The little coffee shop, which had been a warm sanctuary to her when she entered an hour ago, now felt steamy and claustrophobic, and she was grateful for the icy feel of the fresh air when she stepped into the parking lot. Ethan’s car was parked in one of the reserved Starbucks spaces, and she wanted climb in and beg for reassurance.She wanted to tell him what she’d been reminded of in Starbucks—that she was not like the women of Beacon—and she wanted him to tell her it was okay. To embrace her and console her and comfort her. And tell her that he loved her the way she was, illegal and wrong and ill-fitting, but her, his Ana.She went around to the passenger side and knocked on the window for admittance. The button popped up and she opened the door and slid in beside him, the tears coming faster and freer now. They were rolling down her cheeks, and she waited for him to ask if she was all right, but the question didn’t come and didn’t come, and she turned to look at him, and the look on his face, illuminated by the parking-lot lights, chilled her through.
