A cold gust of wind invades the warm cab. The icy air nips at my bare arms. I pull down the soft sleeves of my sweater and climb out of the now-chilly cab, taking advantage of the stop as an opportunity to stretch my cramped muscles. Jace finishes fueling the truck and returns the nozzle to its holder.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells me, and heads inside the small convenience store.

I finish stretching and pull my hair out of its bun, letting the wind whip the dry strands around my face before climbing back into the truck. Jace emerges back outside a couple minutes later, clutching a couple of waters and a bag of pretzels.

“Slim pickings.” He climbs into the cab, tossing the snacks on the seat between us. “We can stop for something else soon.”

He turns the key in the ignition, but instead of the deafening roar of the engine, the only sound is a soft click. Jace curses.

“Bad sign?” I ask.

Jace leans his head back and lets out a deep sigh. “Looks like we hit the twenty percent.” He opens his door again and climbs back out of the cab. “Stay here. I’ll go see if there’s a mechanic nearby who can take a look at it.”

I busy myself by checking the settings on my phone. Before we left, I set my location to stay at Lincoln. To my relief, that’s still where I’m showing up.

Jace returns about ten minutes later.

“There’s a garage down the road that’s sending someone to take a look. They’re going to call me when they know more. Apparently, there’s a diner down the street we can wait at.”

I nod and climb out of the cab, pulling on my coat and grabbing my bag. We start to walk along the bereft road, passing a run-down motel and a drive thru fast food restaurant before we reach the recommended diner.

The long, narrow building looks deserted. Red marquee letters atop it spell out Josie’s Diner. Jace and I walk inside, and are greeted by warm air saturated with the potent scent of fried food. A couple of older men sit on two of the stools that line the Formica countertop, while the three booths across from them sit empty.

A gray-haired woman walks out from the kitchen over toward us. “You kids want a booth?” she asks, giving us a tired smile.

“Yes, please,” I reply. She motions for us to follow her, and we walk across the checkered tile floor over to the row of booths.

“Take your pick. Menus are on the tables. Just holler when you’re ready to order.”

Jace and I each slide into our own side of red synthetic leather. He hands me one of the plastic menus stashed behind the napkin dispenser.

“Sorry about this, Viv.” He smiles sheepishly. “Didn’t mean for you to have to spend the first day of break in a diner in the middle of Iowa.”