Page 57 of Best Laid Plans

Nova had done that for me, given me direction. She'd given more than she'd taken from me, and now it was my turn to do the same for her.

Chapter 22

Nova

Igot to Sentinel Steakhouse, the poshest restaurant in the small town at the same time as Diego. We drove separately, but he insisted on driving behind me—as if worried I'd escape, which I wanted to do.

The atmosphere was upscale, with dark wood furnishings, white tablecloths, and soft ambient lighting. I felt like I was stepping into the lion's den. The moment we crossed the threshold, I could feel eyes on us, the curious gazes of the townspeople who knew of me. I kept my head high, but inside, I was a bundle of nerves.

It would only get worse once Anson arrived. People would gossip, and waiters would hover, trying to catch snippets of our conversation. The rumor mill would go into overdrive—actually, it probably already had, with text messages flying, secretly taken photos and videos circulating, and overheard tidbits mixing with all the stuff that would inevitably be made up.

"You're popular," Diego remarked as the hostess walked us to a prime spot near the window, a spot I irritably thought would guarantee that we were on display from the inside and out.

"This is a disaster," I muttered once we were seated.

Diego grinned. "Come on, give them something to talk about, babe."

I raised an eyebrow. "Babe, they already do," I replied.

He laughed, and I literally heard all the women in the restaurant sigh.

"Don't look quite so happy," I admonished jokingly, "the rumor will be that we were on a date."

"And what happens when Anson arrives? Ménage à trois?"

I chuckled. "I shudder to imagine."

Our server asked what we'd like to drink. Diego ordered a bourbon neat while I asked for unsweetened iced tea. I was driving, so I wouldn't be drinking.

"You can have one glass of something," Diego mused, his large brown hands contrasting against the white of the tablecloth.

"I don't drink if I'm driving," I told him. "How are you finding Sentinel?"

He shrugged. "I'm staying at the Sentinel Inn right now. I took over their one and only suite. I still have my place in Scottsdale and an apartment in downtown Savannah."

"You don't intend to live here?"

The server gave us our drinks and left three menus after Diego told her that we'd have a third at the table. I knew that would mean those who were almost done with their meal would hover around just to see who would be joining us. Small towns were hell on privacy.

"No." Diego picked up his glass of bourbon in a toast. "Sentinel is just not diverse enough. This town is fucking racist."

I almost spat my iced tea.

"You're mixed race, so I'm sure you know that," Diego quipped.

"I just…I've never heard someone say it out loud." I looked around and grinned. "And people heard."

"Good. A little shame might help them become more tolerant and accepting. It's not like Georgia is the mecca of tolerance, but Savannah is quite liberal. My father is a physician, and my mother is a hospital administrator, and they love it there. They have a diverse set of friends, different races, and socioeconomic statuses. Here, you're either white or black, wealthy or middle class or poor, and everyone stays within their little cliques."

Diego spoke flatly. He wasn't angry, he was just stating facts.

"I was always black first; and then I was a prostitute's daughter. Mama grew up in Sentinel and Memaw lived here all her life," I said feeling comfortable talking about this with Diego because I knew he understood what it meant to be an other, specifically, a lesser other.

"That couldn't have been easy." Diego leaned in and gently placed his hand on mine, offering a reassuring touch. I didn't pull away. For some reason, he didn't make me feel uneasy. Diego might have been one of the first men since Anson that I trusted after knowing for such a short period. His honesty was disarming.

"No. I was a straight-A student; top of the high school class, but they wouldn't let me be the valedictorian. They chose Brian Macon."

Diego arched an eyebrow. "Mayor Brian Macon?"

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