With a smirk, I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about."
He doesn’t believe me, and he shouldn’t. It’s been a long time since I touched a woman, and I sure as hell am noticing Nikki.
"Speaking of new faces, you might want to finish up." Rochelle's voice has me immediately on edge.
I glance up just in time to see a guy scanning the diner, someone unfamiliar, but familiar enough. The kind of guy who doesn’t belong here but is pretending he does.
A journalist.
Fuck.
Pulling my baseball hat down, I quickly slide out of the booth, grateful the group of men at the front are making asses of themselves to take his attention. I toss Sawyer a quick goodbye, Rochelle a small nod, and move toward the back exit.
I step outside just in time to catch sight of Nikki and James walking away, their pace steady, their shoulders drawn inward like they don’t want to be seen. My eyes don’t leave them until they disappear down the street, their figures slipping into the shadows of the back roads.
I’m not the only one hiding out in Whispers, that’s for sure.
3
Nikki
I move to fill Bob's coffee, where he, Peter the local taxi, and Tim from the toy store down the street sit, chatting about farm life, before I wipe down the counter and refill the cups of the other few patrons nearby. It’s quiet today, apart from the rowdy guys who are back again. The ones who stand too close to me when I pass by and who look at me longer than they should. I don’t like them. But they’re paying customers and never seem to bother anyone else, so I keep quiet. Not wanting to make a fuss, I serve them quickly, leaving them to come back to the safety of the counter.
I may be moving around, doing the usual things, but I feel his eyes on me the entire time. I felt it the moment he walked in. He’s here earlier than usual today. Slinking in through the back door and sitting in his usual spot, no one interrupting him, hat pulled low in his signature style.
I wonder why he comes here. Why sit in a diner for hours almost every day? I mean, the chicken pie Rochelle makes is good, but not that good. I’m about to go and see if he needs anything, Rochelle serving him initially, but the chimes ring on the door, and the noise of the diner simmers to a low murmur.
Looking up, I understand why. A stranger. Slicked-back hair, fake-tanned skin, white teeth so blinding I almost laugh. Almost. My experienced city eye spots Botox, a chin implant, maybe some fillers around the jaw and cheeks. This guy has had work done, and the way he walks toward me, his smile wide like a game show host, I know there's only one reason he’s here.
Sutton.
I don’t dare look in Sutton’s direction. But I know he can’t move and run out the back door like he usually would. The diner is too quiet, and the movement would have this guy looking straight at him. Giving him away instantly. With Rochelle in the kitchen, this one is now up to me.
“Hi there.” His voice razzle dazzles. Yep, Hollywood, for sure.
“Hi. What can I get you?” My fake country accent is terrible, and I wonder briefly why my heart is racing. It isn’t my identity being given away.
“I’m actually looking for someone. Wondering if you can help?” He pulls some papers from his pocket, unfolding them. “Have you seen this man?”
I look down at the paper, a full page of Sutton’s face staring back at me. He looks good. In a suit, from a red carpet, with a beautiful brunette on his arm. I mean, I see him most days, but with his hat lowered and his face guarded, I haven’t really experienced Sutton with a full-blown smile, standing confidently in all his glory. And now, I’m glad I haven’t, because his smile would melt even the most stoic woman. I swallow hard, taking in his sparkling eyes, his chiseled jaw, and movie-star good looks.
“I don’t recognize him. Is he a friend of yours or somethin’?” I act completely stupid. Of course, anyone who’s anyone knows who Sutton Silvers is. He’s on the side of buses and billboards all around the country.
The guy scoffs at me, and I feign confusion.
“This is Sutton Silvers.” His voice has lowered, full of condensation.
I tilt my head. “Sutton who?”
Bob coughs into his coffee nearby, which almost has my lips twitching. The whole diner is watching us at this point. You could hear a pin drop.
“Silvers. Hollywood heartthrob. Billionaire movie star. His brother runs the law firm just across the road.”
With my lips pursed in a thinking expression, I make a show of glancing at Sawyer's office across the street before I look back at the photo of Sutton and shake my head.
But then, I light up with a gasp. “Oh, I remember him!”
“You do?” His hopes are up, the anticipation of finding the man who doesn’t want to be found.
