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“I hope they got my good side.”
A small smile plays across her lips as Greg climbs into the driver’s seat. Now that Sutton’s inside the car, the hotel staff is no longer attempting to contain the crowds outside. Men and women with cameras and fans are swarming the sidewalk.
“Do you need the address, Greg?” Sutton asks.
“No need, Miss Everett. I’ve got the directions all set,” Greg replies. “Although…” He glances in the rearview mirror. “We’ve got some tails, so I might take some liberties with the route.”
A frown replaces Sutton’s smile as she glances over one shoulder. Sure enough, several cars pulled out right after ours and are trailing behind through the traffic.
“Okay. Whatever you think is best,” she tells Greg.
He nods and takes a left.
Sutton fiddles with her clutch.
I search for something neutral to say. Something unrelated to the mob scene we just left or anything involving us. I settle on, “What are you going to get for dinner?”
She glances over. “What do you mean?”
I try to rephrase and come up empty. “Um, exactly what I just said. What are you going to get for dinner?”
“How would I know? We haven’t even gotten to the restaurant yet.”
There’s a challenge to her words, and I know exactly what it is. She told me, back when we spent hours discussing random topics, that she always looks at the menu before eating somewhere, so she can decide what she’s going to get to eat ahead of time. She’s wondering if I remember that or if my asking her is a coincidence.
I should probably play it off.I remember a conversation we had nearly nine years agoperfectlydoesn’t scream casual. But we’re not casual. We never have been.
“You didn’t look up the menu before we left the hotel?” I ask innocently.
Sutton’s eyes narrow. “Why would I do that?”
“Can’t think of a single reason,” I answer, saying more with the massive grin I’m wearing.
She rolls her eyes.
“So?” I prompt.
“The salmon,” she mutters.
I laugh.
“What areyougetting?” Sutton asks.
“No idea.Idon’t check the menu in advance.”
Another eye roll. Her frown has disappeared.
“How did it go with Ellie yesterday?” I debated on asking the question before voicing it, but we’re about to see her.
Nothing Sutton has said to me has given me the impression their relationship is any closer than it was in high school. Ellie hasn’t been a popular topic between us though—for obvious reasons that start withMand end withE.
Sutton shifts in her seat. “It was fine.”
“What did you guys do?”
More fidgeting. “Uh, we went wedding-dress shopping and then out to lunch.”
I let out a single surprised laugh. “Seriously?”
