Chapter TwoTHE DINER HADN’T changed. Which was surprising, given it badly needed sprucing up when Dante had started high school. The same sports bar feel mixed with a traditional diner drew old timers in. The booths were faded, yet cozy, and it still smelled of grease and fries and vanilla.
“Dante, over here!” A frantic woman waved at him from a booth in the back.
Monica, that was Monica! Man, she’d changed. She looked put together, still slim and gorgeous, but grown up, almost old. She’d snatched the four booths at the back of the diner, the only ones set in double rows where the long steel bar top didn’t reach. It made sense if more of his former colleagues were joining. They’d be able to chat among themselves.
“Monica, you look fantastic,” Dante said, and to his dismay, she stood and
