Chapter 3
Nikki
I move to fill Bob's coffee, where he, Peter the local taxi, and Tim from the toy store down the street sit, chatting about farm life, before I wipe down the counter and refill the cups of the other few patrons nearby. It’s quiet today, apart from the rowdy guys who are back again.
The ones who stand too close to me when I pass by and who look at me longer than they should.
I don’t like them. But they’re paying customers and never seem to bother anyone else, so I keep quiet.
Not wanting to make a fuss, I serve them quickly, leaving them to come back to the safety of the counter.
I may be moving around, doing the usual things, but I feel his eyes on me the entire time. I felt it the moment he walked in. He’s here earlier than usual today. Slinking in through the back door and sitting in his usual spot, no one interrupting him, hat pulled low in his signature style.
I wonder why he comes here. Why sit in a diner for hours almost every day?
I mean, the chicken pie Rochelle makes is good, but not that good.
I’m about to go and see if he needs anything, Rochelle serving him initially, but the chimes ring on the door, and the noise of the diner simmers to a low murmur.
Looking up, I understand why. A stranger.
Slicked-back hair, fake-tanned skin, white teeth so blinding I almost laugh.
Almost. My experienced city eye spots Botox, a chin implant, maybe some fillers around the jaw and cheeks.
This guy has had work done, and the way he walks toward me, his smile wide like a game show host, I know there's only one reason he’s here.
Sutton.
I don’t dare look in Sutton’s direction. But I know he can’t move and run out the back door like he usually would. The diner is too quiet, and the movement would have this guy looking straight at him. Giving him away instantly. With Rochelle in the kitchen, this one is now up to me.
“Hi there.” His voice razzle dazzles. Yep, Hollywood, for sure.
“Hi. What can I get you?” My fake country accent is terrible, and I wonder briefly why my heart is racing. It isn’t my identity being given away.
“I’m actually looking for someone. Wondering if you can help?” He pulls some papers from his pocket, unfolding them. “Have you seen this man?”
I look down at the paper, a full page of Sutton’s face staring back at me.
He looks good. In a suit, from a red carpet, with a beautiful brunette on his arm.
I mean, I see him most days, but with his hat lowered and his face guarded, I haven’t really experienced Sutton with a full-blown smile, standing confidently in all his glory.
And now, I’m glad I haven’t, because his smile would melt even the most stoic woman.
I swallow hard, taking in his sparkling eyes, his chiseled jaw, and movie-star good looks.
“I don’t recognize him. Is he a friend of yours or somethin’?” I act completely stupid. Of course, anyone who’s anyone knows who Sutton Silvers is. He’s on the side of buses and billboards all around the country.
The guy scoffs at me, and I feign confusion.
“This is Sutton Silvers.” His voice has lowered, full of condensation.
I tilt my head. “Sutton who?”
Bob coughs into his coffee nearby, which almost has my lips twitching. The whole diner is watching us at this point. You could hear a pin drop.
“Silvers. Hollywood heartthrob. Billionaire movie star. His brother runs the law firm just across the road.”
With my lips pursed in a thinking expression, I make a show of glancing at Sawyer's office across the street before I look back at the photo of Sutton and shake my head.
But then, I light up with a gasp. “Oh, I remember him!”
“You do?” His hopes are up, the anticipation of finding the man who doesn’t want to be found.
“Yeah, my friend Jodie has a sister Sarah whose neighbor Sally said that she’s going to marry him one day.” I grin at him, his face now one of disbelief.
“But have you seen him? Here in the diner or around town with his brother?” he presses.
“Our local lawyer is never here. Jodie tries to take him cakes every day, you know, trying to get to know him.” I wink at him like we are part of an inside joke.
“But he’s mostly in New York. His office is barely open.
” I nod across the street, proving my case.
Sawyer’s legal office is closed, or at least it looks that way.
He’s probably there or working from home, but he’s always in Whispers.
Hardly ever leaves now that he’s settled down with Annabelle.
“Are you sure you haven’t seen Sutton?” he asks one last time, but I feel his energy wane.
“Believe me, if a guy like that was here in Whispers, I would be all over him like a poison ivy rash. You know Jodie said that he probably kisses so good it makes a girl’s toes curl.
” I let out a giggle for good measure. It’s easy to act stupid.
And men just believe it. If only he knew I graduated on the Dean’s List from MIT, know three languages, and vacationed in the Swiss Alps as a kid.
“Well… you and most of the women in this country.” He huffs with a smirk.
“Fuck. Looks like the tip-off was bad. Glad I spent all day traveling here for nothing.” Pushing off the counter, he walks out without so much as a thank you.
We all hold our breath, watching him get back into his blacked-out SUV and making his way out of town.
It’s only then that the few people in here start to laugh heartily.
“Who the hell is Jodie?” Bob asks, chuckling.
“You heard her, she’s Sarah’s sister,” Tim adds, and the three men start cackling and shaking their heads at me, and I can't help but grin. There’s been a few journalists come in who I’ve had to throw off the scent, but never has Sutton been right here when I’ve done it.
When I look at him, his gaze on me is intense, so with a racing heart, I walk over with the fresh pot of coffee to offer a refill.
“Thanks for that,” he says quietly.
“Rochelle told me that you need to remain unseen… I know what that’s like.
” As soon as the words leave my lips, I seize.
He watches me closely, and I feel like a deer in headlights.
I’m saying too much, obviously getting too relaxed.
But he doesn’t ask anything further, and for that, I’m grateful.
So far, James and I have hidden in Whispers with success; I don’t need to blow our cover.
“Sooo all over him like a poison ivy rash?” He lifts his cup to his lips, and I notice the ends curl up a little as he takes a sip. He’s trying not to laugh.
I cringe, even as I chuckle lightly. “I had to improvise.”
“You’re good at it. Ever had a poison ivy rash before?” His smile is small, a little cheeky, and I think my stomach flips into itself.
“Never. Also never had my toes curl, but…” Shit, my cheeks flush immediately, and the smile he had disappears as his mouth parts slightly.
“Sounds like your friend Jodie knows what she's talking about.” He clears his throat, and I want to die. He knows there’s no Jodie, so he’s letting me off easy. I can’t talk. I’m equal parts mortified that I just admitted that and terrified that I opened myself up too much.
“I should go. You’ve probably done enough fibbing for me for one day.
” As he stands, I watch him come to full height right next to me.
He’s tall, just like his brother and all the other men around here.
But I’ve never stood beside him before, and now that I am, I notice I only come up to his chest. I was born with the short gene.
I’ve hated it most of my life. I was always the shortest in the class.
Always an outcast, especially around all the socialites in Manhattan who would come to my father’s events.
They were all models, rake thin and comically tall.
Legs for days, hair long, thick, and fake.
Then there was me. All five-foot-nothing, strawberry-blond hair, and a brain bigger than my boobs.
I swallow as I look up for what feels like minutes, my eyes trailing up his chest, over his well-defined broad shoulders, across his clenched jaw until I see his eyes searching mine from under his hat. Damn. They’re the same deep brown ones from the photo.
“Well, acting isn’t really my strong suit,” I whisper as we stand chest to chest. My feet are rooted to the spot, and I have no idea what’s wrong with me. He looks at me like he wants to kiss me, and for just a moment, I wonder what that would be like.
“Could’ve fooled me. That accent was… interesting.”
My lips quirk.
“Have a good night, Nikki.” Without another word, he brushes past me, his cologne leaving a trace of leather and spice that I breathe in as he slinks out the back door like the ghost he is.
Taking a deep breath, I try to settle myself.
I haven’t been that close to a man in a long time and never one who makes me feel like this.
Shaking my head, dislodging the thoughts, I turn to clean up his table, grabbing his cup and napkin before I see he left me a tip.
Grabbing the cash, I pause. Because it isn’t the usual few dollars the others drop around here.
It’s a hundred-dollar bill. Benjamin looks up at me with his thin-lipped smile, and my teeth grind.
I pocket it quickly, looking around, spotting a guy from the group of men watching me.
But from his gaze, I get the shivers, not the feeling of warmth that I do from Sutton.
Lowering my eyes, I quickly clean up and walk out the back door with my shoulders up around my neck and smoke coming from my ears.