping his coffee as though he weren’t the most powerful man in the city sitting in the most ordinary diner in town. Grace tried to ignore him, but he had a way of commanding the air—every glance from a customer, every whisper from a table, circled back to him.
When his food arrived—an omelet and toast, the cheapest thing on the menu—Grace blinked in shock.
“You?” she scoffed. “Omelet?”
He cut into it neatly. “I like simple things.”
Her laugh was bitter. “Since when?”
His eyes lifted to hers. “Since always.”
The way he said it made her throat tighten.
When his plate was empty, Ethan pulled out his wallet. Grace expected him to drop a hundred-dollar bill on the table and leave without another word.
Instead, he set down exact change.
And then, to her horror, he waited.
“What now?” she asked, exasperated.
“Your shift ends at six,” he said matter-of-factly.
Her stomach dropped. “How do you—”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She crossed her arms. “You can’t just decide that for me.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “You’ll want the ride. It’s raining tonight.”
She blinked. “You… checked the weather?”
He shrugged slightly, like it was nothing. “I don’t like leaving things to chance.”
Grace’s pulse raced. It was infuriating. Infuriating that he thought he knew her. Infuriating that he probably wasn’t wrong. She hated taking the subway in the rain. Hated walking home drenched, shoes squeaking.
But letting Ethan Cole drive her? That was a cage waiting to slam shut.
“I’m not going with you,” she said firmly.
He rose smoothly from the booth, his height towering over her, his presence suffocating. He leaned in just enough that only she could hear.
“You say that now,” Ethan murmured, his voice low, intimate. “But when the rain comes, Grace… you’ll think of me.”
Her breath caught. Her knees almost buckled.
And then he walked out of the diner, leaving her shaken, furious, and—worst of all—waiting for the sound of rain.
By the time six o’clock rolled around, the sky had cracked open. Sheets of rain battered the streets, thunder rolling in the distance.
Grace stood at the diner door, hugging her bag to her chest, staring at the storm. Tanya nudged her.
“You need a ride? I can call my brother—”
Headlights cut across the window. A black car pulled up to the curb, sleek and gleaming despite the rain.
The back door opened.
And Ethan Cole sat inside, waiting.
Grace’s heart pounded. She could walk away. She could take the subway, drenched, miserable, but free.
Or she could step into that car.
The choice shouldn’t have been hard. But her body moved before her brain could catch up.
One step into the rain.
Another toward the car.
Her hand on the door handle.
Ethan’s eyes met hers from the back seat. Dark. Patient. Certain.
And Grace realized with horror that he had been right.
When the rain came, she had thought of him.
- Writer
