She Defended a Lonely Biker, and Her Town Never Saw It Coming

Isaiah’s old stained apron and the framed article about the Hope Ride.

Ellie’s drawing hung below them.

The relief jar, emptied for counting and recording, sat upside down to dry by the sink.

The diner smelled like coffee, soap, and pie crust.

A holy perfume, as far as Naomi was concerned.

Isaiah sat in the corner booth half-dozing.

Hank stood at the counter continue reading …