The bell above the diner door jingled like a warning. \n\nThere he stood—Sean Haggard, in tight jeans and a leather jacket, looking like a rockstar who’d wandered off a billboard. My heart did this stupid flip, then dropped straight into my boots. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not ever. Especially not after what Linda posted online.\n\n"This is the place," he said, scanning the cracked vinyl booths and steam-fogged windows. "The Sausage Lady feeds legends."\n\nMy mom wiped her hands on her apron, eyes wide. I stepped forward, blocking her instinctively. "You’re thinking of another diner. We just fry eggs here."\n\nHe pulled out his phone, showed me a viral clip—Linda in a chef’s hat, hugging him, tears in her eyes. "She saved me," he said, voice rough. "After the explosion in Tijuana. Without her, I wouldn’t have made it back."\n\nI wanted to laugh. Or scream. Linda hadn’t even left the parish last year.\n\nBut then he looked at me, really looked, and murmured, "But your hands… they move like hers did in my dream."\n\nMy palms were greasy, smudged with paprika and guilt.\n\nNow I had a choice: let the lie stand and protect the peace, or tell the truth and start a war.