I have butterflies in my stomach as I start my shift. On the way out of the Columbia, I asked my dad if he and Lynda and Alison might come in for dinner tonight. I had to tell him about my job. I guess after the big bombshell of me showing up at his store, the fact that I’m temporarily working as a waitress at a small Italian restaurant didn’t make him bat an eye.

“Maybe, honey,” he said. “I’ll see if I can close up the store early.” Thinking about him coming in, I feel like I did on Christmas Eve as a kid, full of excitement and anticipation.

So I’m in a really good mood as I run pizzas and calzones back and forth between the kitchen and the bustling dining room. It’s busy for a Wednesday, and at six, the height of the dinner rush, there’s even a little line outside the door. Bev and her husband Louie are thrilled.

“Business is really picking up!” Louie exclaims several times throughout the evening. He keeps muttering something about getting out of the red and into the black.

Nick arrives around eight and I tell him about my lunch with my dad and show him the necklace. I make him promise to stay until closing, just in case my dad, Lynda and Alison come in. I want him to meet them.

Around nine I’m taking a brief break in the kitchen when Nick joins me. I smile at him, thinking he’s come back to keep me company or something. But then I notice that his face doesn’t look open and friendly. His jaw is set, and his eyes look kind of angry.

“There’s someone here to see you, Star,” he says, lowering his voice and saying that last word a bit sourly. I look at him in surprise.

“My dad!”

“Not quite,” Nick says.

Just then, the kitchen door swings wide open, and when

I look up, I’m so shocked at who’s standing there that it takes it a full ten seconds to register.

“Jesse?” I squeak.

“Star!” Jesse Bishop exclaims, standing in the doorway to the kitchen in all his faded-jeans-and-rock-star-tee glory. “I’ve been so worried! Thank God you’re okay! I’ve been so worried about my girl!”

Before I know what’s happening, he has crossed the room in three long strides, taken me in his arms, dipped my head back and pressed his lips to mine. It’s not until I straighten up in shock that I notice the wall of people behind him.

There, in the doorway to the kitchen, are at least a half-dozen photographers, snapping photos like crazy, and at least a half-dozen videographers with their lights on and their cameras rolling. And in the midst of them is Nick, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, staring right at me.