Page 71 of Touchdowns and Temptations

“A Diet Coke,” I say and he nods.

“Would you like a menu?”

“Sure,” I reply and he turns and disappears behind the counter again. I take my cell phone out of my purse and see that I have a couple of messages from Marina.

*Marina: Did you get there okay?

*Marina: Cara?

*Marina: Please contact me!!!

*Marina: Are you okay?

*Marina: Did you find Noah yet?

I grin because she's really cute when she's worried. Marina offered to come with me to Nashville, but in the end, she didn't want to sit on the plane unnecessarily because of the pregnancy. A super hysterical pregnant friend wouldn't help either. 99.9999% of the time she won't be able to find the right words to tell Noah.

*Cara: Arrived safely!

“Your Diet Coke,” the waiter says, setting it down in front of me. “And the menu.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling at him.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Yeah ... maybe,” I mumble. “You know the McCarter twins?”

He blinks once and blinks again before laughing out loud.

“Who doesn't know Noah and Alex?”

“Right,” I groan. “Who doesn't know them. And... do you know where they live?”

“Yes,” he says and I can already see myself at the destination of my dreams. “So, where?”

He wedges his tray between his stomach and his hands and licks his lips. He looks at me with a grin.

“If I had a dollar for every woman who came into the diner asking for Mr. and Mrs. McCarter's address, I'd be a rich man.” I roll my eyes. “Sorry, honey, but it's an unwritten rule around here that we don't give out the McCarters' address.”

Somehow I respect his decision, but it frustrates me immensely. If the waiter is so secretive, what about the rest of them? I bite my lip and consider offering him a hundred dollars for the information, but that seems wrong.

“Okay,” I sigh. “Too bad.”

He nods at me and disappears. When he's gone, I grab the menu and open it. I go through each dish meticulously. But the only thing on my mind is Noah and how to find him.

“Cara?” My head jerks up. “What are you doing here?”

Emily is standing in front of me, eyebrows knitted together, looking at me. She's wearing white pants with chunky side pockets, the kind construction workers wear. Over them is a washed-out light gray polo shirt with a physiotherapy practice printed on it and a white long sleeve underneath. Such a beautiful woman and such an ugly outfit.

“Hi,” I say in surprise. “Oh God ... I'm so happy to see you. What are you doing here?”

Emily giggles and sits down in the chair across from me, brown paper bag in hand.

“I'm getting my lunch, and you?”

“I'm desperately trying to find out where the McCarters live,” I summarize. “From the looks of it, everyone here is very secretive.”

“Yes, we remain stubbornly silent.”

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