Which was why she'd spent a career being casually cagey about where she was from in the first place. She was a small town girl from Anywhere, USA; that was her schtick. It wasn't easy to maintain that kind of privacy in the internet age, but Kayla tried. That was one good thing, at least, about not reaching mega-star levels of international fame: people didn't care quite as much where a little holiday romcom film star was from.
"It's a little weird to be back. The doughnut shop wasn't here when I grew up," Kayla said, more or less as a side observation, since Trina was holding both sides of the conversation pretty well on her own. "A lot's changed. Fortunately I don't think anybody here realizes actress Kayla Walsh is just Kylie Quinn from Virtue. I don't look much like I used to."
"Really?" That got Trina's attention, and she blinked at Kayla with interest. "Did you get a lot of work done or something?"
Kayla laughed. "No. No, but I did grow five inches after I graduated, and all my baby fat went to better places. And I don't think I had my natural hair color between ages nine and nineteen. Or a decent haircut," she added with a wince, and put her hand on her hair again. Maybe the mess on her head was closer to who she used to be than Kayla wanted it to be.
"Well, it's very pretty. Uh, the town, not your hair, sorry. Here, drink your coffee," she added hastily, and thrust a paper cup into Kayla's hands. "You're going to be freezing once that big coat comes off."
The cup was wonderfully warm and Kayla wrapped her hands around it a moment before taking a tentative sip, then a larger, happy slurp. "That's good coffee. Thanks. And look, honestly, this is just another job, okay? I still don't want to make a thing about being from Virtue." If anybody local recognized her, it wouldn't be because she had been short round KylieQuinn. It was because she was now tall curvy Kayla Walsh, film actress, who had nothing to do with the girl she'd been all those years ago in Virtue.
"I don't know why. I'd totally want everybody to come worship me if I came home from Hollywood as a film star."
And that, Kayla thought, was definitely one difference between twenty-two and thirty-six. She smiled at Trina, then said, "Whoops!" and shrugged her big coat off as Cyril yelled for places.
Her costar, a ruggedly good-looking white guy who despised his first name, Ethan, and went by his surname, Anderson, as much as possible, appeared from his own trailer looking miserable about the cold. "At least you get a coat."
"A puffy jacket won't show off your magnificent biceps. You're stuck in flannel." Kayla patted one of those biceps on her way to get the packages her character was meant to be carrying while Anderson went around the street corner so they could crash into each other in their meet cute. The cameras were set up for two different angles, and they'd practiced the run-in often enough that Kayla desperately hoped they could get the scene in one or two takes. A dresser ran over, shoved a winter hat on her head, then backed off with a thumbs up. Kayla flashed her a smile, let somebody else pile boxes into her arms and someoneelsetuck her phone between her ear and her shoulder until she was arranged to their satisfaction. "Am I good?"
She got another thumbs up as she found her sight line through the carefully-placed packages she was carrying. Somebody asked in return if she was good, and at her nod, signaled to the director, who called "And go!"
Kayla, having an absurd moment of delight that this was her job, picked up her lines mid-sentence—her character, Chloe, was talking with her sister about holiday plans—and strode around the corner with the confidence of a woman who knew howto take a prat fall. Anderson, studying his own phone, came barreling around the same corner at speed, and Kayla knew from forty rehearsals exactly how they would collide.
Exactly one and a half steps before their choreographed impact, something hit Kayla in the back of the knees and she went down into the snow as her owl screamedMURDER!
Chapter 2
Jordan swore to god he had only loosened his grip on the dog's leash for a heartbeat. Long enough to readjust it. Barney was agooddog—weren't they all?—but not well trained, despite the owner's reassurances as they'd headed out on their winter holidays. Jordan had taken them at their word.
A dog sitter should know better. Rookie mistake. But then, Jordan was a rookie dog sitter, having only done this once before, for a dog whowaswell-trained. Oh, how he missed Molly right then. Dear, sweet, mellow Molly, whose idea of excitement was turning in a circle three times before she went to sleep.
Barney was different. Barney was a Border Collie, full of energy, determined to put people and things in their places, and smart as a whip. If he saw somebody who needed herding, by George, he was there to do it.
Unfortunately, in this case, that appeared to be a woman laden with packages as she was heading around a corner. Barney took her out at the knees, which could not possibly have been the dog's intention, but the streets were snowy and slick with ice, and it was clear the collie had hit a patch of ice just before he collided with the woman with the packages.
All of this went through Jordan's mind in the space of time it took him to go from standing with the dog to chasing Barney at top speed. "No! Barney! No! Stop!Halt!"
Packages flew into the air as he ran toward the woman and the wretched dog he was responsible for. Beautifully wrapped packages, glittering ribbons and paper catching the light as they rose and then began to fall down again in a sharp-cornered rain of Christmas doom. There was alotof light; Jordan noticed that on some level. Way too much light for a winter afternoon in upstate New York. But that was a problem for another time. He dodged through a group of people who looked like they'd been standing aroundwaitingfor holiday-related-disaster to strike. "Barney!"
The poor dog flinched guiltily as packages hit the ground around him. The woman hit the ground, too, with a terribleoof!that made Jordan wince, even from the distance. Although he was closing that rapidly.
Not as rapidly as some guy who'd also been coming around the corner the other way, who was—goodLord, he was handsome, handsome enough that Jordan, who didn't normally notice male beauty, couldn't help but notice him, even in the midst of panic. Mr. Handsome was crouching to assist Ms. Crashed, his ruggedly attractive features bent into an expression of true, heartfelt distress.
Great,Jordan thought, he had just arranged a flawless romantic-comedy-style 'meet cute' on a street corner in Virtue.
A surprising number of people were descending on Ms. Crashed, voices raised in alarm. Jordan skidded around people and things, feeling horribly guilty. One of the people he darted around was holding a film camera, a real one like they used for the news, not the kind people took home videos on. Others were picking up the fallen gifts. Jordan felt like he should be helping do that, but instead he cried, "Barney!" again.
The dog, currently composed entirely of black and white fluffy guilt, lay on his belly and scooted toward Ms. Crashed with the most apologetic expression possible on his pointy face. She sat up with Mr. Handsome's help, who said, "You wretched beast," in deep scolding tones to Barney. "Who's responsible for you?" The first part sounded rather forgiving; the second part didn't.
Jordan, miserably, said, "Me. I'm so sorry—" and drew the attention of not only Ms. Crashed, Mr. Handsome, and the dog, but about thirty other people who were definitely in the middle of something, because now that Jordan was no longer running in a panic, he realized some of what he'd dodged around had been lighting rigs as well as camera operators. There was obviously some kind of local news piece being done, and he'd just let his horrible dog destroy it all. Well, someone else's horrible dog who wasn't horrible at all, just not well-trained, but Jordan didn't think that was going to matter to anyone.
Ms. Crashed turned toward him, and he got a glimpse of absolutely luminous blue eyes, ringed with the thickest, darkest lashes imaginable, and a full, generous mouth thinned with irritation. Even at the briefest glimpse, it was clear that this meet-cute he'd orchestrated was destined to be, because Ms. Crashed was a thousand times more beautiful than even Mr. Handsome, and Mr. Handsome would be a raging fool to let this woman go.
Then Barney grabbed the pompom of Ms. Crashed's hat in his mouth and tugged it off her head, revealing the single worst haircut Jordan had ever seen on a human being. The bangs were cut crookedly and almost down to the scalp in one place. There was anotherhankof hair missing from a few inches farther back, stubble visible where flowing locks should have been. There were other chunks at varying lengths, made all the more obvious by what had been, at one time, an expert coloring job withbeautiful high and lowlights. Now they clashed and ran against each other in what could only be considered a hot mess.
Color crept up her face as he gazed in awe at her head. The astonishing thing was how obviously beautiful she was despite the terrible haircut. Her eyebrows were as dark as her hair, as dark as her lashes, a striking contrast to the winter-pale skin that was now staining blush pink in appealing apples across her cheeks. There was something delightfully familiar about her, the most girl-next-door vibe he'd ever felt, although he envied anybody who had actually grown up next door to this woman. Mr. Handsome helped her to her feet and three people swept in to brush snow off her. Mr. Handsome wasn't one of them, although his voice remained deeply concerned as he said, "Are you all right, Kayla? This horribledog?—"
Jordan blurted, "I'm sorry," again. "I'm dog-sitting and he got away from me, I'm soincrediblysorry, are you all right?"
