Under the blanket of night, the small eatery glows, its light and quiet bustle shining through the tall windows and pouring out onto the asphalt below. At once, it seems like a dream yet also the only thing that's real in the dark miasma of the thick night. Reluctant to leave the warmth of it you open your car's door, letting in all the cold. Unbuckling your seatbelt you climb out of the car, shrugging further into your jacket at the same time. On the walk up to the glass door, you let your legs stretch and crackle as they do.
As for what pushes your steps forward: it's the anticipation of meeting her. Hannah. That sinful little minx that makes your blood smoke and boil. The little tease. The little flirt. Before you ever met, face to face, you'd shared everything. Your first, 'I love yous,' the first sinful mewlings of 'Daddy,' on a late night over the phone. You, with your cock in hand, her rubbing at her snatch until it burst. You've spent many... many raunchy hours with her and yet so far away.
Life had a mind to put you both a thousand miles away from each other, but you and Hannah? You had other plans.
You slide into a booth once inside and look at the menu with glazed-over eyes. You're not really... paying attention. Just waiting for that bus that would rumble up and screech out its stop, bringing her to you. For months, it has seemed inevitable, even. And yet now that the time comes closer, there is no less anticipation. Not when that final stop will pull up right outside that window and take her to you. Right where she belongs.
And so you stare off in that direction, just past those dirty glass panels with their sticky smears of grease and condensation and nothing else. Nothing except that billowing sheet of darkness between that and that, an invisible, indefinable divide, an impenetrable barrier.
You sigh and resolve to actually read the damn menu, hoping that there'll be something good to pick out when the waitress arrives. And after the endless minutes you spend reading through all manner of choices—you're too impatient and eager for it all that you settle on a coffee. Black.
You sip slowly, looking over at the empty booth, then reflecting on your coffee. You set it down to pull out your phone and bury your nose in it, the glow seeming even brighter in the old yellow light of the diner.
Nothing since the last message.
Hannah: gonna sleep before I get there.
Scrolling up you see some lascivious exchanges, threats and promises of pleasure tinged with the sin of your shared fantasies. You spine tingled a bit. Not in all of your years of living had you ever expected to meet someone like Hannah.
And while; you felt you couldn't wait, you ultimately did.
Three cups of coffee and a bathroom run later, that prophesied and foretold of rumbling jars the glass case of muttering thoughts that was you brain and you could see its lights. It nearly snuck up on you, you reflected.
The door squeezed open, and you were hoping that, soon, you'd see her appear from within. Your anticipation stretched the moments and heartbeats into decades, it felt.
A figure stood in the bus and negotiated the concourse within it, taking luggage with them. The shadowy silhouette made their way down and exchanged a word or two with the driver before—presumably, exiting.
Damn it! The bus's door is facing away! You imagine her trundling out with her luggage, drop-dead gorgeous and everything you'd ever hoped for in surrogate of the sight of her climbing out from that pale blue light. Soon, the bus startled itself to life like a big animal shifting from one to another side before it continued on, leaving its cargo in the faint glow of the diner's own illumination. She stood there, looking smaller than you realized, a young woman with a face red from travel, a wool cap with its fuzzy blob of nothing astride it, a scarf, and a coat. She carried two large suitcases, both on rollers.
You watch in some amazement as she approaches, lifting the suitcases up the stairs before ascending herself in an almost practiced act—like she's had to a few times on this journey. Reluctant to leave them behind, you gaze on, unabashed and showing none of your restless impatience. Unhindered, she casts a quick glance around the restaurant then sees you. You consider waving, briefly, but instead you hold contact with her baby blues as she squeezes her luggage to herself and tries somewhat fruitlessly to roll down the aisle to your table.
You can already scent the smell of 'different' on her, the thirty-odd hours of travel on the bus having left its impression. The air from outside, which you were no longer accustomed to, the scent of some intimately foreign place you had no reckoning of mingled with it all as she pushed one of her cases into the booth.
You stand, quickly remembering yourself. "Need some help?" you offered. You were hoping that your first words would be different.
Her smile was enthusiastic—overly so, belying her own nervousness. "Yeah, please. Thanks!" she added as you took the other case, securing it next to your own seat.
Soon the two of you settled, sliding into your respective booths. Her polite smile vanished into the mischievousness of a grin.
"Hi," you said, smirking with your absolutely enormous satisfaction.
Her response came slower, her eyes glancing low, then meeting yours again as some kind of resolve settled on her features. "... Hi, Daddy."
There it was.