“So you really think I did all right, huh?”
Elle wasn’t sure if Luke was fishing for compliments or if he was really quite so uncertain about his performance, but she found it refreshing regardless. In her experience, he was an anomaly. Nolan and other actors like him were frequently overconfident about their abilities and their egos bruised easily when criticized. Luke, however, was a strong actor considering his lack of experience in front of a camera, and Elle was confident that once he got acclimated to the routine, he’d become a fine actor, perhaps even one worthy of an Emmy nod.
“You were great.”
“Back to the grind tomorrow, huh?”
Elle nodded, taking a small sip of her wine, savoring the notes of blackberry and oak. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, looking as if he was trying to reassure her of his enthusiasm for the show. “I loved it. I think the entire process is fascinating.”
“Me too.”
And it was the truth. Since moving to California, she’d submerged herself in every aspect of television show creation. She wanted to know absolutely everything there was to know, and she hoped it showed in her series. She knew the ropes, the process, the rules of executing a quality television program and she was damn proud of it.
When the pizza arrived, Luke served Elle first before placing a steaming hot piece of deep-dish pie on his plate. Layers of thick melted cheese pooled on their plates and the marinara appeared to be filled with fresh crushed tomatoes and spices. The two moaned their approval of the meal with each bite.
“How have I never tried this place?” Luke asked.
Elle shrugged. “Outside, it just looks like a college bar. I’m shocked they don’t advertise their pizza.”
“I know,” Luke replied. “Clearly it’s the star of the show.”
Elle chuckled before narrowing her eyes. “Did you just pun on purpose?”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. I have television on the brain.”
Luke reached for Elle’s hand, taking it in his own and kissing the palm.
“Forgiven.”
Luke’s mouth fell open as Elle said that simple word he’d said only weeks before. He then kissed her palm again; this time his lips lingered against her sensitive skin. His eyes closed as his mouth seduced her hand. They’d made love dozens of times, but this small act was one of the most enticing things Luke had done in her presence. So intimate, so sensual. She was hooked. Arousal built inside of Elle and despite her fatigue after a long, tedious workday, and despite the fact they weren’t yet finished with dinner, Elle was possessed by a different kind of hunger.
The hunger for Luke. She wanted him right then and there.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a deep, and oddly familiar, voice.
“Are you enjoying your meal, folks?”
She’d know that voice anywhere. It had been ten years, but it was the same. Exactly the same.
Elle gasped. Her heart sped out of control and a rush of adrenaline flooded her belly. As she mustered the energy to turn to face the man who had stolen her heart years ago, Luke looked at her with confusion in his eyes. When she did turn and look at the man, his mouth dropped and his eyes were wide. He was as shocked as Elle.
“Rigby?”
Troy Saladino hadn’t aged much in the ten years they’d been apart. His muscular chest pulled at his crisp white shirt. His olive skin was just as she’d remembered it. His hair was still cut short, with just a touch of gel to create a purposely messed-up appearance near his forehead.
“Troy?”
Elle stood face-to-face with the only man she ever loved. But instead of hugging him or greeting him in any sort of amicable fashion, she could only stare at him in disbelief, not knowing what move on her part would be deemed acceptable. He took a small step back, running his fingers through his hair.
“I haven’t seen you since . . . since—”
“Vegas.” He finished her sentence for her, then cleared his throat. His cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson. His chest rose and fell and he turned away briefly, covering his mouth with his hand.
“Elle?”
Luke had risen from his chair and taken Elle’s hand in his own.
“I’m sorry, what did you call her?” Troy looked down at the joined hands. Elle watched his eyes focus on the simple display of affection.
“Luke, can you give us a minute?” Elle asked, placing a hand on Luke’s shoulder.
“Are you sure?” Luke stared at Troy as he asked the question.
“Yes. I, uh . . . I just need a minute, okay?”
“Fine. I’ll be here.”
Luke returned to the table, not taking his eyes off Troy. Elle turned back to Troy, eyeing the bar as if to ask him to talk with her away from the table.
“What are you doing here?” Troy asked when they reached the bar.
“I work in Los Angeles, I have a TV show. Follow the Sun. Didn’t you know that?”
Troy crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No, I didn’t.”
Elle rolled her eyes, knowing in her gut he was saying that out of spite. There was no way he didn’t know about her show—it was on every week, the characters were draped across billboards, they’d posed for Entertainment Weekly. It was everywhere in the pop culture subconscious.
“Fine, okay, I’ve heard of it. But I didn’t know it was yours. You’re like, what? An actress or something?”
Anger was building inside of Elle, an emotion she thought she’d never allow herself to feel when it came to him. Troy knew Elle had wanted to write. Even in college, she’d majored in English with a focus on creative writing. For him to assume she’d abandoned her love of writing to act was absurd. Didn’t he know her better than that?
“No, I created the show. They’re based on my novels.”
Troy licked his lips, looking smug. And for a brief second, Elle wanted to punch him right in the face. But then she remembered what happened ten years ago and she reeled her emotions back in.
“Oh, that’s right. You’re a writer, I forgot.”
“Whatever.” Elle tapped her finger on the bar. “What are you doing here? I thought you still lived in Chicago.”
“Ahh, keeping tabs on me, Rigby?”
“I stopped asking years ago, Troy. If I had, do you really think I’d be here?” Her brow raised, she tipped her chin. Troy flinched, receiving her unspoken message.
“How do I know this wasn’t a ploy? You show up with Mr. Hot Shot over there and try to make me jealous or someth—”
“Are you out of your mind?” Elle’s voice had turned to an agitated squeal. No one knew how to push her buttons like Troy Saladino. Absolutely nobody. When several patrons at the bar turned to glare at Elle, she lowered her voice. “You know that’s not my style. When I hurt people, it’s not intentional. Despite what they might think . . .”
Troy lowered his chin, pulling back against his neck. “Fine, whatever. So you’re here.”
“I’m here,” Elle conceded. “And you, what . . . you work here?”
“Actually, it’s mine. I own it.”
Elle swallowed hard, remembering how quickly she fell in love with the pizza of Anthony’s Pub. The pizza Troy had created.
“Why the name? If you own the place, why didn’t you name it Troy’s Pub?”
“It was my father’s name, remember?”
“Was?” Elle asked, feeling terrible for a moment as she remembered Tony Saladino, one of the nicest men she’d ever encountered. And suddenly, it all made sense. The smells of home, the delectable homemade sauce and familiar spices. Mr. Saladino was a genius in the kitchen and prepared pizza for his family quite often.
“He passed away two years ago.”
Elle lowered her voice, looking at the floor. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Troy looked back toward Elle’s table. And in that very moment, Elle realized she’d completely forgotten about Luke. She turned to see him sitting at the table, watching their heated discussion.