One of the perks of being my own boss was that I answered to no one but myself.
I knew I couldn’t hang out in Sunny’s restaurant every day, but for now, that was where I planned to be.
The place became quiet as the afternoon wore on. The small staff she employed stayed busy, cleaning and prepping for the following day. About three o’clock, a man strolled in, carrying an armful of linens. He set it on the counter, leaning on the glass, looking comfortable in the shop. His face was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I bristled when Sunny came from the kitchen, greeting him warmly, kissing him on the cheek, and chatting to him. Their posture was relaxed and easy, suggesting a level of intimacy between them. My annoyance grew as I watched him lay his hand on her arm as they shared a private joke.
The rational part of my brain knew I had no claim on Sunny. That for the past ten years we had lived separate lives. I was under no illusions that she had been pining away for me and had shut herself off from the world. She was too beautiful and vibrant.
However, the caveman part of me wanted to walk over and grab the stranger’s hand and yank it off her arm. Stand beside her and pull her close.
Claim her.
Which would probably end up with me on the floor after she kneed me in the balls. I had a feeling Sunny wouldn’t take my gesture very well.
So, I sat and glared, hating the stranger. Hating the time that had separated us. Hating my father even more—something I didn’t think was possible.
Then Sunny looked my way, smiled, and gestured for me to come over. I unfurled myself from the table, my legs protesting as I stood. I crossed the floor of the shop, wondering why the stranger was grinning so widely and why Sunny seemed so happy.
Before I could stop myself, I moved beside her and wrapped my arm around her waist, tugging her close. “You gestured?” I teased, pressing a kiss to her head while holding the stranger’s gaze, letting him know who she belonged to.
Apparently, the caveman had won.
If anything, his grin became wider. He reached out his hand, pumping mine hard.
“Linc Thomas. You sorry son of a bitch. Never thought I’d see you again.”
“Webber,” I corrected him automatically. I hated hearing my name associated with my father’s in any way. “Lincoln Webber.”
He nodded. “Webber, then.”
His voice was familiar. I narrowed my eyes, taking in his brown hair and light blue eyes. The small scar beside the right one. I recognized it because I gave him the cut that caused the scar. We were playing soccer, and I fell, my cleat catching the corner of his eye. There was a lot of blood, and he punched me, giving me a split lip. We were both ejected from the game.
Recognition hit me, and a smile cracked my lips.
“Michael Hall. What the hell are you doing here?”
Michael had been one of the few people I had liked at school. I’d considered him a friend—at least as much as I’d considered anyone outside Sunny a friend. We weren’t close, but we respected each other and were in a lot of the same classes and sporting events. He knew about Sunny and me, his girlfriend someone Sunny trusted and had confided in, but he never let on about us. He allowed us our privacy, seeming to understand the reason for it.
He was always easygoing, cheerful, and more than once showed what a good guy he was by walking Sunny home when my father interfered with our plans, or even letting me know if she needed me. He had worked at the dry cleaner next door to the diner, and one memory stood out for me of his thoughtfulness.
I had been sitting in my usual booth at the diner, eating, talking with Sunny during her breaks, when the bell over the door jangled. It was getting late, and the diner was mostly empty, so I was surprised when Michael rushed in, heading straight toward me.
“Your dad is looking for you. I heard him asking people if they had seen you.” He glanced toward Sunny. “He’s in a foul mood, Linc. You might not want him finding you here.”
I stood. “Shit.”
“Go out the back door. Leave your stuff. I’ll pretend it’s mine, and I’ll cover you and make sure Sunny gets home. Go.”
Sunny gripped the cloth she was holding. “Go,” she urged.
I ran through the kitchen and out the back door. I didn’t stop running until I got to the house. I tore up the stairs and flung myself in bed, remembering to pull off my shirt that smelled of the diner before diving under the covers.
I heard the sound of my father’s car, then the front door opening, and his voice bellowing my name as he came up the stairs. My bedroom door flew open so hard it hit the wall, and I pretended to be jolted out of a deep sleep and sat up, startled.