This was a man who traveled often; his truck a second home. The toe of her shoe tapped against the tarnished metal of a toolbox in the footwell. She heard the tools jostle inside with the engine’s vibrations as Jon accelerated. Hanna had a casual eye on the speedometer as the truck sped up. He kept to the speed limit, either out of habit or a concern to be a conscious driver with an unknown passenger. Hanna settled in for the ride all the same.
Given this seemed a working truck, the clutter of tools alongside the trappings meant for a child hinted at this being his only mode of transport. With her gaze fixed ahead, she watched their passage. That he seemed technical, or otherwise skilled, contradicted the image he portrayed at the gala. Hanna had underestimated the waiter, but at least she could still be surprised.
The back of her hand brushed the pink water bottle in the center console as she rested an elbow upon it. His question drew an interested chirrup from the immortal, almost as if his asking roused from a trance. She looked his way, deciding how much to share. “No.” She said after a time. “I’m staying at the Ashford.”
As to what brought her out this way, “I dislike being cooped up.”
Given this seemed a working truck, the clutter of tools alongside the trappings meant for a child hinted at this being his only mode of transport. With her gaze fixed ahead, she watched their passage. That he seemed technical, or otherwise skilled, contradicted the image he portrayed at the gala. Hanna had underestimated the waiter, but at least she could still be surprised.
The back of her hand brushed the pink water bottle in the center console as she rested an elbow upon it. His question drew an interested chirrup from the immortal, almost as if his asking roused from a trance. She looked his way, deciding how much to share. “No.” She said after a time. “I’m staying at the Ashford.”
As to what brought her out this way, “I dislike being cooped up.”