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“Okay. Well, I have a secret too,” I say.

She shoots me a suspicious look. “I’m not your first poet?”

I laugh and brush a lock of hair from her eyes before settling to my back again.

“That’s not what I was going to say. What I wasgoingto say, is that I’ve had a crush on you since the moment I saw you in that diner.”

She gasps, turning on me. “So youwereflirting with me that day!”

“So hard,” I laugh out. “Not that I thought I had a shot with Luke there, but you know. A guy can dream.”

Her hand tightens around mine. “Well, then I have another secret. I was flirting with you too. I thought you were…” Her voice trails off, and I shift to face her.

My smile slips out at the pink on her cheeks.

“You thought I was what?” I press.

“Um… Hot? And sweet. And funny. And kind of perfect, to be honest.”

Warmth floods through me as she casts another shy glance.

“Well, now you know I’m not,” I tease, but she doesn’t smile.

“No. Now I know I’m pretty much the luckiest woman on this planet.”

Damn.

My heart bursts with love and hope as I pull her into me and press a kiss to her hair.

I close my eyes and breathe in the moment, pretty sure “luck” has nothing to do with it.

Wakingup beside Callie feels like a reward for something. I don’t know what because there’s no way I’ve done anything that would deserve such a gift. After a short cuddle and joint shower, I take off in search of sustenance worthy of an undercover princess.

There’s only one thing I can think of.

My sunny mood shifts as soon as I step into Jemma’s.

A somber pall falls over me when my gaze drifts to “the table.” Since learning why Luke’s stare kept flickering to the spot beside us the day we had breakfast, I’ve rewritten that entire encounter in a whole new light.

Fifteen months ago, Elena was here. At that table.

“Are you ready to be seated or still waiting for someone?”

I startle out of my trance and turn to face the host from the previous visits. Her expression brightens into excitement when she recognizes me.

“Oh, hi! Good to see you again. Do you need a table?”

A shiver runs through me at the loaded question.

“No, I’m just here to pick up an order. For Casey?”

“Absolutely! Let me check on that for you.”

“Thanks.”

She peeks back several times on her way to the kitchen, but my attention returns to the table. A younger couple occupies it now. They’re enjoying an animated conversation while they eat, with no awareness of the tragedy embedded in the lacquered wood beneath them.

Or maybe it’s the other way around.