When I see the reddish pink lit-up sign for a diner, I pull into a spot and kill the engine. Though I don’t know that I really need it, I keep the hat on my head. Better safe than sorry.
The diner is dated and smells like French fries. It’s perfect.
I choose a booth at the back of the small room and slide in. I could keep my back to the place but I don’t think that will be necessary. There are only two other families in here right now, and they didn’t even look up when I walked in.
An older lady approaches me, her bottle-dyed red hair pinned on either side of her head with copper-colored clips. “Hey, darlin’,” she says, sliding a plastic menu across to me. “Cute hat.”
I touch the brim. “Thanks.”
“What’s it mean?”
“Oh, um…” My fingers bump over the embroidery. “It’s the Japanese symbol for salvation.”
She winks at me. “Well, it’s cute. My name’s Cherilyn.” A sparkly deep purple fake nail taps the plastic name tag clipped to her shirt. “What can I get you to drink?”
I pick up the menu and scan it. Dried ketchup blocks the bottom of the list of shake flavors. “Chocolate malt, please.”
“Sure thing.” Cherilyn walks away and I look back to the menu. I have no business eating a cheeseburger, or drinking the malt I just ordered, but my trainer isn’t here and thanks to this being a town without paparazzi, he’ll never know.
A group of teenage girls walk in the diner at the same time Cherilyn is carrying over my drink. I pull my hat lower and look down at the cracked seat. The only thing worse than being recognized by teenage girls is having a stalker. I know both from experience.
“Here you are,” Cherilyn says cheerily, setting the treat in front of me. “Do you know what you want to eat?”
“Cheeseburger and fries,” I say, trying not to draw any attention to myself.
Cherilyn looks back at the entrance where the girls are standing, glancing over a menu. She looks back at me and leans down. “Honey,” she says in a low voice, “I knew who you were the second you walked in here. Your secret is safe with me.”
Then she walks up to the girls and corrals them, leading them to a table that’s as far from me as they can get without being seated on the street.
Cherilyn meets my eyes and I mouth thank you.
When my dinner arrives, I dig in with gusto. Until today, the peach candy has been the only treat I’ve had in months.
I’m halfway finished when the door opens and more people walk in. I keep my head down, but the excited whispers are impossible to ignore. The door opens, one, two, three, four times, until it becomes too much to keep track of.
The chattering sounds like a buzz swirling around me. I’d forgotten how terrifying it can be, that feeling of being watched. In LA, only tourists are excited to see actors and actresses. Aside from paparazzi on the street, for the most part we’re left alone, or maybe asked for an autograph a couple times. I lift my head just slightly, trying to see the room through my eyelashes.
“Excuse me.” I hear Cherilyn’s voice, but it’s not sweet like it was when she came to my table. She sounds like a stern schoolteacher. “Move it.”
I pull a fifty out of my wallet and hand it to her. I meet her eyes, and get a full view of the diner. It’s a madhouse. All the tables are full, the booths stuffed with people. And though some are pretending to look at menus, many are blatantly staring at me. Fear coils in my stomach. They don’t look particularly threatening, but I’ve seen how quickly crowds can go from passive to aggressive.
“I promise I did not tell a soul you were here,” Cherilyn says. “It was probably those teenage girls. They get on one of those social media sites and it’s like posting a billboard.”
And far more effective with far greater reach.
I smile tightly. “Do you have a back entrance?”
Cherilyn glances down a short hallway. “Past those bathrooms, but I honestly don’t think you should go that way. It’ll dump you out into a place that’s pretty secluded, and you’ll have to walk a ways to get to your car. Your best bet is to go through it.” She nods at the rest of the diner with her head. I look out again to assess the scene, and that’s when I hear it.
I can’t tell who, but someone says, “I bet it’s the old Stephens house by the river. Where else?”
I freeze. People know where I’m staying? Shit.
And then, by the grace of sweet Jesus, I see an angel in the crowd. He might as well have a halo. I raise a hand and shout, “Wyatt!”
Wyatt has just stepped into the diner and is looking around, bewildered, at the scene. He finds my waving hand in the crowd and I change the movement so that now I’m beckoning him. He comes forward, sidestepping tables. He looks a lot like Warner in his jeans and T-shirt with a ball cap, but he’s different too. I noticed it immediately when I met him earlier today that he has a restless energy.
Wyatt strides up to the booth and stands beside Cherilyn. “Ma’am.” He nods to her. “Tenley, what’s wrong?”
I tip my head slightly toward the rest of the room, giving him a silent answer.
He gets it. “Thought it looked a little busy. How can I help?”
“Maybe just walk me out of here? Be my bodyguard?” I laugh on the last part, trying to bring levity to the moment.
“You got it,” he says.
I get up from the booth and startle when Cherilyn pulls me into her generous, warm body for a hug. “Honey, I hug my friends, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re thick as thieves now.”
“I’ll be back,” I assure her. “Just maybe for takeout.”
Wyatt slings an arm around my shoulders, super casual like he’s a friend and we’re walking down the street. His posture is relaxed, but I get the feeling he could shift at a moment’s notice.
We’re almost to the front door when someone yells out, “Tenley, can I get a picture with you?”
I turn around. It’s a young girl, probably seventeen. She doesn’t look hopeful or sweet; she looks haughty and challenging.
I square my shoulders and look out at the sea of mostly young faces. “I appreciate you all coming out here to see me tonight.” I smile my famous smile, the one that makes people call me a sweetheart. And I am mostly, but I’m also human.
“Just one selfie isn’t going to hurt,” the girl says again with a snotty look on her face. I remember what it was like to be her age, but I was damn sure never making public scenes like this girl. I left high school at fifteen and began homeschooling because I was working so much.
“Ella McFarland!” Cherilyn bellows, coming through the crowd. She levels a glare at the girl. “I am playing Bunco with your grandma tomorrow night and I will be telling her about you getting too big for your britches. You’ve been taught how to treat a guest in our town, so you should know better than to act like this.”
The girl shrinks. I turn away, hiding behind a curtain of hair, so she can’t see me smile.
Wyatt grabs a toothpick from the container on the counter and slides it between his lips. He tosses me a star mint and opens the door, waiting for me to step out first.
“Oh my gosh,” I exhale loudly and squeeze my eyes tight as soon as we’re on the sidewalk. It’s dark outside now and the streetlights have come on, casting a light and shadow pattern on the sidewalk every twenty feet. I look up at Wyatt. He’s using two fingers to roll the end of the toothpick that’s sticking out from his lips.