"Hey, is that Sylvain?"
No. It couldn't be. The timing was too perfect. Way too perfect. I stood frozen with my beer growing warm in my clammy hand. Sylvain walked over to us in a short red dress and a heavy chain of pearls around her neck. She smiled a scarlet smile.
"Heya, tootsie roll pop," she crooned. "Miss me?"
"You, maybe," Chester grinned, "but not that nickname."