My fingers intertwined with hers. “Anna, meeting you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Her eyes sparkled, and the look she gave me made my heart leap in a way I hadn’t known was possible. She squeezed my hand, her voice as tender as her gaze. “I feel the same way.”
Time seemed to stand still. All sounds faded, and it was just the two of us sitting close, the warmth of her hand in mine. It was comfortable. She didn’t have to say anything, and neither did I. There was something calming in justbeing—no cameras, no scripts, no pretending to be anyone but ourselves. And I realized, as I held her hand, that I didn’t want this moment to end.
A knock on the door broke the spell. Hal poked his head in, his expression neutral but pointed. “Sir, they’re closing. We need to move.”
Anna glanced at me, her cheeks flushing slightly as she withdrew her hand. “Guess we’ve overstayed our welcome,” she murmured with a shy smile.
I sighed, reluctant to leave. “Yeah, I guess we have.” Standing, I reached for my hat and glasses.
Hal and Tom flanked us, guiding us toward the private exit. But I barely noticed them. My focus was on Anna.
When she glanced up, catching me watching her, she raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile, and her voice was warm. “What?”
“Nothing,” I murmured, shaking my head, but my heart betrayed me. It wasn’t nothing. It was everything.
The muggy night air hit us as we stepped outside, but all I felt was the warmth of her presence. The car waited, and as she slid in ahead of me, her hair catching the soft glow of the streetlights, I found myself frozen.
I’d never felt like this before. Not with anyone. The thought hit me hard, almost knocking the air out of my lungs.
I climbed in beside her, the door shutting behind us. She turned to me, her expression curious, and I knew.
I knew I was in love with her.
31
ANNA
The words were flowinglike they hadn’t in years, a rush of creativity I hadn’t felt since college.
Back then, it had been different. I’d written a story about my mother, raw and personal, a piece that had won an award and drawn more attention than I’d ever expected. Critics called it “stunning” and “heart-wrenching,” and I felt like I’d found my voice. But nothing I’d written since had come close to that.
Until now.
My story had begun to take shape, and I found myself creating a love interest for my superhero protagonist. This character was infuriating and magnetic, someone who challenged the superhero and charmed him in equal measure.
The superhero swooped in, as he always does. The superhero saved her, as he always should.
I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I paused, rereading one of my scenes. The vulnerability, the push-and-pull of emotions. It was all so familiar. And yet, the realization didn’t scare me. It thrilled me.
I wasn’t just telling a love story. I was living one.
32
LUKE
The Zoom call started exactlyas I should have expected: chaotic and slightly unhinged.
The director’s face popped onto the screen, his hair wild like he’d been electrocuted, a cigarette dangling from his lips even though he wasn’t smoking it. “Luke Fisher, Hollywood’s golden boy.” He waved a spatula for some reason. “You gonna phone this in, or are you finally ready to act like someone who's seen the inside of a Walmart?”
I blinked. “Good to see you too, Gerald.”
Gerald Fargo, the most eccentric man in Hollywood and proud of it, leaned closer to the camera, inspecting me like he was trying to find a flaw. “You look too polished. We need grit. Show me the pain. Show me a man who’s been kicked in the nether regions by life and still manages to stand upright.”
“Do you want me to act or fight a bear?” I deadpanned, unable to resist.
He grinned. “Same thing.”
