“Mmm … I’m starving,” Cole murmurs.

“Starving for what?” I can’t help wriggling against him a little, and what I feel growing against my lower back makes me smile. “Food or something else?”

“Is both a good answer?”

“Both is acceptable,” I whisper and his arms tighten around me. He squeezes a little too hard, but I don’t care. I wouldn’t tell him to let go for anything in the world. I wish we could hide out in this room forever. The world outside be damned.

“There’s lasagna in the fridge. I could warm it up for you,” I offer, even though it’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere near a stove.

His brow furrows. “You hate lasagna.”

“That’s true, but I won’t be eating it. You will.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast.”

“I know. Half a grapefruit.” He grins at my surprised face. “The gossip mill works better than you think.”

“Hmmm … yes, that. Mrs. Crankshaw brought blueberry muffins earlier. Want that?”

“Nah, I need real food. The last time I ate was last night.”

My eyes widen. “How come?”

“Guess?” he says dryly and looks at his watch. “It’s only eleven. Want to go out for something to eat?”

“Are there any places still open at this time of the night?” I ask with a smile.

“Uh, yeah. Black Rock didn’t turn into a ghost town after you left.”

I elbow him in the ribs. “Very cute.” He jerks away with a chuckle. For a moment we are old friends again. Then my smile dies when I imagine seeing people—or, rather, letting them see me. Do I feel like dealing with that?

“What’s the matter? You went away just then.”

He always could read my subtle shifts in mood. “It’s nothing. Where do you wanna go?”

“I thought maybe we could check out Artie’s.”

“What?” I sit up, eyes wide and grinning. “You seriously want to go down Memory Lane tonight, huh?”

His eyes drop down to my breasts. “Why the hell not? We’re already more than halfway down the road. Might as well keep going, right?”

“Oi you. Can you concentrate? Eyes up here, please.”

He brings his eyes up to my face, and his smile lights up the room, a smile I could never say no to. Gosh, to have his confidence. He knows he’ll get his way, just like always. “The view is very distracting, but yeah, I want to go down memory lane with you.”

“Okay. You’re asking for it.”

“What’s that mean?”

I don’t answer—my cryptic smile is all he gets before I get out of bed and buck naked walk to open my old wardrobe. I turn back and find him watching me. He doesn’t smile. He’s about to get an idea of what fame is like. I hope he can handle it.

* * *

The second we walk into the bar, all heads turn in our direction—or, rather, mine.

“Oh, my God! It’s her!” I hear excited whispers and a few high-pitched squeals as we look around for a place to sit.

The bar is packed, as it always was in the days when Cole and I performed here. It’s unthinkable, all these years later, that two kids in their mid-teens performed together at a bar full of drinkers who got steadily louder with each drink and smoked like it was their jobs. We thought we were so grown up back then. So sophisticated because we played gigs in a bar.

“Is it always like this?” Cole asks as we sit at a corner table. Even away from most of the crowd, the weight of the stares following my every movement is heavy. There are phones popping out everywhere, taking pictures and snagging video. What does Taylor order when she’s out and about? What’s her drink of choice? Who’s the guy she’s with—a new boy toy? Oh, I can hear the speculation circling around in my head already, and we haven’t even seen a waitress yet.

“This is tame,” I say with a shrug.

“You mean it gets crazier than this?” he asks with a laugh.

I raise an eyebrow. “Too much for you?”

“Not at all. I love watching my ex stir up a mob scene.”

My smile wobbles just a little bit. There he said it. That’s all we are. I wish I had the nerve to challenge him on it, but I’m too cowardly. “Famous last words,” I joke instead. Don’t ruin this. This is how I want it. We’re having fun. I have another life outside this town, away from him.

The waitress looks like she just got out of high school—and like she might’ve fought her coworkers for the chance to serve our table. “Hi, my name is Emma and I’ll be serving you tonight. You’re Taylor Rose, aren’t you?” she gushes. “I mean, I figure it’s you since it looks like you and since everybody knows you’re from around here and my friends heard you were in town, but we never thought you would come in here, like, ever.”

I don’t think she took a breath once during that whole speech. I give her my standard smile. She’s just a star-struck small town kid. Once I was her. “Yup, that’s me. Home for family stuff and starving half to death.”

She giggles breathlessly. “Wow. That’s amazing.”

We could be here all night. I pick up one of the menus she put on the table. “Can I have a Perrier with a twist of lemon, no ice.”

She nods vigorously, before turning to Cole for the first time since she approached the table. I watch him curiously. He’s not used to playing second fiddle when it comes to women. He’s used to girls falling over him, offering to have his babies, or detail his car or whatever he wants just because he walks into a room.

“Oh, hi!” She flips her hair. I was wrong. The Cole Finlay effect is just as strong as ever. Apparently, no hormone producing female can resist him. “So, what can I get you?”

“You have any lager on tap?”

Emma thrusts her breasts forward in an unconsciously flirtatious way. “Sure. Seasonal okay?”

“Yeah. And a bacon burger, medium.”

She turns to me. “Have you decided what you’d like?”

I was going to order the grilled chicken without Arties famous sauce smothered all over it, but Cole speaks.

“She’ll have the same as me and bring her a lager too.”

I should be angry at his high-handed behavior, but what the hell? When in Rome, order as the Romans do. Besides, I’m sick of organic this and vegan that. I’m craving some grease, and one of Artie’s thick homemade juicy burgers will do the trick nicely. I can restart my diet when I get back to LA. I hand the menu back to Emma with a shrug.

“And an order of fries, too, please!” I call out as she leaves. A glance around reveals that I’m still the center of attention and my every word is up for dissection. Tomorrow some blog will be discussing how Taylor ordered fries after eleven at night.

“That kid was in danger of passing out,” Cole notes when Emma is out of earshot.

“Yeah, the younger ones can get really intense.”

He nods slowly. “And you like it?”

I shrug. “I was like that too. Remember?”

“Yeah. I remember.” There is a weird tense moment, then Cole deliberately changes tack. “Remember all the times we spent here?” he asks, looking around.

“How could I forget?” I point to the stage, still sitting in one corner of the room. It’s empty at the moment. A little sad. Or maybe it’s me that’s sad. No, I’m not sad I’m just feeling nostalgic for something lost. I’m experiencing a kind of bittersweet moment. We might’ve been performing for peanuts, but we were happy. No doubt about that.

Our beers arrive, and I notice there’s a new server to deliver them, just as giggly as the first one. Maybe they’re taking turns. She wants a selfie with me, I oblige, and she goes away beaming.

“It’s amazing how this place hasn’t changed,” I muse, looking around. “Same kitsch on the walls, same tables and chairs, same menus.”

“Same staff,” he points out as a burly man ambles over to us carrying two plates piled high with food. His smile is a mile wide.