“I know nothing about your life. Are you married? Divorced? Do you have kids?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Her heartbeat kicked up a notch as she attempted to appear calm and collected. “To which question?”
“I have a daughter. She’s the reason I live out here.”
Troy was a father? Elle’s stomach tied itself into knots. She hadn’t expected that.
“And your wife?”
“I’m not married.”
“Divorced, then?”
“No. I’ve only been married once.”
Troy’s eyebrows dipped as he peered into Elle’s eyes. His face softened, and without meaning to, she mirrored his expression immediately. Even after ten years, their connection was as strong as ever.
“What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Payton.”
Elle tilted her head. “You didn’t.”
Troy was obsessed with the Chicago Bears, as most Chicagoans were. He was especially enamored of Walter Payton, one of the most prolific running backs in the NFL. Elle would never forget Troy’s drunken rendition of the Super Bowl Shuffle, especially when he’d place the sweatband around his head and proclaim himself Walter.
Troy threw his head back in laughter, then held his hands up in surrender.
“Her mother named her, I swear. But of course I didn’t object.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful name. How old is she?”
“She’ll be nine on Christmas Day.”
Elle swallowed hard, and an ache developed in her gut. Nine? His daughter was going to be nine years old, which meant that as Elle spent months attempting to get over him and his disappearance from her world, Troy wasted no time in moving on. She could feel the blood draining from her cheeks.
“Nine?”
“Rigby, I—”
“Nine?” Her eyes widened as she glared at Troy, who looked up at the ceiling, guilt spreading across his face.
“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not like that. It was a rebound, and her mother and I are still friends.”
Elle shifted in her seat, but said nothing. Troy cleared his throat before filling the awkward silence that lingered between them.
“It works for us and I get to be in my daughter’s life, which is all I want. She’s my whole world.”
“I see.” Elle pushed the rejection she was feeling down below the surface and resolved to focus on the facts. She wanted more information; she wanted to know everything she could. Troy was a puzzle and she was determined to make the pieces come together, even if they would never quite fit.
“You said she’s the reason you’re here . . .”
“Yeah. Her mom moved here seven years ago. She married a guy in the recording industry and I couldn’t be across the country from my kid. So I followed them here.”
“Well, now I know why we never ran into each other when I was still in Chicago.”
Troy nodded. “Yeah.”
“But a restaurant? When we—I mean, you were an accountant—”
“I know.” Troy stood and paced Elle’s office. “I was. Even out here, I was. I worked at a talent agency for a long time. But when my dad got sick, things changed. I changed.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. I had no idea. I would have been there.” The guilt Elle felt for missing Tony Saladino’s services was palpable. He’d always been good to her, even when things between her and his son were rocky.
“I know.”
“What changed?”
“I was miserable, ya know? I went to work every day, crunching numbers, meeting with clients, and I hated it. I went back to Chicago to help out whenever I could. I’d take long weekends and take my dad to chemo. We’d sit and talk and he knew—he knew I was miserable. He told me life was short. And for the first time, I believed him.”
“The restaurant’s great,” Elle said. “It felt like home, like being back in Chicago.”
“I’m glad you think so. Aside from Payton, it’s my pride and joy.”
“You found your dream.”
“And you obviously found yours.” Troy gestured to the frames on the walls. “Seriously, Rigby, this is the big time. Your show is all the buzz, you have an Emmy nomination.”
“I didn’t win.”
“Still. You’re living the dream.”
“Yeah.” She paused, allowing her eyes to wander around her office in appreciation of the career she’d built. “I guess I am.”
“How did this happen?” He gestured to their surroundings.
“Well, years ago I wrote a book. And then another . . . and another. They were picked up by a publisher and just over five years ago, I got this call. It was the head of the studio wanting a meeting.”
“That must’ve been wild.”
“It was. Wild and scary and just . . . crazy. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and before I knew it I was packing up