It takes me about fifteen seconds to place him in my head.
“Give me five minutes and have them hide around back.”
I don’t wait for a response as I slip the lead photographer I just hired a few days ago to pull this off a twenty-dollar bill into his jacket pocket. A slow, devious grin releases across his face. He slips away into the distance with his camera around his neck as he whistles for the other men to follow.
Breathless, I walk through the bistro, hearing the bell chime as the door opens wider. In the corner of my eye, Holden is already bombarded by women fan-girling over him. I break out in a faint smile when I push closer toward the women huddling around him.
Holden’s brow stays permanently arched, a pins-and-needles expression etched across his face.
He rubs the back of his neck as the women press in, circling in around him.
“Hey, babe,” I say loudly, pushing one of the women to the side, feeling her eyes burn holes through my skull, catching everyone’s looks now on me.
Holden immediately wraps his arm around my shoulder, softening his eyes.
“Charlotte Elizabeth.”
The butterflies pick up again.
“Traffic was insane. Did you already get my food?”
“Food and a coffee,” he says.
“Wow, I am a lucky girl.”
I lean into his arm, which is hugging my shoulders, embracing his touch as the girls scatter around him. A smile washes over me.
“Figured we need to get a jump on everything, so I ordered for you,” he whispers.
I reach for the cup with my name on it. “Is this—”
The question dies in my throat as I take a swig, dissecting the flavors.
“You look like you just had a euphoric out-of-body experience. You haven’t lived until you have tried their Italian,” he says, handing over my hoagie. I chuckle, mumbling a quick thank-you under my breath. I come to the conclusion that he memorized my coffee order.
How?
Why?
This kind of accuracy sends a chill up my spine as I take another sip.
My phone is still buzzing in my pocket with more notifications coming in. I pick up my phone to lower the volume when his voice cuts in.
“So on the phone earlier?”
“Yeah?”
“You good?”
“Yeah. I just broke up with Aidan. No big deal—let’s eat outside,” I say, walking ahead.
I hear his brisk footsteps follow behind. The chime hanging over the door goes off again as we exit the restaurant and walk toward the black aluminum chairs and circular table open for us.
Holden is already digging into his food as soon as our asses land in the seats. I’m finally able to send the signal.
I type the three words:Let. It. Rip.
Three dots appear a moment later before she walks our way in a frumpy cream shirt and long brown maxi skirt with a thick, brown belt. A look-alike Diane Keaton who lands knees-first into the rocks aesthetically designed along the walkway.
