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Nope.
He’s really here.
Anger flares in my chest. My heartbeat throbs in both temples. What is he doing here?
I talked to him this morning, and he didn’t say anything about his whereabouts. If he flew, I bet he was already in Vermont by the time he called. The weasel.
He’s trying to catch me off guard, and it’s working.
I did not expect this.
Not at all.
How am I going to handle this?
Working with Hana to demand rights to my movie was one thing. Facing Sylvester to stand my ground will be a much bigger challenge.
In LA, in the circles we traveled in, Sylvester is practically a god.
I looked up to him for years, before living with him.
We did not end things on good terms. I remember how the ring hit the center of his chest when I threw it at him.
And besides our personal drama, there’s the professional element. I know how stubborn and driven he is when it comes to his work.
He’s not going to let this movie go easily.
Both of my palms are sweating now. I drag them across my jeans and pick up my phone.
My hand starts to tremble, and it’s a struggle to text my sister back.“I’m on my way.”
I’m in a daze when the waitress returns with the check and to-go containers. She packages up both salads, and I’m only barely aware of picking up the boxes and then untying Outlaw from the bike rack.
With shaky knees, I start walking.
I want to go back to Pansy’s. I’ve been through enough today, haven’t I?
But I can’t.
Instead of turning onto State Street when I reach it, I stay straight and walk down Main as though I’m on a gangplank, heading for a watery death.
By the time I reach the diner, my heart’s pounding so hard in my chest that I feel sure I’m on the brink of getting hauled to the clinic in an ambulance.
Somehow, I manage to settle Outlaw in under the shade of a tree. I take a deep breath and push the diner doors open.
Chapter 20
Maddison
As soon as I step into the diner, I’m bombarded with the usual smells: savory breakfast sausage, hickory smoked bacon, cinnamon and vanilla, and rich coffee.
The place is packed, and noisy, too. Clinking glasses. Chatty customers. Music playing over the speakers.
It takes me a moment to spot Sylvester. He’s seated in the back booth, where I sat with my family last night. He’s facing away from the door, which I’m grateful for. I have another moment to prepare myself.
Roxie swoops in on me and grips my arm. She drags me behind the counter and then through the swinging kitchen doors. “Why didn’t you tell us he was on his way to town?” she hisses in my ear.
My grandmother, over by the griddle, catches sight of me. “Maddison, dear! Can I make you some French toast?”
