“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s stupid, I know. I’ve moved on, but sometimes, it still feels like I’m that awkward girl in the thrift store dress.”
“It’s not stupid. That kind of thing sticks with you. Anyone who can’t see your value isn’t worth your time.”
His words touched me deeper than I expected, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. Finally, I managed a small “Thanks.”
But then a dangerous thought crept in.What if I didn’t let this moment pass?
What if I put myself first? For once.
The idea alone was terrifying. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. I’d never called in sick a day in my life. I didn’t even know the procedure. Just the thought of dialing in made my stomach knot.
But even scarier was the thought that I might put myself out there… and he could turn me down, that this might all be one-sided. A misunderstanding. A moment I’d built up in my head.
I swallowed hard, then forced the words out before I could lose my nerve. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… maybe work can wait. If you want to talk more and maybe hang out tonight.”
Luke turned toward me, and for a fleeting second, hope flared. Was he going to say yes? Maybe lean in and kiss me again? This time for real? My heart pounded so loudly that I was sure he could hear it.
But then his face transformed, his easy charm replaced by a flicker of hesitation. “I have a lot to do.” Gone was the easy warmth and curiosity he had shown before. He sounded cool and distant. “This script isn’t going to read itself, and if I don’t get through it, I’m screwed.”
The rejection hit me like a sucker punch. The sting of sudden dismissal was so sharp that it momentarily stole my breath. His abrupt change of demeanor was like a neon sign flashing:That kiss back there in the French Quarter? Meant nothing at all.And there I was, thinking I could compete with Hollywood starlets.
I squared my shoulders, trying to keep the mood light. To look on the bright side. I showed a movie star around New Orleans. How many people could say that? Before the SUV could come to a complete stop, I flung open the door. “Hey, it’s all good. Good luck with your script,” I chirped, probably too cheerfully.
I was almost at my cottage door when I remembered something and headed back to him.
Luke was still in the SUV, a surprised look on his face as I approached. Marching up to his window, I rummaged through my purse. “Almost forgot to give you this.” I handed over the copy ofA Confederacy of Duncesfrom earlier.
Without waiting for a response, I pivoted and made my grand exit, head high, tears prickling the back of my eyes. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.
20
LUKE
It had takenevery ounce of my self-control to tell Anna I was too busy to hang out. How easy it would have been to stay with her, to give in to the pull I felt every time she looked at me. But something inside me wouldn’t let it happen. Was it fear of rejection? Of letting her see too much of me?
The kiss had left me shaken. It wasn’t just the way her lips felt against mine—it was what the kiss made me feel. Something raw, something real. Something I wasn’t sure I could handle. I’d kissed plenty of women in my line of work, but Anna was different. She had this unfiltered warmth, a vulnerability that was both grounding and terrifying. She felt real. And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.
Because if Anna saw the real me—the broken parts I worked so hard to keep hidden—would she still look at me the same way? Would she still want anything to do with me? Probably not.
I threw myself into work, trying to drown out the thoughts of her that kept surfacing, no matter how hard I tried to push them away.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.
Less than a day later, my resolve cracked.
It was the morning after the kiss when I finally called Bob Reardon, my manager. He had been trying to reach me for days to talk about my new role, and I hadn’t felt up to it. He picked up on the first ring, wasting no time. “Luke, do you know why you’re in this mess?”
I sighed, already regretting the call. “Yes, Bob, I know.”
“Do you?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Because, in case you forgot, you punched a guy. In public.”
“He was sleeping with my girlfriend!”
“It doesn’t matter. You got violent.”
“Thank you. Appreciate the trip down memory lane.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” he fired back. “I play the highlight reel every night before bed. It’s like a bedtime story, only it ends with me needing Tums.”
