“It’s my pleasure. How are you finding Darling Springs?”
“It’s an incredible place,” he says, telling me more about the beach, then the tapas he had at dinner last night, then the innkeeper at The Ladybug Inn. He doesn’t once look away. He’s all about the eye contact, which is nice, but a little overwhelming. Especially with that sandwich. The woman with him, an assistant I’m guessing, steps forward and takes it from him. “I’ll hold this.”
He turns to her. “Thank you so much, Natasha,” he says in a tone full of gratitude.
His gaze returns to mine. “And Ripley,” he says, placing his hands together as if in prayer, “I just want to thank you so muchfor welcoming our set onto your farm. I put you in my gratitude journal and thanked you in my morning meditation.”
Ohhhhh. I get it now.
He’s a gratitude guy. Which is lovely. And endearing. And also intense.
“That means a lot to me,” I say, since I think that’s how you respond to that kind of compliment.
“We drove past your farm earlier today. I wanted to see it from a distance, like the character does the first time he sets eyes on it. As an actor, I rely so much on my set and setting to perform, and I find the atmosphere you have created to be…” He pauses, clearly taking a moment to find just the right word. “Profound. I’m so looking forward to shooting there.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying Darling Springs.”
“It’s extraordinary,” Chris says while his bodyguard scans the aisle. He must be satisfied that there aren’t any paparazzi nearby. “And I think we’ll do it justice in the film,” Chris adds.
“That’s great to hear,” I say.
With another heartfelt smile, he moves a hand to my elbow. “Permission to pat your elbow in thanks?”
My god, he’s fucking adorable. “Absolutely.”
He squeezes it, smiling. “Thank you, again. And I don’t want to keep you from your flower delivery.”
“It’s no problem. I’m glad we met,” I say as Chris takes the sandwich from Natasha, thanking her as if she’s saved a kitten.
As he turns to leave, I go the other way and hand my flowersto Salma, who’s wearing a summery scarf over her head. “No guard dog today?” she asks.
“He’s outside.”
“Ah, did you make sure to give him food and water?”
I cover my mouth as if I made a horrible faux pas. “I knew there was something.”
“Next time,” she says, then tips her forehead to the door. “Business is good today. The place is packed.”
“With paparazzi?”
“Probably some, but mostly tourists. Everyone wants a glimpse, and everyone wants some of my world-famous sandwiches.”
“You do make the best sandwiches.” That gives me an idea. Banks and I do need to eat later. Maybe I’ll make a little picnic dinner in the cottage.
I head to the deli, order some sandwiches for pickup tonight, and a few minutes later, I’m back in my truck with the bodyguard who’s worlds sexier to me than a movie star. Yet another reason someone should base the lead in a flick on this man.
I toss him a pleased smile. “I pulled that off without any trouble from the paps.”
“Yes, you did,” he says.
Except…
“I mean, we did,” I add as he pulls away from the curb and turns down a side street.
When we’re safely away from the tourists downtown, he lifts a hand and slides a thumb down my jaw. “I’m still forgetting all about last night.”
A shiver runs through me. “Me too. Want to forget about it over a picnic dinner?”
