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if I want eggs or pancakes, I catch the sexy stranger staring at me again. I slightly turn my head to locate the table of models he must be looking at, but we’re surrounded by ordinary people—a couple and their infant child, a bunch of Asian tourists, a group of three elderly ladies and a gay couple holding hands . Maybe the wind caught my hair and I look like a mess.
    “Is my hair okay?” I ask Lia, running insecure fingers through my mane.
    “Yes. I love the new color your chichi Fifth Avenue hairdresser selected for you. Your green eyes pop like crazy.”
    “Thanks.” So my hair is not all over the place. “I’m happy Devin forced me to dye my hair. I needed the change.”
    For my twenty-fourth birthday, Devin paid for a total transformation with one of the top stylists in the city. Jean-Pierre Pastorale took one look at me and declared the color and shape of my eyes begged him to transform me in one of my two idols—Adele or Christina Hendricks. Since I’ve always secretly wanted to be a blonde, I selected the British songstress’ sleek contemporary look and my French stylist chopped off my mousy brown hair that fell limply to the middle of my back. I don’t know if blondes have more fun, but they sure as hell get a lot more attention.
    “It’s weird…”
    “Huh? Something on the menu?”
    “No. Don’t turn around, but the guy over there wearing the blue sweater has been staring at me since I arrived.”
    Why is it when you ask someone not to do something they do? Lia turns and the stranger smiles when he notices both of us looking his way. Shit .
    “I asked you not to look,” I say, frowning.
    “Whoa.” She turns around and widen her eyes like a kid who’s just seen the Easter Bunny.
    “God, now he knows we’re checking him out.”
    “How else was I going to see what he looks like? It’s not as if I have eyes in the back of my head.” She smiles. “Do you know Mr. Hottie?”
    “No. I’ve never seen him in my life. I thought he was looking at a hot chick behind me, but it seems like all the sexy women are sitting near the windows way over there.”
    “Maybe you met him at a fashion event and you’ve forgotten. You have a memorable face with your big green eyes and he’s simply trying to remember where the two of you met.”
    “I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter,” I say, trying to dismiss the whole thing.
    I’m about to take another peek in the direction of the stranger when our waiter rushes our way to take our orders.
    “Hello, ladies. My name is Richard and I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Have you decided yet?”
    “I’ll have the blueberry pancakes and a large latte. Have you decided, Candy?”
    I smile at the waiter, concealing my discomfort. “I’ll have the huevos rancheros and I’ll also have a latte, but could you please make mine with a double shot of espresso?”
    “Great choices, ladies. No problem on the espresso. I’ll be right back with water.”
    “Oh, could I have a freshly pressed orange juice to start?”
    “Great idea, Candy. I’ll also have the same, please.”
    “Two fresh OJs coming.” The waiter smiles warmly at us before rushing to the cash register to punch in our order.
    “Thank you.” Lia and I chime in at the same time as he walks away from our table.
     
    * * *
     
    Lia and I wolf down our breakfast all the while engaged in an animated discussion about her chances of landing a transfer to Prime News’ UK office for a three-month work exchange program. She’s competing with eight other candidates who applied for one of the most coveted positions in her department, but Lia is such a star at her job, I’m pretty certain she’ll be selected. I’ll be honest, I’m dying to see London and it wouldn’t take me long after she’s landed to hop on a plane and go visit her.
    “I’ve been meaning to tell you this since you arrived, you look radiant for someone who partied so hard last night.”
    “It’s the magic of great makeup.