C162 Interrupted

C162 Interrupted

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The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow over the diner as Peter and Mikaela finished their meal.

Mikaela leaned back in the booth, feeling a contented but slightly uncomfortable fullness in her belly. ‘This is so much better than the sh*tty food I would’ve gotten at the party...’

Mikaela's hand instinctively moved to her stomach, and as she felt the slight bulge where her flat abdomen once was, a frown crept across her face. The realization that she now appeared a couple months pregnant filled her with a wave of embarrassment.

Peter, who had been watching her with a mix of amusement and disbelief, finally spoke up. "You know, I didn’t think it was humanly possible for someone as slim as you to eat that much."

Mikaela gave him a withering look. "What? A girl can’t enjoy a good meal?"

Peter held up his hands defensively, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hey, no judgment here. I like a girl who can eat~"

Mikaela huffed and tried to pull her shirt down to cover her stomach, but the small, tight-fitting top wasn’t up to the task. Feeling even more self-conscious, she muttered, "I shouldn’t have worn this today..."

Peter chuckled and leaned back in the booth, casually stretching his arms. "Relax, It’s not a big deal. Besides, you’re the one who asked for a third meal and dessert. It was like you were trying to impress me with that black hole you call a stomach."

Her face turned red at his teasing tone, and she shot him a glare. "Shut up," she muttered, raising her foot to kick him under the table again.

But this time, Peter was ready. His hand darted down and caught her ankle before she could make contact, causing her to freeze in place, startled by the sudden touch.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, an electric tension hanging in the air. “...”

But, before either of them could react, the waitress returned to the table, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she noticed the position they were in. "Oh, getting a little handsy under the table, are we?" she teased, placing Mikaela’s wrapped leftovers and the check on the table. "If you two are going to continue, might I suggest somewhere a bit more private? And be sure to use protection." With that, she gave a scandalous giggle and headed back to her duties.

Mikaela yanked her leg back from Peter’s grasp, her face a deep shade of crimson. "This is all your fault!" she hissed, glaring at him with blaming eyes. "I’ve been embarrassed all day long because of you!"

Peter raised an eyebrow, looking both amused and confused. "How is that my fault? You’re the one who tried to kick me, remember?"

As he spoke, Peter reached for the check, glancing at the total before casually pulling out a wad of hundred-dollar bills. Without a second thought, he dropped two of them on the table.

Mikaela’s eyes widened in shock, wondering just who this guy was. "Are you... rich or something?" she asked, suspicion lacing her tone. "Or are you, like, a drug dealer?"

Peter just shrugged, not offering any explanation. "Does it matter?"

Mikaela didn’t respond, her mind spinning. She had been around criminals before—her father’s friends and associates—and Peter kind of reminded her of them. However, he didn’t seem dangerous, just annoyingly confident.

And despite everything, she found herself starting to warm up to him, though she stubbornly refused to admit it to herself.

After putting the rest of his money away, Peter stood up and looked back at Mikaela with a teasing grin. "You coming? Or do you need help getting out of your chair after all those calories?"

Mikaela shot him a murderous glare, feeling the urge to kick him again, but she resisted. "I’m fine," she snapped, pushing herself up from the booth. She grabbed her food and followed Peter out of the diner.

As they stepped outside, the waitress waved them off with a knowing smile. Mikaela ignored her, too embarrassed to acknowledge the situation.

Peter, on the other hand, gave the waitress a wink before he opened the door for Mikaela, letting her slide into the Camaro first.

As he got into the driver’s seat, Peter glanced back at the diner, catching the waitress’s eye one last time. Their gazes locked, and he gave her a nod, as if silently thanking her for being his unwitting wingman.

The waitress watched them drive off, a smile playing on her lips as she returned to their table, noticing the two hundred-dollar bills on the table. The check had only come to about thirty dollars, meaning they’d left her a massive tip.

As Peter drove up to Mikaela’s house, he pulled into the driveway, the headlights of the Camaro illuminating the small, worn-down house before them.

Peter couldn’t help the slight frown that tugged at his lips as he took in the state of the place. “...”

The paint was peeling off in large flakes, revealing patches of bare wood beneath. The grass in the front yard was overgrown, almost wild, and weeds sprouted up between cracks in the driveway.

The railing on the front porch was broken, hanging off, and one of the windows was covered with a garbage bag, taped up with duct tape where glass should have been.

Mikaela noticed his reaction and immediately felt a pang of self-consciousness. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her earlier confidence draining away as the reality of her situation came crashing down.

After all, there was a reason she never brought anyone to her house. It was embarrassing, a stark contrast to the image she tried to project.

Apologizing softly, she muttered, "Sorry about the way the house looks... I don’t usually invite people over. Not even my ex—" she caught herself, almost saying ‘ex-boyfriend,’ but quickly corrected, "Not even my boyfriend’s been here more than a couple of times."

Peter, catching the slip, decided not to press on it. He realized that his reaction might have made things worse, so he shook his head, trying to offer her a reassuring smile. "Nah, it’s not that bad. A fresh coat of paint, a couple of repairs, and a quick mow of the lawn, and it’ll be good as new."

Mikaela looked over at him, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. She appreciated the effort he was making to cheer her up, but she couldn’t help the heavy sigh that escaped her. "There’s no point," she said, her voice laced with resignation. "I can’t afford to do any of that. And even if I could, I wouldn’t waste the money. The bank’s going to foreclose soon... I can’t pay the mortgage. I’d just be fixing the bank’s house at that point."

Peter’s frown deepened as the weight of her words sank in. He had known from the movies that Mikaela didn’t have an easy life, but hearing it firsthand, seeing it right in front of him—it was different.

This was far more than what was shown in the movies. This was someone barely holding on, trying to make it through each day with no real support system to fall back on.

He glanced back at the house, his mind racing with thoughts of how he could help, but he knew this wasn’t something he could fix with a few well-placed words or a quick gesture. Mikaela needed more than that—more than what anyone had given her so far.

For a moment, they both sat in silence, the only sound the soft hum of the Camaro’s engine slowly cooling down. Finally, Peter turned to Mikaela, his tone gentle but firm. "You know, If there’s anything I can do to help... just say the word."

Mikaela stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, her mind flashed to the thick wad of cash he had pulled out earlier.

That money would help immensely...

But, after a brief internal struggle, she shook her head and gave him a sad smile. "Thank you, Peter, but I'll manage on my own. You’ve already done more than enough..."

Peter wanted to argue, to tell her that things didn’t have to be this way, but he could see in her eyes that she wasn’t ready to hear that. Not yet. So, instead, he simply nodded, giving her a look that said he was there for her, even if she didn’t believe it herself.

Mikaela hesitated for a moment before opening the car door and stepping out onto the cracked driveway. She turned back to Peter, her hand resting on the doorframe. "Thanks for the ride, and for everything else today. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."

Peter smiled softly and nodded. "Anytime, Mikaela. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out," he said as he pulled out a pen and paper. He quickly scribbled down his phone number and handed it to her. "Or if you just want to go on another date~"

Rolling her eyes, she hesitantly took the paper, offering him one last smile before closing the door. As she started walking toward the house, Peter waited to make sure she got inside safely, when suddenly, a flash of red and blue lights flooded the area.

The house, once dimly lit, was now awash in the harsh glow of multiple police car lights. The sudden commotion made Mikaela’s heart leap into her throat. “?!”

She whipped around in fright, her eyes widening as she saw several police cars pulling up, their tires screeching to a halt.

Among them, unmistakably, was the car Peter had noticed earlier at the lake—the one with the guy in the sleeveless shirt and the backward hat.

Mikaela recognized him... It was Trent.

As the police officers began stepping out of their vehicles, hands resting on their belts, Mikaela felt a surge of panic. What was happening? Why were they here? And why was Trent with them?

Trent jumped out of his car, his face flushed with a mix of anger and something else—something that almost looked like annoyance. He marched over to Mikaela, his steps quick and purposeful.

"Babe, where have you been?!" Trent’s voice cut through the air, loud and demanding. "I’ve been looking for you everywhere!"

A/N: 2500 words :)