She typed back quickly.
April:Watching me through cameras? That's something you ask about first.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
JAX:noted. surveillance requires consent.
JAX:creating new "don't watch people without asking" protocol.
JAX:also creating “texts I failed to think better of” folder.
JAX:both infractions logged for future punishment/reward consideration.
JAX:your call.
April:I'll think about it.
JAX:badge log: chad left at 3:47pm
JAX:facial expression analysis: punchable
April snorted despite herself. Of course Jax was monitoring Chad's movements like he was tracking server uptime.
She started toward the waiting car, already pocketing her phone. Liam's gaze flicked from the phone to her face.
"Jax has cameras everywhere, apparently," she said, still walking, her attention on Liam instead of where her feet were going.
Which was how she managed to walk directly into a wall of silk trench coat and too-expensive cologne. A hand caught her elbow, warm and practiced. The signature move of a man who'd built a career on catching clumsy heroines and calling it fate.
"Easy there, sweetheart," the man said.
April’s brain short-circuited. “Oh my god. You’re Caleb Hart.”
The man's grin widened, smile bright and perfect. The smile that had sold a thousand Heartland movies and twice as many pickup trucks during commercial breaks.
"Guilty as charged."
"I—I'm so sorry," April stammered, feeling heat rush back to her cheeks. "I just—I love Sweetwater Creek. I've watched every season. The Christmas wedding special made me cry for like, anhour. And the one where you saved the bookstore? I bought the DVD."
April's brain was already spiraling through every episode she'd ever seen. He'd saved at least a dozen family farms. Prevented the demolition of historic barns across three fictional states. In Season 4, he'd literally brought a Christmas tree back to life through the power of believing.
Caleb Hart. The Caleb Hart, King of the Heartland Romance, the man every mother in America wanted their daughter to marry, let out a low, appreciative laugh that sounded like bourbon felt.
She was babbling. She heard it happening, caught the spiral mid-spin, and made herself stop. "Sorry. Big fan. You probably get that a lot."
"Well now," he drawled, "aren't you just the prettiest thing to nearly tackle me on the sidewalk today."
April felt the heat from the dressing room rush back to her face in full force. The weight of the emerald silk dress waiting for her at home. The heavy diamond on her finger making her hand feel like it belonged to someone else. Running into a TV star on top of everything else today felt like someone had taken her perfectly reasonable Tuesday and added seventeen unscheduled plot twists.
"I have to go," she said, the words tumbling out. "I'm so sorry, I don't usually—I'm not normally this—"
Caleb's gaze tracked her face, flushed; the designer clothes that didn't match her flustered energy; the massive diamond on her finger that caught the light like a small sun.
His grin shifted, sharpening into calculation that didn’t quite match the wholesome energy he radiated on basic cable. On screen, Caleb Hart was clean-cut and reliable, probably smelled like pine and good decisions. In person he had the grin of a man who knew exactly how much his wholesome image was worth.
"I know that look," Caleb said.
He leaned casually against the boutique's stone pillar, afternoon sun catching in his hair. Somewhere behind him, a car horn honked. The city kept moving, but he stood there like he had all the time in the world.
