Page 27 of Hidden Echoes

I may have many ghosts living in my mind right now.

“You know what, let’s make a stop,” Zane’s voice says determinedly, and I watch as he pulls up against what looks like a mountain.

“Come on,” he calls, and I follow him to the edge, where I find a beautiful view. There is so much that I can’t even describe the feeling.

“This is LA, Mia,” he says with a smile, but I’m much busier taking in the view.

“Can we go there?” I find myself asking and he smiles.

“Yes, we can, but I think it would be better to put some food in your stomach first, you’ve been annoyingly hungry for a long time.”

Did he notice? I didn't think he could hear these things.

Zane drives a little farther until we pull up to a place that instantly reminds me of the diner I was at in Dallas. But this time, I’m not in hospital scrubs, so I don’t stand out.

As soon as the scent of food hits me, my stomach growls—loudly, as if it's declaring, "Yes, I want that!"

I let out a happy exclamation, unable to hold back my excitement.

Zane, who’s walking ahead with his usual relaxed, effortless stride, glances over his shoulder. His lips twitch into a smirk. He definitely heard that.

“You know you don’t have to be so loud, right?” he remarks in a light, almost teasing tone, though his gaze remains unreadable, a little too observant. Something tells me he doesn’t find my jokes nearly as amusing as I find his.

“It’s not like I can control that,” I shoot back, following him inside.

The restaurant’s ambiance is an odd but charming mix of rustic warmth and modern minimalism—like someone took a countryside farmhouse and gave it a sleek, contemporary makeover. Large windows frame the space, letting in golden sunlight, while trees sway lazily outside. The air is thick with the scent of butter, spices, and something sweet.

Zane picks a table by one of the windows, and I drop into the seat across from him, my impatience growing by the second. My stomach is still protesting its empty state. I don’t even care what we’re eating at this point. Anything will do.

“So… what is this?” I ask, resting my elbows on the table and tilting my head.

He ignores my dramatic tone and flips open the menu, tapping a page with his finger.

“It’s simple. Waffle sandwich. This one is chicken and cheese.”

I blink. “Waffles?” The word is foreign on my tongue.

I’ve never heard of waffles before. My diet was always carefully controlled—no excess carbs, no ‘unnecessary’ fats. Paulina used to say gaining weight would make me useless, that no man would want a wife who wasn’t perfect. But Katie… Katie would sneak me candy when no one was looking. Sometimes even gum. Once, a slice of Tres Leches cake. But waffles? Completely new territory.

Zane rolls his eyes, but I catch the way his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smirk. “You’ll understand when you try them. They’re crisp on the outside, soft inside. This one has cheese baked into the crust and shredded chicken on top.” He pauses, watching me, as if waiting for me to fully absorb the technical breakdown. “It’s a classic combination, okay? Nothing weird.”

“I don’t know… sounds like a strange name.”

But then the waiter sets the plate in front of me, and any doubts I had instantly vanish.

The waffles are golden, almost glistening, with crispy edges that look impossibly perfect. A generous heap of shredded chicken sits on top, seasoned with something I can’t quite place, but the scent alone is enough to make my mouth water. Pockets of melted cheese peek out from the edges, stretching slightly as the heat radiates from the dish.

“Okay, so… just cut and eat? Or is there some secret ceremony I need to know about?”

Zane thanks the waiter with a simple nod and picks up his fork. He gives me a look that clearly says, "Go ahead," but, as usual, doesn’t bother to say it out loud.

“Just cut and eat, Mia,” he says, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

I don’t hesitate. I dig in, cutting a generous bite and popping it into my mouth.

The moment it hits my tongue, I freeze. My brain struggles to keep up, overwhelmed by the burst of flavors. It’s salty and sweet at the same time, the richness of the cheese melting into the soft, buttery waffles, while the chicken adds the perfect amount of spice. It’s so good I could cry.

“That… that’s amazing!” I exclaim, pointing my fork at him accusingly. “Why has no one ever told me waffles could be like this? Can we get more? Like… a lifetime supply?”

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