Chapter 112 Grease and roundtable
Timothy
I lean back slightly in the chair, letting my gaze drift over the street again.
It’s not what I’m used to.
Not even close.
The tables are mismatched, the lighting uneven, the air thick with the scent of grilled meat and spices that cling to everything. People talk a little louder here, laugh a little easier. There’s no restraint, no polished civility.
It’s… unfiltered.
I glance at Hannah.
She fits here.
Easily.
Like she belongs in a way that doesn’t need to be explained.
“How did you even find this place?” I ask.
She looks up from where she’s been absentmindedly tapping her fingers against the table.
“This?” she says, gesturing around. “Sienna.”
Of course.
I nod slightly.
“That tracks.”
She laughs.
“It was actually her idea,” she says, settling more comfortably into her chair. “One day, she just dragged me out after work. Said I needed to stop being boring and ‘experience life.’”
I huff softly.
“She’s not wrong.”
“Excuse me?” she shoots back, narrowing her eyes playfully.
“You heard me.”
“I am not boring.”
I give her a look.
She scoffs.
“Anyway,” she continues, waving me off, “we came here, and I remember thinking exactly what you’re thinking right now.”
I raise a brow.
“And what am I thinking?”
She tilts her head, mimicking my earlier expression.
“This looks questionable. Possibly dangerous. Definitely unhygienic.”
I almost smile.
“That’s not entirely inaccurate.”
“And then,” she says, leaning forward slightly, “I took one bite.”
She pauses for effect.
“And?”
“And I forgot all my standards,” she says dramatically.
I shake my head.
“Unbelievable.”
“You’ll see.”
I lean back again, studying her as she continues talking.
She doesn’t stop.
One story leads into another about small, random things. Work, Sienna, something about a customer at the shelter who tried to adopt a dog and ended up getting chased instead.
I find myself listening.
Actually listening.
Engaging.
Asking questions.
Responding.
And somewhere in the middle of it, I realize, I’m not thinking about the dinner anymore.
Not about my father. Not about Yvonne. Not even about the file waiting for me back home.
Just this. Her voice. The way her hands move when she talks. The way her face lights up when she gets animated.
Then…
“Order up!”
The owner’s voice cuts through.
Hannah perks up immediately.
“That’s us.”
We both stand, moving toward the counter as the food is handed over.
I take one look at it.
And pause.
It smells… good.
Surprisingly good.
Better than expected.
The burger is stacked high, the bun slightly glossy, the meat still steaming. The tacos are packed, overflowing with fillings, colors blending together in a way that somehow works.
I glance at Hannah.
She’s already grabbing hers.
“Go on,” she says, nodding toward my plate. “Try it.”
I sit back down slowly.
Pick up the burger. Hesitate.
Then I take a bite.
I pause. Completely.
Because…That’s not what I expected. At all. It’s rich. Flavorful. Rich. Balanced in a way that shouldn’t work but does.
I chew slowly.
Then swallow. And blink.
Hannah is watching me. Waiting.
“Well?” she asks.
I look at her.
Then at the burger.
Then back at her.
“…Okay.”
She grins.
“Okay?”
“It’s good,” I admit.
“Good?” she repeats, incredulous.
“It’s…” I stop, exhale slightly. “It’s very good.”
She leans back smugly.
“I told you.”
I shake my head slightly, taking another bite.
Beside us, Ace and Sam have also started eating.
There’s a brief moment of silence, then a low, surprised sound from Sam.
Ace mutters something under his breath.
I glance at them.
They look just as caught off guard as I was.
Hannah beams.
“See?” she says, pointing at them. “Validation.”
Sam clears his throat quickly, trying to compose himself.
“It’s… good,” he says.
Ace nods once.
“Very.”
Hannah looks entirely too pleased with herself.
“I have excellent taste,” she declares.
“That’s debatable,” I say.
She kicks my leg lightly under the table.
I almost laugh.
Then she turns toward the guards again.
“So,” she says casually, “how long have you both been working with him?”
Ace stiffens slightly.
Sam glances at him.
There’s hesitation there.
Clear.
They exchange a quick look.
“Ma’am,” Ace starts carefully, “we don’t usually…”
“Talk?” Hannah finishes. “Why not?”
“It’s not appropriate,” Sam adds.
I step in lightly.
“They’re doing their job,” I tell her. “You don’t have to interrogate them.”
“I’m not interrogating them,” she protests. “I’m making conversation.”
“They’re not here for that.”
She looks at me.
Then back at them.
Then back at me again.
Stubborn.
Very stubborn.
“They can answer a few questions,” she says. “It won’t kill anyone.”
I hold her gaze for a second.
Then exhale.
“…Fine.”
Her smile returns instantly.
Victory.
Ace sighs quietly.
Sam looks resigned.
“How long?” she repeats.
“A few years,” Ace answers finally.
“With him the whole time?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She nods thoughtfully.
“And is he always this serious?”
Sam hesitates.
Ace gives him a look.
Sam clears his throat.
“Yes.”
Hannah snorts.
“I knew it.”
I give her a look.
She ignores me.
“What about you?” she asks Sam. “Same experience?”
“More or less,” he says.
Slowly, the tension eases.
Bit by bit.
As the food disappears and the conversation continues, their responses become less stiff.
Less guarded.
They even laugh once.
Briefly.
But it’s there.
Time passes without me noticing.
And before long, Ace and Sam are done eating.
I lean back slightly, satisfied.
Hannah is still working on hers.
Of course she is.
We sit there, waiting.
Talking.
The night feels… easy.
Eventually, she finishes.
“Finally,” I say.
She glares at me.
“I was enjoying my food.”
“You were taking your sweet time.”
“Same thing.”
She stands, brushing her hands lightly.
“Come on.”
We head back to the truck.
“Thank you,” she says to the owner warmly.
“Anytime,” he replies.
She leans in and gives him a quick hug.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Hannah.”
I nod once in acknowledgment.
“Thank you.”
Ace and Sam echo the sentiment.
Then they move ahead, scanning the area quickly.
Checking.
A few minutes later, they return.
“All clear.”
We head back to the car.
Slide in.
The door shuts behind us.
Hannah turns to me immediately.
A smug look on her face.
“Well?”
I shake my head slightly.
“You were right.”
“I know.”
“It wasn’t bad.”
She narrows her eyes.
“That’s still not the right wording.”
I sigh.
“It was good,” I correct. “Very good.”
She smiles.
Satisfied.
And for a moment, we just look at each other.
Something unspoken passing between us.
Then the car starts moving.