Zander laughs and mutters, “Busted,” with his hand still on my ass.
All I want to do is shut the door and slam my lips on his again.
“You can come out now. Zara Sloane was spotted at the gazebo, so they all ran over there.” Laurel pushes past the kids and shoves a box of cupcakes at us. “Here you go.”
So, Zara is in town. Zander had mentioned she’d be coming to film the video. The butterflies in my stomach are replaced with anxious insecurity. Zara is a model and rumors swirled in the press once that she and Zander were involved.
“Thanks.” I take the box and hand it off to Zander, stepping out of the closet. “You worked hard for these, so enjoy.”
He opens the box, takes one out, and engulfs it in a huge bite.
Laurel says a quick goodbye and heads back to the kids at the table.
“Worth it?”
His gaze flicks to my lips. “Definitely.”
I wish I knew if he was talking about the cupcakes or the kiss. With him, you never know.
Chapter Thirty-One
Romy
We had to wake up early to film and catch the best light. I’m hanging around because Zander asked if I could so I can give him my input when needed and make any changes necessary to the set dressing once we see it on film.
I hug my clipboard at the edge of the field, trying to look like a professional taking notes as my stomach twists into knots watching Zara Sloan tilt her chin up to the sky while Zander tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with natural ease, causing havoc in my brain.
Rumors are that they were a couple once upon a time. They’ve remained friends obviously, since she’s the one sprawled out on a plaid blanket with a wicker basket as if she stepped right out of a country magazine.
Her smile is soft, and Zander doesn’t use his cocky smile. No, the infuriating grin is nowhere on display, but rather, she gets one that looks almost real. The one I’ve only ever gotten sparingly.
One of the camera guys shouts something, and the clapboard snaps shut. Zander lies beside her on the blanket, the brim of his cowboy hat shadowing his eyes, but not enough because I see his eyes catch hers. They laugh at something I can’t hear.
The thread I’m holding onto snaps when he rolls on top of her.
Relax. It’s all choreographed.
I know this, yet it doesn’t stop my chest from caving in. Especially when Zara’s hand slides up his arm as if she’s familiar with the map of his body.
The crew murmurs their approval behind the camera, and I overhear someone whisper, “God, they look good together.”
I flinch. But they’re right. He’s broad and strong, and she’s soft and delicate. They fit perfectly together, and I’m not the only one who sees it.
I force my attention back to my clipboard, scribbling notes that are nonsense, to block anyone from witnessing my unraveling.
The co-director yells cut, and laughter ripples through the field. Zara pushes up on her elbows, and Zander offers her his hand, tugging her up in a way that looks effortless. He says something to her, and she laughs, tilting her head back as though he’s so funny.
He’s not funny. He’s a grump most of the time.
One of the crew says, “You two could sell a million records on looks alone.”
I’d like to meet him in a back alley.
I click my pen so hard Zara notices. Her attention flicks my way as she laughs as if she’s already part of the crew. It doesn’t sound forced at all, as though she’s been here this whole time.
They take a break, and Zander grabs a bottle of water from the cooler, twisting the cap off before handing it to her. A gesture that is gentlemanly and shouldn’t mean anything, but I feel sliced open by it.
It’s just his job. All an act.
