Alex turned and watched her walk up, his gaze taking in every inch of her.

As she reached the desk, he smiled at her softly, casually. “Hello Sabrina.” Then he didn’t say anything else. So that was it? That’s what he had to say to her after nineteen years and a daughter? She stared back at him without answering.

He shifted toward her slightly. “I’m Alex Kingsley.”

Yes, she knew. He didn’t look that different, and besides, Debbie the desk clerk was mouthing the words, “It’s Alex Kingsley!” excitedly behind his back. Debbie looked rapturous about this fact.

“I know,” Sabrina said. “I didn’t forget you.” She hadn’t meant it to come out as an accusation. She only meant that of course she kept up with his singing career. She’d always known she would see him again someday. Perhaps at Lexi’s college graduation or wedding. On both of those occasions she would be prepared—emotionally distant and dressed in something sophisticated, having fussed over her hair, makeup, and nails.

Alex kept his gaze on her. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk? Can I take you out for lunch?”

She looked around as though it could help her find an excuse, an escape. She wasn’t ready to talk to him. Ever since Alexia came home, Sabrina felt like her heart had been scrubbed raw. Fragile and weepy. “I work until three,” she said.

Alex didn’t budge away from the counter. “I’ll talk to your boss and see if he’ll let you off early.”

Her boss, Mr. Crandall, would probably not only agree, he’d get an autograph and then spend the rest of the day bragging to the guests that Alex Kingsley had dropped by. And Alex knew it too. All he had to do was ask and the world moved for him.

Sabrina didn’t want to see this phenomenon in action, and she didn’t want Alex to think he had more power in her hotel than she did. She sighed and turned to Debbie. “Will you tell Mr. Crandall I had to leave early?”

Debbie nodded. She was still standing behind the desk grinning like an idiot.

Alex motioned to the door. “You know the restaurants around here best. Where would you like to go?”

Somewhere I could yell at you if I wanted to, she thought. She didn’t say it. She wasn’t going to yell at him. She wouldn’t let him know she had ever cared that much about him. “What sort of food do you like?” she asked.

“I’m not picky,” he said.

Not surprising. He hadn’t been that picky about women either.

They both headed across the lobby toward the front door. She stole a glance at his profile. Why had he come all the way to West Virginia? There was only one answer. He wanted to take Lexi away from her. He’d come here personally to ask if he could sweep Lexi off to a mansion in Hollywood or take her on a cruise to the Bahamas or something equally horrible. Sabrina wouldn’t let him do it, though. Lexi only had a few months left before college. Sabrina was keeping her home where she belonged until then.

Sabrina smiled pleasantly. “Can you walk into a regular restaurant without getting mobbed?”

Alex took hold of the front door and held it open for her. “The fans are usually pretty considerate. Besides, I’m so far out of my element here, I doubt I’ll be recognized.”

He obviously didn’t realize how many country western fans lived in West Virginia. Sabrina walked through the door feeling odd that he held it open for her, that he offered her that little piece of respect. You weren’t around to open any doors for me when I was nine months pregnant and couldn’t see my feet, she thought, then chided herself for being petty. She had worked through that resentment long ago. She had taken responsibility for her own actions, for her own foolish blind hopes. And besides, she didn’t regret having Lexi. She couldn’t regret her daughter’s eyes, her smile, all of the things she’d gotten from Alex. So where had these bitter emotions suddenly sprung from?

Sabrina smiled at him just to show herself that she could. “We can go to Los Mariachis if you still like Mexican food.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have revealed that she remembered that about him. His eyebrow rose ever so slightly at the mention. He was cataloging that detail: that she knew trivia about him.

“Still love it,” he said. They’d reached the parking lot, and he gestured toward a sleek black rental car, unlocking it with his keychain.

She had been silly to think that he would remember they’d eaten Mexican food that night. After the concert, Alex told one of his assistants go out and buy food for them to eat in his hotel room. She asked for a chicken chimichanga. She hadn’t specified what sort of sauce she wanted, so the assistant brought her three, one with each kind of sauce to ensure he got it right—as though she would have cared. She had been too nervous, too excited, to eat much anyway.

They reached Alex’s rental car and he went around and opened her door for her. He was probably used to opening doors for starlets wearing sequined dresses and spiky heels. It seemed so out of place here in the parking lot while she wore her hotel uniform and tennis shoes.

“Thanks,” she said.

Alex shut her door, then went around to his side and got in. He turned on his GPS to the restaurant function. “Lost Mariachis,” he told it.

His voice sounded the same. She would have recognized it anywhere. Somehow it had imprinted on her mind without her knowing it.

Sabrina tore her gaze away from him and looked around the leather interior of the car. It smelled new and the dashboard was spotless. Not like her own car, which had a perpetual layer of dust clinging to the cracks and crevices. She realized she was clenching her fist by her side and made herself relax. This was ridiculous. She didn’t have to compare herself to him. She didn’t have to worry that she wasn’t good enough. He didn’t have that kind of power over her anymore. She no longer believed he was some demigod to worship. He was just a man and she wasn’t a starry-eyed teenager.

Still looking at his GPS, he said, “As I recall, you liked mango salsa.”

“What?” she asked.

“You told me you liked mango salsa. I’d never heard of it before. Now every time I have some, I think, ‘She was right. It’s good.’”

Sabrina didn’t remember telling him that, but she must have. She’d always liked mango salsa.

She stared back at him half flattered, half incredulous. “You remember that, but you didn’t remember my name?”

“I remembered your first name . . .” The sentence trailed off. His eyes met hers, and she realized that he was nervous. His gaze was apologetic, asking for her to understand. “I just didn’t think that night would matter to you very much.”

“You were wrong,” she said.

The engine was idling. He didn’t move the car. They sat there in the parking lot surrounded by empty cars.

“I remember that night every time I look at our daughter,” Sabrina said. “I remember it whenever your face pops up somewhere or I hear your songs.” How could she not? “And now that Kari is a star, I remember you whenever I see her face or hear her songs. She looks so much like Lexi. I keep thinking . . .” Sabrina didn’t finish the sentence. I keep thinking, Lexi could be there too, living that life, and I’m glad she’s not.

Sabrina knew she couldn’t have it both ways—feeling mad at Alex for not being there for Lexi, and at the same time feeling glad he wasn’t. It didn’t make sense, but then, emotions didn’t have to.

“You don’t know much about me,” Sabrina said. “I’m not the type that—I mean, I wouldn’t have gone with you that night unless you had really mattered to me.”

Alex stiffened  and shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was still grieving back then. I’d lost my wife and you looked so much like her.” His gaze went over Sabrina again, then rested on her face with an intensity she hadn’t expected. “You still do. I can’t help staring at you and thinking: this is what Maribel would have looked like if she’d lived.”