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I shrug. “Probably because I haven’t been completely honest with her. She thinks I’m just trying to make the most of this forced vacation before I can get back to work.”

“Mmhmm,” she hums, jotting something into her notes before looking back up at me.

“I know. That’s on me for not being open with her,” I say before she does. I roll my neck with a groan. “Why do I have to have these conversations, Marge? Can’t I just push it down and deal with it in twenty years or so?”

She pins me with a knowing look. “If that’s how you want to spend your time in prison, by all means…”

“Ugh,” I groan, throwing my hands up. “Fine. You win. I’ll talk to her.”

Marguerite’s cheeks pinch with a look of satisfaction. “That’s more like it.” She glances down at her notepad. “You’re so close, my dear. Keep up the good work and let your yoni be your guide.”

“My yoni thinks this is going to suck balls,” I mutter.

“I think you mean to say that your yoni wants to suck balls.” She holds up her hands. “And I support it. But if you want to finally let go of this underlying resentment you’ve been carrying, you need to speak your truth.”

“I know, Marge. I hear you loud and clear.”

“You’re going to do great,” she says. “You know where to find me if you need support.”

Roman sits across the booth at Restaurant looking like a J. Crew model in his short-sleeved white button-up and navy chino shorts. His wavy blond hair is still damp from our shower this morning, and every once in a while, I get a whiff of his aftershave.

I probably look like the biggest dork, grinning at him like a love-drunk idiot. But I can’t help it. I’m so gone for this man. I don’t think anything could disrupt my good mood.

The last few days have been nothing short of blissful, and since the festival is only three days away, we figured it wouldn’t hurt to soft launch our relationship. Besides, it’s not like anyone is starstruck by me in this town. That much is apparent. In Ashford Falls, Roman Kingsley is a bigger celebrity than I am. I don’t think a more charismatic man exists… well, apart from the local meteorologist, Dr. Drizzle, that is.

The locals are almost as obsessed with him as they are with their beloved Phantom romance novels.

I snicker at the idea for a screenplay. If I were directing, Dr. Drizzle would be a no-brainer to play the Phantom.

“What’s got you smiling over there?” Roman asks, his chin propped on his hand as he studies me.

I swear, this man doesn’t miss a thing. He’s just as bad as Tilly, always studying me, like he’s scanning me and ready to jump in to help. As much as I love his attention to detail—trust me, his skill set really shines when it comes to reading my body during sex—I wonder what sparked him to be this way in the first place. I know there’s more to unpack there, but I’m not going anywhere. He can tell me when he’s ready.

“I was just thinking about a screenplay idea,” I explain with a grin. “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Dr. Drizzle was cast as the Phantom? Like, what if one of the bodice-ripper Phantom romance books could be made into a play?” I giggle just thinking about the costumes, leaning into the full historical romance theme. “The women in this town would lose their minds.”

He stares at me for a long moment, then finally says, “You should write it.”

I scoff at this ridiculous simplicity of his suggestion. Roman, always the delusional optimist. “Yeah, in all my free time. Why don’t I direct it, too, while I’m at it?”

The server comes to take our order, and Roman orders us a full spread to share: pancakes, French toast, eggs Benedict, the works.

“Hungry?” I quirk a brow. “I guess you worked up an appetite last night?”

“And this morning,” he adds, before taking a big gulp of his water. “I need to keep up my strength, so you don’t suck the life out of me.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re so full of shit. You’re the one who started it this morning. I was just trying to shower in peace.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining when I had your face pressed against the shower wall while I fucked the attitude out of you.” He casually says, then takes a sip of his coffee.

The memory has my vagina throbbing. The smug grin he’s wearing tells me he knows it, too. Dammit, I hate losing at our unspoken game. I’ll get him back when he least expects it.

“Anyway, like I was saying,” he continues, “I was being serious. I think you should write the screenplay.”

“Roman, I’m flattered that you think I’m so talented. Truly, I am. But I don’t know anything about that side of the industry.” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin, not to mention it would be a complete and utter waste of my time.”

“How so? It’s only a waste if you don’t enjoy yourself.”

“In case you don’t remember, let me remind you; I’m supposed to leave in five days to start filming. I need to be focusing on my actual job, not playing pretend with my head in the clouds.”