Mel swept past me. “Well hello, you two! Long time no see. So long that I wouldn’t have recognized you without this one to ID you.”
It was a vague enough comment, but I knew my mom would spend the rest of the night trying to decipher what Mel meant by it, wondering if she thought she looked older, or if her recent subtle cosmetic “upgrades” were more obvious than she realized.
“Oh!” My mom seemed confused as she glanced between us. “It’syou. Melanie! What a coincidence.”
“No,” I relished dropping the first bomb of the evening. “I invited Mel! I figured since we’re celebrating I should also include the person who helped make last night happen.”
I roped my arm around Mel’s shoulders and we grinned at my parents as a united front. Watching my mom try to maintain a happy expression as she recalibrated our dinner date was priceless.
“Howsweet,” my mom fake-gushed. “I guess you’re acknowledging all your mentors, since you wouldn’t be here without your parents.”
I felt Mel stiffen in response.
“And we’re going to turn that spotlight right back on our star, right?” Mel said. “I’m not takinganycredit for what she’s done. I’m just along for the ride at this point.”
“Exactly,” my mom laughed awkwardly. She glanced back toward the host. “Shall we get sorted out now? They wouldn’t give us the table until the full party was here, and I was starting to get worried since you were late.”
“It’s four minutes after seven,” I said through gritted teeth.
“But we were here early, and you know what I always say: Early is on time, and on time is late.”
“Aw,” Mel said. “That must be super helpful for all those little ones you teach. Start those life lessons young!”
My dad chuckled and followed behind my mom as she stomped to the host stand.
Thanks to my mom’s tendency to “run cold because she’s so tiny,” we had to switch tables three times due to phantom drafts. I could see the waitstaff rolling their eyes at us. When we finally found one that met her approval she sharpened her claws and got to work.
“Somuch pasta and cream sauce on this menu! Mel, I’m assuming you picked this spot since you obviously don’t have any dietary restrictions.” My mom glanced at her over her readers.
Mel laughed good-naturedly. “You’re right, Tricia, Idon’t. It’s so freeing to just enjoy food. I had to do some retraining with her but now this one does too.” She nodded her head toward me.
“Funny you mention it, I did notice how... healthy she looked last night.” My mom reached over to poke me in the side. “But you wear it well, sweetheart! Such a cutie.”
My throat tightened reflexively. The old grooves were still there despite all the work I’d done to pull myself out of them. I started to answer but Mel beat me to it.
“Isn’t it crazy that eating real food can changeeverything?” Mel said with amped-up awe. “Quinn started eating bread again and bam, all of a sudden she’s winning! I think there’s a correlation. Maybe carbs are the secret to success?”
She reached for the bread basket, grabbed a breadstick, then held it out to me. “Cheers. Here’s to gold.”
I took one as well and touched it to hers, laughing. “Cheers.”
My mom watched in horror as I took a bite so huge that it reduced the thing by half.
Maybe dinner was a good idea after all?
Chapter Forty-One
Campbell Pesansky had become Ben’s number one stalker.
True to her creative social media’ing, she’d turned her silly obsession with him into an ongoing meme she called “Ben Watch,” where she crowd-sourced his location on a map of the Village and surrounding sports complexes. Anyone who spotted him was welcome to report where he was to her so she could update the map with his cartoon avatar.
According to the map, he had indeed been in Cortina D’Ampezzo the previous night, which was a relief. I’d been watching her page all day, hoping for updates that put him back in the Village. As always, my schedule was packed, but I’d find a way to reach him with Campbell’s help.
I’d set up a massage for after my on-ice practice, but when I checked the Ben Watch map I saw that he was on the far side of the Village doing “people on the street” interviews.
My sore muscles could wait.
I’d opted to wear the most basic Team USA jacket in my collection—basic blue with minimal embellishments—and oversize sunglasses so I could disappear, and hid my hair under a knithat. I refreshed the map and saw that someone had posted a comment with a photo of him five minutes prior. I broke into a speedwalk, since a true jog would attract attention. Athletes ran, civilians strolled.
