Jessica put a reassuring hand on her friend’s arm and said, “No worries, Nina. I got your back.”
Nina smiled gratefully. Jess glanced at the antique clock on the wall and realized that her son should have come back from school by now. She shuffled the plates in her own hands, suddenly worried. Single parenting—or is it professional juggling?—at its finest.
“Hey, can you take these to table six?” she asked. With an apprehensive look, Nina nodded and relieved Jessica of the two plates. Jess pointed, and Nina set off in the general direction of table six. Jess hoped that Nina would make it without incident.
Jess pulled her order pad out of her apron, ignored the numbers she’d previously scribbled on it—the ever-increasing amounts of the diner’s utility bills—and jotted down a quick grocery list so she wouldn’t forget to stop for milk and eggs on the way home. She was just about to pick up the old-fashioned rotary phone by the register when a customer called from behind her.
“Excuse me, please,” a voice said. “But I’m waiting?”
Jessica turned to see Wesley climb up on a stool and settle in at the counter. With his sleeves rolled up and his contrasting T-shirt peeking out from his unbuttoned collar, her son was the epitome of eight-year-old cool. He shuffled off the weight of his wide-strapped backpack and straightened his plaid shirt. She heard the sound of a school bus pulling away outside.
Jessica fawned dramatically. “I am so sorry, sir.” She paused and feigned contriteness. “What can I get for you?”
Wesley said, “Double burger with fries, extra pickles, cupcakes, and a mega-gulp soda.” His tone was hopeful.
If he ate all that junk, he’d be sick to his stomach. Thankfully, this was one parenting call where she didn’t have to be the bad guy. Gratefully, Jessica thanked her late grandfather and passed the buck.
“You know our policy, sir. If it’s not on the menu, it’s not on the plate,” she said.
Wesley hammed up his look of defeat. “But you run the place.”
Jessica nodded to a line of photos that hung on the wall, a shrine to the diner’s storied past. Among them was a picture of her grandfather, who’d started the diner and given the place its name—and who’d been her son’s namesake, as well.
Jessica said, “Sorry. It was always my grandpa’s rule, and if it was good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.”
Wesley rolled his eyes. “Aw, Mom.”
Jessica grinned and ruffled his dark hair. She was often struck by how much he resembled his father. Feeling a pang of something she’d rather not dwell too long on, she gave Wesley a kiss as he unzipped his backpack, which rested on the counter, and drew out a schoolbook. He opened the book and began leafing through it to find his place.
Jessica asked, “How was school, honey? Did my graham cracker flashcards help?”
Wesley rummaged in the backpack again, sliding out his lunchbox and opening it. He carefully took out a stack of graham crackers with numbers written on them in white icing. He picked up a simple addition problem and crunched into it.
“Well,” Wesley said, wiping icing off of his lips with the back of his hand, “I aced my math test!”
“Yeah? Great job! How about we celebrate with milk and more flashcards?”
At one end of the diner, Jess spotted Nina eyeing the TV. Was she trying to focus on what was airing? Wasn’t that something you were supposed to do in order to get used to a new eyeglass prescription—or was the trick to read with them?
Nina called, “Don’t look now, Jess, but your ex is on TV again.”
Jessica turned from the counter. Her mind briefly flashed to Wesley’s dad, but when she looked, a baseball game was playing on the small television that perched on a ledge above the well-worn booths of Wesley’s.
Oh. That ex.
Jessica tried to keep her voice light as she said, “Chase? I don’t think a high school boyfriend qualifies as an ex.” He barely qualified as a boyfriend. She surprised herself with the hint of bitterness she felt. But the smile on her face stayed firmly in place as she continued. “Wesley’s dad is ‘ex’ enough.”
Nina pushed her glasses down the bridge of her nose and stepped closer to the TV. Looking over the top of her new frames, she said, “Look, they’re replaying Chase’s clip from the seventh game again. It never gets old.” Though Nina seemed glued to the dramatic scene that was unfolding and a little zoned out as she gaped at the television, the sympathy was clear in her voice.
The news clip replayed on the diner’s TV. Chase Taynor, still as handsome in his thirties as he had been during their senior year of high school, threw a pitch that didn’t strike out the batter at the plate but instead resulted in a grand slam home run. Jess hadn’t been watching the live game, but when she’d caught the clip on the news the night after the incident, she’d sworn the whole city of Boston had let out a collective moan.
The TV reporter said, “Boston was in mourning last fall after losing the seventh game of the series, with many blaming pitcher Chase Taynor for the defeat. Once a star on the mound, Taynor is now a man without a team, and many are wondering if anyone will pick up his contract with just two weeks before the new season starts.”
Jessica studied Chase’s serious face, not missing the defeat that flashed across his sharp, striking features. The report cut to a clip of Chase swarmed by media, trying to shield his face. A stunning woman with beautiful, flowing hair hung on his arm, looking more like a luxury accessory than a girlfriend. Jess couldn’t help feeling a small pang of jealousy. She hoped it didn’t show in her expression.
When she pulled her gaze away from the screen, she found Nina studying her. If Nina noticed Jess’s discomfort, she let it slide.
“I feel bad for the guy,” Nina said, looking back at the TV.
“Oh, come on,” Jess sputtered, hoping that Nina hadn’t caught on to her. Jess didn’t want to talk about Chase when the diner got too slow to do anything but gossip—and those times were frequent lately. “Must hurt to be taken down a few notches, especially for that ego.”
The crowd of press on TV swarmed Chase, shouting his name. A female sports reporter said, “Chase! Just a few questions! Have you gotten over giving up the grand slam in game seven of the series?”
“Yeah,” Chase said. “My apologies go out to the fans and my teammates, but I’ve got a short memory. I’m already thinking about next season.” He was always so cool, Jess thought. More like his dad than he would ever admit—a man of few words.
Cal, who had come out of the kitchen, chuckled as he wiped his hands clean on a bar towel. “Wow,” he said, pointing to the news. “Miss Supermodel sure doesn’t look too happy.”
Supermodel? Was that why the stunner looked so familiar? Of course. He’s a hotshot pro athlete—it’d be stereotypical that he’d have a supermodel girlfriend.
On TV, Chase and the woman quickened their pace, trying to make it out of the crowd of paparazzi. The reporter who he’d just spoken to was undeterred. She fired off a final query. “Are you worried about contract negotiations?”
Chase stopped, his brow furrowing. This was no easy question, and it seemed like one he didn’t have a neatly prepared, glib response for. He paused before he responded, looking directly into the camera. “Hey, not a bit. It’s all part of the game.”
Jess knew that look. It was the same exact one that had been on his face when he’d told her, We need to talk. I have to tell you something, all those years ago. She remembered the conversation well, despite the time that had passed. He’d been itching to escape their small town and go off to the big show, ready to cut ties and leave her behind.
You could have gone