9 who you are

"No, it's okay," Joy assured. "My health is perfect, aside from the fact that I melt every time I go outside in this humidity. I can't believe you two grew up in summer saunas like this."

"She changes the subject to the weather," Max said archly to Sarah, sipping his coffee. "I am not changing the subject," Joy said, laughing. "Look, if you like, I could ask Seth to get you two tickets. He's staying at the Elysian Hotel over on Walton. If he has a couple of tickets, you could pick them up after we finish here. I'll call him right now," Joy said, extricating her cell phone from her pocket.

"Hold the phone," Sarah said in an odd, tense tone that made Joy glance up. She'd thought Sarah had been referring to the call she'd been about to make, but Sarah's turned head told her that her friend wasn't even aware of Joy's actions. Instead, she stared fixedly at the entrance. Sarah jerked her hand down, slapping Joy's thigh. She squeezed convulsively at the same time she placed her other hand over her heart. Joy glanced around her shoulder, curious as to what had transfixed a usually practical, down-to-earth woman. She saw a tall man wearing a newsboy cap and a gorgeous woman with long golden hair tumbling around her shoulders entering the coffee house.

"It's Everett Hughes," Sarah said in a strangled voice. "Everett Hughes just walked into Harry's Brew and Bake."

"You're losing it," Max told his wife as he scowled at the couple. "You've got Maritime on the brain."

"It is Everett Hughes," Sarah hissed at her husband as if she were a poked snake.

Joy craned to see around Sarah. The man who was the focus of Sarah's undivided attention had a tall, lean frame and filled out his jeans in an eye-catching manner. He was nice to look at, but she suspected Max was right in thinking Sarah had Hollywood on the brain—until the man tilted his head back to study the blackboard menu. Beneath the bill of a newsboy cap that had seen better days, Joy glimpsed the profile of one of the most famous faces in the country. He sported a short, golden brown goatee. Besides the newsboy cap and well-worn jeans, he wore what looked like a vintage bowling shirt. It was awful. The fact that the man-made the shirt look like the height of careless-sexy said a lot about him.

"It is him, Max," Joy said, sitting back in the booth and smiling. She'd grown up in the land of movie stars and was used to occasionally glimpsing a celebrity. It was strange how her heart had lurched upon seeing Hughes's profile. Perhaps it was because he was one of the most super of the superstars she'd ever witnessed combined with the strangeness of it happening in an innocuous coffee shop in Chicago. "Er . . . Sarah, can you release the death grip on my thigh?"

"Oh sure, sorry," Sarah said distractedly, still watching Hughes, but now straining to do so in a less obvious manner. Even though she'd consented to release Joy, she continued to grip her leg until Joy manually removed her hand.

"He's here for the premiere. Is that his wife?" Max asked in a hushed tone. "