He’s standing in line at the counter. I take a plastic tray and get in line behind him. My heart is pounding. I don’t know what to do.
Should I just say his name?
I watch him slide his tray along, past a display of desserts. They’ve got slices of cake covered in plastic wrap. Sad-looking cups of fruit cocktail. He reaches up and takes a glass dish of rice pudding.
I stare down at the pudding. He looks up and our eyes meet. But there’s no gleam of recognition. He just gives me a slightly embarrassed smile and then keeps sliding his tray along while I stay frozen in place.
He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t remember. I thought I was prepared for this possibility but I wasn’t. It hurts worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Says the girl who’s actually been shot in the chest.
He slides his tray up to the woman at the cash register. But instead of paying immediately, he glances back at me. “I can’t help noticing that you’re staring at my rice pudding. I know it’s kind of a weird thing to buy, but rice pudding is the reason I come here.”
I manage a weak twitch of a smile. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I can’t seem to get enough of the stuff.” He shrugs. “I guess I get it for the sentimental value. It reminds me of being in the hospital.”
“Your hospital experiences must have been far more pleasant than mine,” I say.
“Not at all. I never want to see the inside of a hospital again if I can help it, but for some reason, whenever I eat rice pudding, it cheers me up. I can’t explain it.”
I’m about to turn and walk away. It just hurts too much to see him.
“Aren’t you getting anything?” he asks. He takes a second dish of pudding and puts it on his tray. “How ’bout it? My treat.”
“Thanks, but I probably should get go—”
But looking up into his face, I’m stopped cold. Those dark brown eyes, the way he’s looking at me. I forgot how unbelievably handsome he is. I can’t move.
“Have we met before?” he asks. His eyes have narrowed, like he’s trying to think of something he can’t quite grasp. A memory. An association. It puzzles him. And Thomas has never been one to let a puzzle defeat him.
“I swear I don’t make a habit of using that line, and if you tell me your name, I’ll retire it forever in your honor.”
I hesitate a moment. My new identity—the name that matches my blonde-dyed hair and blue contact lenses—will never stop feeling like a lie.
Even though I know I’ll be breaking one of Mrs. Fitzgerald’s security rules, I decide to tell him the truth. Sort of.
“Sarah.”
“Would you like to join me, Sarah?”
“Why did you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like, you know, Sarah. Like you’re using air quotes.”
“Because I don’t think that’s your real name. I think you just gave me some random fake name because you’re thinking about brushing me off. Not that I’d blame you—you’ve probably been hit on by some complete creepers, and it’s logical to assume I might fall into that category.”
“I’m not . . . I don’t want to brush you off.”
Our eyes lock.
All I want to do is reach out and pull him into my arms, but I can’t.
“Well, Sarah is my real name, for the record,” I say. “But I will overlook your skepticism. And I still accept your gift of pudding.”
He puts his hand over his heart and gives an exaggerated exhale in relief. “Thank you.”
I smile. He pays and motions for me to sit down at a table with him.
This is not what I’d hoped for.
Or is it?
We’re both safe now. We have a chance to start over, just like two normal people. We’ve been through a lot to get here. Maybe this is our consolation prize.
I’ll take it.
Acknowledgments
I’m grateful to Molly Jaffa, Denise Logsdon, and Alison S. Weiss for lending me their amazing brains and generous hearts during a difficult writing year.
A big thank-you to my talented Carolrhoda Lab editors, Amy Fitzgerald and Alix Reid, for putting the polish on my words and for giving this sequel a warm and welcoming new home at Lerner. And many thanks to Danielle Carnito, Erica Johnson, and Giliane Mansfeldt for making this book look so flaming fabulous.
Thank you to my #squad—Philip, Caroline, Lucy, Emma, and Gus—for providing every good thing in my life.
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