Shit.
Z’s back. Gotta go.
“Hey!” I pocket the phone. “Any luck on the skate quest?”
She pouts. “No. Turns out she added all that bling herself. Impressive kid. I got her Instagram. Might pitch a piece about it.” She elbows me. “Don’t change the subject. I saw you over here, grinning like a schoolgirl with a crush. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. We should skate. Let’s skate.”
I try to glide off, but she grabs me by the jacket and I curve around, ending up facing her again.
“Not nothing. Definitely not nothing.” She looks around us, as if that’ll somehow give her the answer.
I guess technically I could tell her I was texting George. She knows we know each other. She introduced us.
But she would make a huge deal out of it. Read all kinds of things into it. Start dropping very unsubtle innuendo and stuff like that. And that would be mortifying. Because George and I are not… that. Obviously. I mean, there’s no denying we’ve connected on some level. We’re friends, just like George said.
The idea of anything more than that, though, would be ludicrous. We’re talking about a guy who has worked and lived in celebrity circles his entire adult life. A guy who, yes, turns out to be a little cornier and a little more down to earth than I might have expected, but who is stilla household name.That guy and, well,me.But Zoe wouldn’t get that. No, she’d probably start shopping for wedding invitations.
Zoe gasps. “Oh my God, I know what it is!” She smacks me, playfully, but hard. “I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me about this.”
Oh, fuck. How? How does she know?
She pulls me in close, all conspiratorial. “You were looking at those hockey guys!” She points—not subtly—to a couple of guys skating laps in hockey jerseys—ones I happen to recognize as being from Green Mountain State U, of all things (Go Stags!). They’re built like athletes. And they’re young, college age. Probably on the team. Not anyone I would be interested in, but I seize on it like a lifeline.
“You got me.”
She studies them, watching them glide. “They are cute. I always kind of had a thing for hockey players. What do you think?”
I think they look like the kind of guys who would punch me if they knew Zoe and I were having this conversation. Young jocks are not exactly known for their queer friendliness.
“Uh-huh. Yeah.”
They round the bend, skating close as they pass by us, just a few yards away. Zoe raises her hand and waves.
“Hi, boys!!”
One of them blatantly checks her out… and the other one runs his eyes over me. Interesting. Maybe there’s hope for our youth, yet. I yank Zoe’s hand out of the air and pull her along. “Come on, Zo, Christmas things to do!”
She squeals, but she lets me pull her along, giggling as we join the stream of holiday skaters. I glance over at her and grin despite myself.
“Okay, I admit it. This is kind of fun.”
“Good, ‘cause we’re just getting started.” And with that she races off in front of me.
Oh, man. I guess I’m not getting back to the English countryside anytime soon.
CHAPTER 38
GEORGE
The wind sweepsacross the moors. A field of heather ripples in the breeze. James appears, cresting the hill on a sturdy horse, galloping at speed toward Sir Henry’s stables. Toward destiny.
It’s too cheesy, and it’s not. I’m caught between fully giving myself over to the work and my inner schmaltz detector. Maybe I should take a break. Have a coffee. Or some alcohol. Or some alcoholincoffee. Now, that sounds more like I?—
Hands settle on my shoulders. Warmth hits my ear before any sound. Then a low whisper that echoes through me.
“Did you get that scene you were working on?”
