Rose closed her eyes, trying to remember that he had a boyfriend and she would be a bad person for ogling him, especially since they had days alone in close quarters ahead of them.
Sloane shoved Rose’s shoulder with her palm, pushing for affirmation of her opinion.
“Why wouldn’t he be good-looking? I did marry him in the first place,” Rose grumbled, her cheeks heating.
Sloane’s eyes danced with amusement. “Well, obviously. You’re a treat yourself, Rose Kelly. But you’re sure you don’t want to think about keeping him this time around?”
Tom was just a few feet away.
“Even just for sex reasons?”Sloane stage-whispered.
Tom arrived in a waft of sunshine and cinnamon candy, then darted in to kiss Rose on the cheek. It was just a tiny contact, a brief impression of breath and fine stubble, but she didn’t successfully swallow her noise of surprise, and Tom shot her a nervous look as he stepped back.
It startled her only because he’d never done it before. When Tom went in for a kiss, it usually involved a substantial amount of tongue and a situational amount of grab-ass. Even if, say, the elderly Rev. Fr. Gabriel Shea, SJ, was right there officiating their wedding.
But of course he should kiss her cheek. That was the sort of thing exes did if they were on good terms. He could have done that even if his boyfriend were right there.
Tom offered Sloane his hand instead.
“Tom Wilczewski.”
He was clean-shaven and beaming, demonstrating a very masculine kind of beauty now—too rugged for what was currently popular in film, but overwhelming in person. It was why audiences loved him. They held each other’s gazes, Tom grinning, Rose rethinking her decision to ask him for help for the thousandth time.
Did he shave because she hadn’t liked the mustache?
No, that was ridiculous. Ten years ago he hadn’t cared enough tocome home.
Rose hesitated in a frozen pause, unable to speak because thoughts were tumbling through her head like stray socks in the dryer. Sloane saved her—she blinked a few times like shewas trying to place Tom, then gasped, dramatically pressing a hand to her mouth. “Boydcat! No, Catboy. Tomboy! Tomboy.”
Rose bent away in confusion, though Tom didn’t seem surprised—only mildly embarrassed.
“You’ve heard about that, huh?” Tom asked.
“Oh, I’veheard. I’veseen. But you shaved your mustache? I have to tell the Internet.”
“What?” Rose said, but Tom gave a wincing smile and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yeah, it was for the role, but it’ll be a while until we start rehearsing again, so—”
“What’s a Tomboy?” Rose finally inquired.
Sloane delayed Tom with a gesture and turned to Rose, her face delighted. “Him and Boyd Kellagher! They have a ship name. They were all over Tumblr a couple months ago. There was a ship war with the Benny Boys. The people who ship Boyd with Benedict Cumberbatch. Or their characters.”
Rose didn’t understand half the words in that explanation, but Tom apparently did.
“You have a Tumblr?” he deflected. He curved his hands into parentheses. “Derogatory.”
“Of course I have a Tumblr. A fashion blog.” Sloane nodded in satisfaction. “Fifteen thousand followers. But, you know, I can’t totally avoid the fan art. Withyou. God, the things I’ve seen you and Boyd doing—”
Tom gave a weak laugh, shooting Rose an uncomfortable side glance. “Oh man. You must have…seen some things. I know Boyd’s fans can be…a lot.”
Sloane turned back to Rose. “I didn’t realize you were talking about Boyd Kellagher! Isn’t he amazing?”
“Sure,” Rose said stoically, because only a terrible person said anything catty about their ex’s new flame. “I liked that movie where he blew up the moon.”
And he seemed like a nice man whenever she saw headlines about him. Not just gorgeous but nice too. And it was cute that he and Tom shared a wardrobe. Probably cut down on laundry.
Rose pointed toward the marina behind them. Her phone was still going off in her pocket, but she ignored it. Adrian needed to mind his own business for once.
