Breakfast

Chase rubbed his hands together eagerly as the server slid the French omelette in front of him, and refilled his coffee. The Blue Boat was a small hole-in-the-wall place he'd found one morning while searching for a place to drink coffee and think. Truth be told he never much cared for their flavored coffees but their breakfast was pretty good and it was the closest place he could think of that might help fight off the hangover.

He clasped his hands together and prayed briefly, thanking God for the day and the meal he given and praying for guidance with Justine. As he finished he opened his eyes and saw Justine sipping at her coffee. The restaurant served two types of coffee each day, one was a classic roast and the other was a special blend that changed day-to-day. Chase had opted for the former and Justine had ordered the latter.

Today, their special coffee was some hazelnut-infused concoction with a caramel syrup mixed into it. Personally Chase hadn't been brave enough to even touch the thing. However, Justine had ordered it confidently and without pause. As he watched her drink he saw that she was trying to hide a pleasured smile and was pleased that she was enjoying something at least. Her own meal, waffle and strawberries followed shortly afterward.

"Alright," she muttered in a soft voice that he almost missed entirely. "I'll admit this place is pretty good."

Chase smiled softly. This was easily the highlight of their entire interaction to date. Not that it was exactly a tough call. This was the first interaction where one of them wasn't either drunk or attempting suicide. He took a bite of his omelette and savored the taste before drinking deeply from the coffee again. Whether it was the meal or the water he'd had that morning, he was starting to feel much better than he had upon waking up. Justine seemed to be recovering too, although she'd handled it much better than he had.

"I'm glad you like it, though you don't have to act like it's a secret," he said, indicating around.

One big benefit of the Blue Boat was that it was often very empty. Currently, the place was only occupied by the two of them, a single waitress, and an elder woman in the corner who was typing out a novel on an aging laptop. Justine rolled her eyes at him before leaning forward a little.

"So tell me, what is you actually do for a living that gives you time to play the hero and get drunk in dive-bars?"

"I'm a concept artist," he said, and immediately explained. "I primarily get hired by movie studios and game developers. When they have an idea for a location or character, but need to get a visual picture of what they look like for their team to work from, they hire people like me."

"Really?" asked Justine, seeming genuinely interested. "Have any examples on you?"

"Sure," said Chase, a little taken aback, pulling out his phone and flipping to the images.

Justine held his phone close, examine each image in detail before swiping to the next. She didn't say anything, merely sat intensely studying each piece. From the way she was looking at his phone, Chase had the feeling that she wasn't just taking a polite interest in the work. She was earnestly interested in them and really understood what it was he did.

Eventually she handed the phone back, nodding softly.

"You're good," she said, simply, yet with a sincerity that spoke to a much deeper understanding than she let on.

"Thanks. You ever do any painting?"

"No. I don't really have great hand-eye coordination," she said. "Even my handwriting is pure chicken scratch."

Chase chuckled good-naturedly, and studied her intently. He was sure that she had some sort of attachment to the arts. There was too much understanding and recognition in her eyes as she'd studied his work. He quietly ate his omelette, thinking of some way to breech the subject again. However, Justine bite her lip for a second before speaking out again, and beating him to the subject.

"I don't paint or anything," she said, somewhat more slowly, before continuing in a voice so low he had to strain his ears to catch it. "I used to write poetry."

"Poetry?" he repeated, more trying to make sure he'd understood correctly than anything.

"I know, it's stupid," she said, dismissively. "Every idiot girl in the world writes poetry and takes stupid pictures in black and white, right?"

Chase looked at her, and instantly recognized the self-deprecating defense of an artist who fears that their art is about to be ridiculed. It was a type of lamp-shading that people who didn't have much confidence in their work tended to use; and as most artists with even a modicum of self-awareness weren't overly confident their art, it was commonplace for many of them. He smiled and looked into her blue eyes, seeing the mixture of hope and fear that he knew from his own reflection in the mirror.

"I don't think it's stupid," he said, gently. "Poetry can be the best way to express feelings or thoughts that can't be easily put into words. It ultimately helps stir emotion up within the reader. I like some poetry, although I wouldn't say I've ever followed anyone in particular."

Justine looked at him curiously for a long moment, as if weighing something in her mind. Chase said nothing, merely let her have her internal debate. Whatever it was that she was arguing about, she seemed to decide it was best kept to herself, because she finally closed her eyes for a second before she resumed eating. Inwardly, Chase cursed and cast around for something else to talk about. It had been going so well, too.

"So," he said slowly. "What do you do to enjoy yourself?"

From and angry flash in her face he knew instantly that he'd said the wrong thing. All at once he saw the little balls of tinfoil and needles that were waiting in her ashtray and knew that she'd thought he was insulting her. He almost wanted to slap himself for being so stupid. Justine glared at him and pointed the butter-knife at him threateningly.

"What?" she asked, her voice low. "Is this shit funny to you? Not all of us get to have nice lives full of flavored coffees and art studios, jackass."

"No!" said Chase, holding up his hands in surrender. "I just wanted to know you a bit more. I swear!"

Justine stood up swiftly, glaring at him. For a moment, Chase genuinely feared that she would attack him, she looked so angry.

"I don't care to have you know me, artist boy!"

Slamming her hand down on the table, Justine turned on the spot and began to walk out. Panicked Chase stood and reached out to her.

"Wait!" he called out, hoping that somehow it would cause her to hesitate.

It did not good, and the door slammed shut as she exited the restaurant. Exhausted, and unsure if he was more angry with Justine or himself, Chase collapsed back into his chair and face-planted into the table. It had been going so well, too. There had been a moment there—infinitesimally small as it may have been—where they really seemed to be clicking and getting along. Then he'd had to ruin it by saying one stupid thing. Apparently that was quickly becoming the status quo between him and Justine.

Sighing, Chase checked his phone. It was just past ten in the morning, so he still had time to get to church before service started. As much as his body and brain was screaming at him to rest, he knew that he needed a spiritual uplifting more than he needed the sleep. He paid the bill before walking the few blocks to his car. With a moment of exasperation, he realized he still had her hat.

Well maybe I'll get a chance to return it and apologize, he thought, dully as he started up his car and chose a song to drive to.

The Sunday morning traffic was never as bad as the average rush out during the week, and Chase hit highway 61 right on time, joining in with the throng of cars and trucks that were moving steadily along the interstate.

As the moved a few miles down the highway, he saw the bridge that cross the Missouri River, and felt a pang in his chest as he recalled meeting Justine as she was preparing to take her life. Despite the disaster that had been their relationship with one another so far, he refused to believe that all of it had been for nothing.

After, God wouldn't have led him to a woman for no reason. She was clearly in pain an he'd been placed in her path. It might not happen today, or within that week, but he knew he'd see Justine again. For now though, he had to give it time and be patient. It was something that years of being an artist had taught him: sometimes when things were going poorly no matter what you did, you needed to back off for a while and come back later. It was amazing what a day off could do for the brain. Oh sure, he could buckle down and force himself to finish a project in spite of those blocks, but the results were never as good and it stressed him out so much he wouldn't want to work for days afterwards.

So, right now it was time to wait.

Chase continued driving down the highway, passing up up a few exits until he came up on the one he needed to take for the church. As he prepared to take it, he felt an angry shuddering coming from his passenger-side front tire. Panicked, Chase pulled over as soon as he could and got onto he shoulder of the highway.

As he put the car into park and switched off the music, he carefully climbed over the passenger's side of the car, so as not to be clipped by a careless driver, and got out of his vehicle. Confused, he looked at the tire that had made the offending sound. It looked alright, but he knew better than to trust that, and placed his right hand on the tire, pressing down on it using his weight. As he did so, the tire gave far easier than he expected it to, collapsing in on itself almost instantly.

Chase had never been much of a car guy, but even he knew a flat tire when he saw one, and that tire was finished. He growled, snarling and kicking the hubcap with all his might, only succeeding in possibly breaking one of his toes. As he hopped up and down on the spot, swearing to himself he looked up, pleadingly.

"Really?" he called up to God, urging an answer from the heavens, though none came. "What else, Lord?"

Chase wasn't completely unprepared for something like this. He had a spare tire and a jack in the trunk, and had changed tires plenty of times before, but it took time and could be hard to replace the tire properly if you were alone. While there were plenty of people driving past, no one seemed inclined to stop and help him. Resigned to the fact that he would definitely be missing the service now, Chase went to his trunk, preparing to open it and replace the offending tire.

However, as he reached the rear of his vehicle, someone actually did pull off to the side of the road, coming up right behind him. Feeling a mixture of gratitude and fear, Chase squinted at the windshield of the car. After all, it could be a good Samaritan, or someone who saw a chance to take advantage of him without him being able to do much about it. Then, he felt a surge of relief as Peter and Miranda exited the car, waving at him.

"Chase," called Peter, reaching out to him. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," said Chase, jogging up to them.

"Everything alright?" asked Miranda, concern flashing on her face.

"Oh yeah," said Chase, feigning and nonchalance that he instantly realized had no point to it. "Sort of got a flat heading to the church, you know?"

"Well, why don't you catch a ride with us?" asked Peter, smiling softly. "At least if you don't mind catching a bite to eat with us afterward. Miranda and I were going to go out after service and then we can swing back and around and help you change your tire."

"Oh," said Chase, throughly embarrassed at his earlier anger and frustration. "There's really no need to."

"Don't start," said Miranda. "It's no trouble for us and this way you can still make it in time for service."

Throughly defeated out of an argument, Chase climbed into their backseat, thanking both of them abashedly. Then Peter stepped on the gas, pulling back into the flow of traffic.