"Mara Rowan."
Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name?"
"Evan told me about you." Cole swallowed. "He talked about you all the time. My name is Cole Mercer."
Mara stood in the middle of the diner for a long moment, one hand still resting on her son's shoulder. Cole could see her deciding whether to believe him, and beneath that calculation another one: what believing him might cost her. She had likely made peace, or something like peace, with the absence of her husband. A stranger who claimed to know him threatened to disturb every arrangement she had made around that absence.
"Evan never introduced us," she said.
"No. He didn't."
"He never told me much about his club."
"I know."
She looked at the compass again. Her eyes shifted from the patch to Eli, and Cole saw a flash of recognition. The boy had spoken about that patch before. Perhaps he had been speaking about it for years. Mara let out a slow breath that seemed to leave her suddenly older.
"Our truck broke down," she said after a while. The change of subject was abrupt, but Cole understood it as a way of returning to ground she could stand on. "We're headed to my sister's place north of here. The mechanic says we might be stuck through tomorrow."
"That's a hard stretch of road in weather like this."
"I noticed."
"Can I buy you both dinner? A real dinner, I mean. Not because you need charity. Because I owe your family an old conversation, and I don't want to have it while your boy is hungry."
Mara studied him. She looked tired enough to sleep standing up, and whatever pride made it difficult to accept help had already been tested by the broken truck, the mechanic's estimate, and a frightened child who was trying not to seem frightened. She finally nodded once. Cole collected his coffee and followed them to the booth, carrying with him the weight of a name he had avoided for eight years.
Della took their order without asking why a road-worn biker had suddenly moved from the counter to sit with a mother and child who appeared to have no money to spare. She brought three bowls of chili, a basket of cornbread, and an extra glass of milk for Eli. When Mara tried to protest that her son had already eaten, Della set down the milk and told her the evening was too cold for arguments about such small things. Cole caught the older woman's eye and nodded his thanks.
For several minutes they concentrated on food. Eli's appetite returned as soon as he had permission to stop dividing his meal into careful portions. Mara took a few bites, then put her spoon down, as if eating required energy she could no longer find. Cole let the quiet remain.