Chapter 2 - The Stolen Booth
By the time I pulled into the crushed-gravel lot of the Brass Lantern, it was 7:52 PM. The neon steer above the entrance was humming against the low mist, buzzing with the slow, electrical hum of an Iowa autumn night. My boots were caked in Sheffield mud. My collar was crooked, and the wet chill of the rain had soaked right through the shoulders of my good blue button-down shirt.
I shoved the heavy oak doors open. The lobby smelled of prime rib, hickory smoke, and women’s department-store perfume. At the hostess podium, a girl with hair piled high into a clip was checking a leather ledger.
""Table for Dane,"" I said, wiping my palms on my denim. ""Dane Miller. I had a seven o'clock. My dad—there was an emergency, I tried calling—""
The girl didn't look up right away. She ran a manicured finger down the list of names, tapped the page, and gave me that flat, polite smile reserved for people who cause problems on Friday nights.
""Dane Miller?"" she said. ""Oh, the table was seated at seven fifteen, sir.""
""Seated?"" I blinked, the room suddenly feeling three degrees warmer. ""No, that's my name. I'm Dane. She was meeting me here.""
""Well,"" the girl sighed, turning the ledger slightly toward herself. ""A gentleman came in around seven ten. He spoke with Miss Cruz at the bar, explained that you weren't going to make it, and took over the reservation. Table fourteen. By the hearth.""
My boots felt heavy as lead as I walked past the low partition separating the dining room from the bar.
There she was. Alyssa was sitting against the maroon leather of the half-circle booth, wearing a dark green sweater that made her hazel eyes look almost gold in the firelight. Her hands were wrapped around a glass of white wine, her shoulders drawn slightly tight, the way she held herself when she was trying to be polite to someone she didn't quite know what to do with.
And sitting directly across from her was my brother.
Jared was wearing his tan corduroy sport coat—the one Mom bought him for his birthday three months prior. His hair was slicked back neat, not a single drop of rain on his shoulders. He was leaning forward over a basket of warm yeast rolls, laughing with his teeth showing, his hands gesturing with that easy, wide-open charm he used to move zero-turn mowers off the showroom floor.
I stopped four feet from the edge of the linen cloth.
Neither of them saw me at first. Jared was in the middle of a sentence: ""—just how Dane is, honestly. Good guy, salt of the earth, but the minute Norb calls about a leaky valve on an LP tank, the rest of the world just vanishes for him. You can’t rely on a propane man for a Friday dinner, Alyssa. It’s just facts.""
Alyssa looked down at her wine glass, her mouth pulling into a tight, disappointed little line. ""He could have texted. He had my number.""
""He probably dropped his phone in a ditch,"" Jared laughed, reaching out to tap the edge of her napkin with his fork. ""Look, forget about him. You’re here. I’m here. Have the ribeye. I’ll make sure the kitchen does it right.""
""Jared,"" I said.
My voice wasn't loud, but it cut right through the clatter of silverware.
Jared’s fork froze two inches above the butter dish. His smile didn't drop; it just calcified into something hard and defensive around the edges. He turned his head slowly, raising one eyebrow like I was an unruly customer interrupting his inventory count.
""Well, look who finally showed up,"" Jared said smoothly, leaning back into the maroon vinyl. ""Dad okay, little brother? Must've been a terrible scare to keep you out on the road this long.""
Alyssa’s eyes snapped up to mine. There was shock there, but right behind it was a layer of hurt that had already begun to set like concrete. ""Dane? Your brother said you had an emergency run out to Britt. He said you told him to come take your place so the reservation didn't go to waste.""
""Dad didn't fall,"" I said, looking straight at Jared. I didn't yell. I couldn't. The rage was lodged so thick behind my windpipe that if I let it out, I would have dragged him out across the brass railing by his collar. ""Dad was sitting in his chair watching television. He never called you. You called me from your truck.""
Jared let out a dry, theatrical chuckle, shaking his head and glancing at Alyssa as if inviting her to share in the tragic burden of dealing with me.
""See what I mean?"" Jared said, his tone dripping with sympathetic pity. ""He gets confused when the pressure gets to him. Dane, you called me from the road in a panic because you mixed up the dates. You told me yourself you couldn't handle dinner tonight because you were running behind on your deliveries. I came here so this poor girl wouldn't sit by herself like an idiot on a Friday night.""
""You lying sack of—""
""Sir!""
The floor manager appeared from behind the kitchen swing doors, his hand already reaching toward the small radio clipped to his belt. ""Is there a problem here?""
""No problem, Stan,"" Jared said immediately, raising both hands with effortless deference. ""Just my brother. He had some car trouble, got a little turned around. He was just heading out.""
Alyssa didn't say a word. She looked between the two of us—at Jared, clean, calm, perfectly dressed, smelling of sandalwood cologne; and then at me, shivering, covered in mud, smelling of wet gravel and diesel fuel, with my eyes bloodshot and wild.
""Alyssa,"" I pleaded, stepping closer. ""Come outside. Let me show you the call logs. Let me show you the voicemail he left.""
I reached into my pocket, but my wet fingers fumbled against the cheap plastic casing. The screen flickered once, showed an empty battery icon, and died completely. The cold rain had finished off the charge.
Jared sighed, a slow, condescending breath. ""Don't make a scene, Dane. Go home. Get warm. I'll make sure Alyssa gets back to her car safe.""
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Alyssa looked down at the table. She didn't look back up. ""Please just go, Dane,"" she whispered, her voice barely louder than the clinking of glasses at the bar. ""This is embarrassing.""
I stood there for three seconds that felt like thirty years. Then I turned around and walked out into the Iowa rain.
