Not yet.
My stomach tightened anyway.
Claire noticed.
Her hand disappeared from the table.
Mine did the same.
The man ordered coffee at the counter.
Then glanced toward our booth.
Once.
Twice.
Recognition sharpened his posture.
I reached for my phone.
“We should go.”
“Marcus isn’t here.”
“We can wait in the kitchen.”
Claire looked toward the swinging door behind the counter.
“Do you think they have carts?”
“Please don’t hide under napkins again.”
“It worked.”
“It delayed room service.”
The photographer lifted his camera.
The first flash filled the diner.
The waitress shouted something that sounded unprintable.
Claire moved first.
She stood, grabbed the trophy, and held it directly in front of my face.
A second flash.
“Congratulations,” she said loudly. “I’m a huge fan.”
I stared at her from behind the award.
“What are you doing?”
“Wardrobe assistance.”
The older couple applauded.
