She had to feed that muscle.
For herself, she got a giant heap of pancakes with berries and syrup.
Their waitress, an older bleached blonde named Betty, beamed as she brought over the food. The hair might’ve been an incongruous shade for her age, but her bones were the kind that meant she’d be beautiful until she died. “You two were so cute together at the awards.” Plates on the table, she patted Sarah on the shoulder with the familiarity of old acquaintance, though this was the first time they’d ever met.
Sarah smiled at the genuine warmth in the other woman’s tone. “Thank you.”
“I saved the clippings for our walls just in case you two ever came in.”
Those walls bore all kinds of memorabilia and articles about the celebrities who’d eaten at the diner.
“Really?” Sarah hadn’t given a thought to the media coverage of the awards. She’d been too busy trying to keep down her food. “Can I see them?”
Abe, who’d already started to eat, scowled. “Forget that shit, Sarah.”
“I want to see.” She glared at him. “I looked really good that night and so did you.”
“Yes, you did!” Betty hurried off to get the clippings.
Digging into the pancakes in the interim, Sarah moaned. “These are so good.”
Abe stared at her mouth. “Stop making those sounds or you won’t get to finish the stack.”
Shivering, Sarah licked her tongue playfully over her lips.
Betty returned with the clippings before the smoldering rock star across the table could pay her back for her teasing. “I’ll leave you to look at them in peace,” she said with another friendly pat on the shoulder. “Just holler if you need anything.”
Sarah had really only wanted to see the pictures, but Betty had brought the articles too, and wow, the media had actually portrayed her in a positive light—not simply as an accessory, not as a throwaway groupie. No, she’d been listed as Abe’s ex-wife and “a rising business mogul.”
She giggled. “Mogul. Ha! Someone likes hyperbole.”
“Hey, you’ll be a mogul before you’re done,” Abe responded. “I’ll be your boy toy forever.”
Laughing and blowing him a kiss, she continued to look through the clippings. “I told you—we looked amazing.” She held up a photo of that moment when he’d made her laugh by commenting on her breasts. The photographer had caught them in the instant before they faced the cameras. Instead, they were looking at one another, their smiles deep and their eyes full of light.
“I want this photo,” she said to Abe. “Do you think Thea could get me a copy?”
“She can probably twist someone’s arm.” Abe took the clipping from her. “Yeah, this is a good one.” His eyes went from the photo to her. “You’re so damn beautiful, Sarah.”
Her heart kicked. This man, he— “Oof.”
Abe’s eyes lit up. “Peanut’s kicking again?”
“Your peanut has taken up break dancing I think.” Their baby’s movements had become increasingly more vigorous over the past month. Sarah loved it, loved knowing their child was happy and healthy and growing inside her.
And as always when the baby moved, Abe came around to place his hand on her belly, see if he could catch a kick. When he did…
No fear of the past could compete with the raw joy in her heart. “Not that long to go now.”
“I can’t wait.”
THEA CALLED THEM TWO HOURS after they returned home. “A sweet photo of you two is doing the social media rounds as of an hour ago,” was her opening statement. “It’s of Abe kneeling by your chair, Sarah, his hand on the bump.”
“Tabloids?”
“No, original tracks back to a personal account. Looks like a fan caught you two being adorable together and snuck a pic to squee over. It went viral pretty quick.”
Sarah’s phone buzzed right then, Thea having called on Abe’s. When she swiped the message, she saw that Thea had forwarded her the photo. One look at it and her heart, it melted right into the soles of her feet. “It must’ve been that young couple sitting by the door that took it.”
“Angle’s right,” Abe said, his eyes on her, his face unsmiling. “You okay with this?”
“I knew it was coming—the bump’s hard to disguise these days.” Sarah stroked his arm. “Do you think this’ll escalate, Thea?”
“I don’t think so.” The publicist sounded like she was moving as she talked. “Give the photographers a few more chances to take shots, then you should be home free until the birth except for the odd paparazzo hoping to get a scoop of some kind. At which point it’ll become an arms race to see who can get the first shot of mini-Abra.”