Page 22 of Sheltering You

“You owe me nothing. This is what friends do.” And fine. He’d never flown any of his buddies hundreds of miles for free—and then bought them lunch. Or committed to helping them aid foreign nationals in escaping their guards.

He liked his buddies well enough. But he wasn’t in love with any of them. For Jasmine, he’d do just about anything.

CHAPTER FIVE

The French toast was delicious—thick, eggy cinnamon-spiced bread covered with butter and warm maple syrup. But try as Jasmine might, she couldn’t finish it. She was too full to eat, or perhaps just too nervous.

It hadn’t been that long since she’d escaped her husband. Helping Basma and Rabie shouldn’t be anything like that. They weren’t in Iraq, after all. They didn’t have to hide in crates and cross borders. All they had to do was get Basma and Rabie into their car and then get lost in the traffic on their way back to the airport. It should be easy. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, the fear wouldn’t leave her alone.

The restaurant Derrick had chosen was large enough to seat a hundred or more at the booths and rectangular tables, most of which had people seated around them. More congregated near the doorway, waiting. There were men in business suits or sweaters, women in designer jeans or slacks, blazers or blouses. Some carried laptop bags. Others bounced babies.

The building was old, with its concrete floors and high ceilings that showed heating ducts overhead. The table she and Derrick shared was scuffed in places, the booth well-worn. Not dirty or dingy, just comfortably broken in. The atmosphere was clean and fresh and happy and…free.

“What are you thinking?” Derrick asked.

“I like your diner.”

“Food’s good, right?”

“Yes, very. Though I don’t think I can finish it. I’m sorry for ordering so much.”

His lips twisted into a smirk. “Why are you apologizing? I suggested the French toast, remember?” He nodded toward her plate. “You sure?”

She pushed it toward him, and he traded his empty platter—he’d ordered a bacon burger and fries—and dug in.

“Worked out for me.”

“Where do you put all the food?”

Food halfway to his mouth, he said, “There’s always room for more.”

She turned her attention to a group at a nearby table. There were four women, a little redheaded girl of about three, and a baby boy in a high chair. The girl was moving from lap to lap while the women carried on a conversation, not at all bothered by the child’s restlessness. The baby concentrated on what he was eating.

A lemon slice, Jasmine realized. He’d swallowed almost the whole thing when he shuddered as if he’d just discovered how sour it was.

The women at the table laughed, and Jasmine found herself chuckling as well.

“What’s funny?” Derrick asked.

She explained, and he twisted to see.

When the little girl caught his eye, Derrick waved, and she giggled and hid behind one of the women.

He turned back to Jasmine. “Cuties.”

She tried to imagine herself as one of those women. Sitting in a restaurant, enjoying a meal. Not looking over her shoulder. Not afraid.

The picture wouldn’t come. No matter how far she ran, Khalid would never stop searching for her.

She would never be safe.

“What do you think?” Derrick asked. “Will Michael and Leila have kids right away?”

Jasmine tried to shake off the creeping fear. “Leila never spoke much of children when we were little. Now, I think she would discuss such things with Michael, not me. But I would guess they want children, and she is almost thirty, so perhaps it is wise not to wait.”

“Women can have kids into their thirties, though, right?” By the way Derrick’s brows lowered, he seemed worried.

“Yes.” This was not something she wished to discuss.