Page 42
“Oh God.”
Demitri turned his head toward me.
I immediately looked away.
“I fell asleep.”
“I noticed.”
I looked at him.
He wasn't smiling exactly, but there was a faint softness around his mouth that hadn't been there before.
“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to. I wasn't—” I stopped, suddenly aware that I had no idea what I was trying to explain. “I don't usually fall asleep on strangers.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Good to know.”
I stared at him.
He looked away, turning his attention toward the window as the bus rolled beneath a wide concrete overpass and pulled into a motorway rest stop. Fluorescent lights reflected off the wet asphalt, turning everything pale and cold. Beyond the car park, rows of lorries sat beneath the darkness, their engines rumbling.
The driver announced a twenty-minute break.
Around us, passengers began gathering coats and bags.
Demitri remained seated.
I looked at him.
“Are we getting off?”
His gaze followed the last passenger as they moved down the aisle.
“Yes.”
He stood and took both duffel bags from the overhead rack. He stepped into the aisle and waited until I moved ahead of him.
The air outside was bitter. Wind rushed across the open car park and slipped beneath my coat. I pulled my coat tighter around myself and my beanie lower, while Demitri moved closer. Just close enough that his body blocked some of the wind.
I looked up at him. He didn't seem to notice he was doing it. Then he nodded toward the building ahead and I followed him towards the rest stop.
The inside of the small building was warm and too bright. A convenience store occupied one side. On the other, a small diner served coffee, sandwiches, and plates of food that looked like they had been sitting beneath heat lamps for too long. The smell of frying oil turned my stomach.
Demitri stopped just inside the doors. His gaze moved across the room.
A family sat near the windows with two restless children. A young employee wiped tables. Near the restrooms, a bank of public telephones had been mounted against the wall. Demitri’s attention settled on it.
He led me toward an empty booth at the back of the diner and set our duffel bags on the floor beside it.
“Stay here,” he said.
I slid into the booth, watching as he straightened.
My hands curled into anxious fists in my lap. “Where are you going?”
His gaze flicked toward the other customers before returning to me.
