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