I got up at five a.m., like usual. Tory started to get up too, but he was so groggy that I told him to stay in bed. He mumbled something about calling me later before pulling the covers up to his ears and falling back asleep.
When I got to the diner, I went into autopilot. There was a ton of prep work to do before we opened at seven. I’d done it so many times that I didn’t even have to think about it.
Over the next few hours, I barely stopped moving. Our breakfast rush was as busy as ever. My regulars came in and lingered over food and coffee. Once things died down a bit, I found the time to try a new pasta recipe, which I added as a special to the chalkboard in the dining room.
Then, around eleven-thirty, a guy with a clipboard showed up and had me sign for a delivery. I assumed it was my new two burner coffee maker. It had been on back order and was meant to replace the one that was dying a slow, painful death. Instead, the man wheeled the most perfect, gorgeous vintage jukebox into the diner.
When I told him I hadn’t ordered it, he said, “Well, somebody did, and they paid extra for same-day delivery.”
There was an envelope taped to the side of it. I plucked it off and read the note inside, which said:Forget what I said yesterday, the diner is already absolutely perfect. In fact, it’s the best diner there ever was. Even so, I thought you might enjoy this. Love, Tory.
A million emotions flooded me. I hurried outside and called Tory. When he answered, I fought back tears and said, “It’s so beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it, but it’s too expensive. That’s a vintage Wurlitzer from the 1940s! I know what they go for, and I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can, Arie. Please don’t worry about the cost.”
I asked, “How did you manage this? We only talked about it yesterday.”
“I researched jukeboxes online last night so I’d know what to look for, and then I searched for any that were for sale in Southern California. That one was in an antique store right here in San Diego. I went and took a look at it as soon as the shop opened this morning. It’s been fully refurbished and it sounds great, so I bought it. But if you don’t like it, or if you had your heart set on something else?—”
“No, it’s absolutely perfect. Thank you, Tory.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“Are you still in town?”
“Yes. I got something to eat after I left the antique store, and then I went for a walk. I’m in a huge park now with a lot of tourists.”
“Stay with me tonight,” I said. “It’s already Thursday, so you’d just be driving up and coming right back for our date this weekend.”
“I’d love to.”
“Okay, good. I’ll see you soon then, but first, I have to ask. What made you decide to do this?”
“I care about you, and I want you to be happy, Arie. That means everything to me.”
I couldn’t help but grin. No matter what he’d said the night before about keeping things as they were, he’d just shown me his cards. He might not be ready to call it a relationship, but he was in this as deep as I was.
10
Salvatore
I was starting to relax. Bit by bit, I found myself letting my guard down. It was the beginning of August. Several weeks had passed since I’d moved into the flat Dante had rented for me, and since I’d gotten my new IDs. The thought of being hunted wasn’t pressing on me like it once had.
Even so, I still felt like I was in limbo—like it was too soon to make plans, or put down roots, or take this thing with Arie to the next level.
It was ridiculous to try to claim we were casually dating. This had turned into a relationship, no doubt about it, and he meant the world to me. But when he’d tried to talk about it, I ended up stalling for time.
I just felt like I needed some sort of resolution to my predicament before Arie and I could move forward. Dante was still digging into Ashcroft, with the hope of finding some sort of leverage to use against him. If he didn’t find anything, I had no idea what I was going to do. A man as rich and powerful as Ashcroft had unlimited resources. If he wanted to make me pay for my part in ripping him off, there was no reason to think he’d call off his thugs and stop looking for me any time soon.
Not that I should be dwelling on that this weekend. I tried to push those thoughts out of my mind as I double-checked the address Arie had given me and pulled into a steep driveway.
I was in a beach city called San Clemente, roughly halfway between L.A. and San Diego. Up until now, I’d been the one to plan and pay for all of our dates. That was perfectly fine with me, of course, but Arie had wanted to take over this weekend.
I parked in front of a pretty, Mediterranean-style house, which sat off by itself at the end of a quiet residential neighborhood in the foothills. Arie had found it on a vacation rental site two weeks ago, and he’d been very excited about the two of us spending the weekend here.
