onLeave a Comment on A stranger beside me on a flight asked, “Could you pretend you fell asleep on my shoulder?” I almost said no. I had just left Chicago with my five-year-old daughter, two suitcases, and a marriage that had fallen apart three days earlier. But I agreed. Two hours later, I woke up still leaning against him—and discovered the quiet man beside me was one of the country’s best-known billionaires. Then my phone reconnected, and a message from my ex-husband appeared: I KNOW YOU TOOK FIONA TO NEW YORK. 
That had been my choice.
When I got into the car, he looked at me.
“Done?”
“Done.”
“How do you feel?”
I thought about it.
“Hungry.”
He smiled.
“That I can fix.”
We went to a diner.
Not a private club.
Not a restaurant with a month-long reservation list.
A diner near the lake where Fiona ordered chocolate chip pancakes at four in the afternoon.
Luca stole one of my fries.
I slapped his hand.
Fiona laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.
It was one of the best meals I had eaten in years.
