Old man Roscoe still sat outside the diner, refusing to give up his spot on the bench for people who were waiting to be seated. In his hometown, the cars ran at a slow pace, the people even slower. As a kid, Dylan couldn’t wait to get the hell out and never look back. As an adult, he appreciated everything he’d once hated because this place possessed the peace and tranquility that were nowhere to be found in L.A. As he strode down the street, destination in mind, one more important thought struck him, cementing his reason for coming back now. Everywhere he went reminded him of Holly Evans. Dr. Holly Evans, he thought, shaking his head. Damn, but he was proud of her. She may not know his feelings, but by the time his short trip home was over, she’d know that and a whole lot more. But first he needed to find firm footing. To see where he stood with Holly now. They hadn’t spoken in over ten years, and Dylan understood that the girl he’d left behind might want nothing to do with him.
