Lavender's Blue by Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer PRE ORDER now live

Liz Danger: Three

The Red Box was the high school hangout/diner/burger joint when I was growing up, its curved red-and-chrome fifties facade forever squatting on the corner next to JB's Bar on Main Street. I think it's responsible for the passion I have for diners now. I admit I had a moment when Molly parked in front of it. Sitting in a Red Box booth eating burgers and fighting over the oldies jukebox with her—I wondered if Kitty had updated the jukeboxes—had been the best times of my life back then. The world was our oyster. It was just our bad luck our oyster was in Burney and completely devoid of pearls.

Molly pushed the door open, and I followed her in.

It was the way it had been back then, only better: the floor was the same black and white checkerboard only without the cracks and stains, the booths were the same thick red vinyl only without the rips and the duct tape patches, and the smell . . . oh, Lord, french fry grease and hot seared beef, exactly the same as back then, be still my heart.

"Is that you, Lizzie Danger?" Kitty yelled and then I saw her leaning over the counter that ran along the left of the diner, her arms crossed in front of her to balance her because at five foot two, her feet wouldn't touch the floor if she was leaning that far out. Her hair was the same red it had always been, maybe a little brighter, but her face was sort of . . . odd, not quite right, and then I realized that was because Kitty Porter had had a face lift. Or as Anemone would say, "Maintenance, honey."

"Hey, Kitty." I shoved the bear into the nearest booth, ignoring the people Molly was waving to. I didn't know who they were, so they didn't know who I was, so they weren't going to be a problem. Anonymity: it's a gift.

I went over to the counter, and Kitty wrapped an arm around my neck and planted a big smack on my cheek which made me feel a lot better about Burney. Behind her, Casey, the short order cook, waved a spatula at me and flashed me his gap-toothed grin, his red hair now gray, another memory jogger from back before Kitty had owned the place.

"Hey, Casey," I called and turned back to Kitty, one of the few people in Burney I truly loved.

"Can't believe you stayed away so long, baby," she said. "You sit down there, I'm gonna make you a Red Box special."

"Oh, God, yes." I sat down on one of the stainless-steel counter stools, its puffy red vinyl top unscarred and impervious to any damage my wet jeans might do, and watched her turn back to her grill where my burger was already frying. A good diner grill is a precious thing, years of grease seared into it until—

"The boys are gonna be so glad to see you," Kitty said, picking up some cheese. "Cash is just not gonna believe it."

Cash again. My pulse kicked up and I told myself it was basic Burney dread and nothing at all to do with Cash. The thing about Cash was that he was smart and funny and ridiculously good-looking—all hot dark eyes and unruly dark hair and crooked dimples and a smile that could make you forget your own name—but he had no short term memory at all when it came to who he was supposed to be kissing, especially when that was me, so the idea that he had been hanging around waiting for me to come home for fifteen years . . . . tempting, but no.

And that burger on the grill had been frying when I walked in, french fries and onion rings bubbling in the deep fry basket. So, Patsy had called while I was in the bathroom and given Kitty a head's up. And Molly just showing up like that? Patsy had called her, too.

"I'm not staying," I said and went over to the booth with the bear and sat down.

Molly shoved over the bear and sat down next to it. "So!"

"So, my ass. Knock it off and tell me what's going on. Patsy called you, right?"

"Yeah, to tell me you were here." Molly flipped the charts on the booth's still oldies jukebox. "I wasn't going to let you eat a Red Box burger alone." She dropped fifty cents in the slot, pushed a button, and leaned forward. "I am so glad you're back!"