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“What? Why?”
Marty had driven me all over New York and he never followed me into restaurants or stores. What was different about Pennsylvania?
“I’m merely following instructions.”
Was this because of my dad? What was Hale expecting?
Overkill or not, Marty wasn’t going to disregard a direct order from Hale. I checked my reflection in a compact and took a few deep breaths. Great, I had to pee again.
“I’m ready when you are.”
Marty exited the car and came around to my door. I crossed the parking lot on stiff, shaky legs.
Inside the restaurant, most tables were empty and the air smelled of maple syrup. The soft clatter of metal spatulas working over a griddle carried from the back. A man in a black golf shirt appeared with a stack of menus in his arm.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m, uh, meeting someone.”
“Name?”
Did he mean mine or my dad’s? I assumed my dad’s since he’d been the one to make the reservation.
My voice was small and overcome with fear. “Meyers. I’m meeting Raymond Meyers.”
Always Do the Sweet Stuff First
The maître d’ scrolled his finger down the screen of an iPad. “We have you in the back. You can follow me.”
I glanced at Marty and he nodded for me to go. “I’ll be waiting right here.”
Did Hale expect me to get kidnapped? The whole bodyguard thing was throwing me off.
I followed golf shirt through a maze of empty tables to a glass room off the side of the restaurant. There, in the back, sitting by himself, was a man with rounded shoulders, a shiny bald head, though he wasn’t fully bald, and green eyes like mine. He wrung his hands nervously and looked up the moment I approached.
“Rayne?”
My heart jumped into my throat. “Dad?”
He stood and took a step toward me then hesitated. “My God, you’re beautiful.”
I couldn’t speak. My eyes took in every detail from the thick brown hair that encircled his head behind his ears to the way his nose looked like it had been broken a few times. His fingers were fat and creased in a way that told me he worked with his hands. He wasn’t a heavy man, but a stout one. He wore a button-down flannel as if it were a dress shirt and something told me it was one of the nicest he owned.
“Can I…hug you?” he asked and I smiled, my vision blurring with tears.
I threw my arms around him, breathing in the scent of Old Spice and tobacco. There was something else too. Either mouthwash or he’d had a drink that morning. I couldn’t blame him. The thought of tossing back a shot had crossed my mind more than once that day and it wasn’t even noon.
But none of that mattered. Every negative preconception I held about this man vanished the moment he wrapped his arms around me and all was forgiven. My entire life, every monumental moment, faded to make space for this.
When we released each other we both had tears in our eyes.
He glanced at the table and laughed as if we both forgot we were standing in the middle of a restaurant. “Here.” He rushed to pull out my chair. “Sit. How was the drive? Did you have any trouble?”
Such a perfectly dad thing to ask. “No. No trouble.” I stowed my purse under the table. “I, uh, had a driver.”
“Oh.” He frowned then nodded. “All the way from the city?”
“It’s a…private service.” I didn’t know how to explain Marty so I moved on. “Are you far from here?”
