Josh destroyed me. Pania helped me pick up the pieces. If it hadn’t been for her friendship, and her family around me, I wouldn’t be the person I am now.

I would have constructed bigger walls around my heart.

Which is why I’m so worried. I’m not sure it’d take much for the walls I do have to crumble if Josh and I meet again.

The only question is how bad the fallout would be.

Three

Delaney

For the next few days, I hold my breath every time the bell above the diner door rings.

Will he even remember me if I meant that little to him?

I’m torn between curiosity over seeing him and wanting the weeks to pass by with him not knowing I’m here.

On Wednesday afternoon, a short, blond man walks in carrying a tablet like a clipboard. A clipboard would probably be more effective. Mobile coverage is nothing much to speak of around here unless you’re toward the mountain where the rich have holiday homes. While the rest of the world is moving to 5G, we’re lucky if we have 3G.

“Are you Delaney?” he asks as he approaches the counter. He’s American, but his accent is different to the guy who I spoke with the other day. It’s much more gentle.

I nod. “Sure am.”

“My name is George Wood. And I have a really big favour to ask.”

“What kind of favour?”

“I’m working on the movie that’s starting production next week. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. Twisted Hearts?”

Ugh.

“Yes, I’ve heard of it.”

“There’s a big welcoming party to kick things off on Friday, and I really need a caterer.”

I raise myself up as tall as I can and eyeball him. “Don’t you think you should have thought about this earlier?”

His sheepish expression tells me everything I need to know. “We do have in-house catering, but they’re not going to be ready in time. And Mitch raved about the burger he had here the other day. So, he wondered if you’d be prepared to help us out.”

“How many do you need catering for?"

Another sheepish look. "Two hundred. I'll make it worth your while."

Two hundred? I've no idea how I'm supposed to feed two hundred people with less than forty-eight hours’ notice from my small kitchen.

"How much are we talking?"

He gives me a figure that makes me gasp. And then it turns out to be in US dollars, so I gasp even more. I’d have to be insane to walk away from this. "What kind of food?"

"The stuff you serve here. Most of the cast and crew live Stateside so appreciate home-cooked fare. But throw in some Kiwi delicacies as well.”