Page 20 of Falling Like Stars

“I have a few days off, and then I’m heading to Alaska for another shoot. A little indie.”

“Already?”

“I’m a glutton for punishment. What about you?”

“I’m going to take some time off at this cabin my dad left mein Wildwood.”

“Sounds nice. You sure like your hideaways, don’t you?”

I clear my throat. “You could say that.”

“Do you have another job after this?”

“No.”

He watches me over the rim of the glass. “Well, if you’re looking, I hear Alaska’s cold and miserable this time of year.”

“I’m good, thanks,” I say and cut him off before he can speak again. “But isn’t there a big award show coming up for which you are nominated in a major category?”

He looks away. “I suppose.”

“Well. Aren’t you—?”

“Pass. Next question.”

It strikes me as strange that being nominated for an Oscar is a touchy subject, but far be it for me to press someone about stuff they don’t want to talk about. I’m a professional in that department.

“Any phobias?” I ask.

“Being late for anything.”

“That’s not a real phobia.”

“You haven’t seen me get up at four a.m. for a ten a.m. flight.”

I laugh lightly. “Fair enough.”

Zach takes some wine, warm again. When he’s happy, his warmth is more potent than the water and I wonder what fool woman—Eva Dean—wouldn’t want to do her utmost to bask in that forever.

“Rowan?”

I blink. “Sorry, what?”

“Your phobias.”

“Insects,” I say. “Butterflies and ladybugs get a pass but that’s it.”

“Interesting.” He taps his chin. “Tell me more.”

“I just don’t understand why there has to be so many.”

“Balanced ecosystems? Pollination of our food?”

“You say that like it’s important.”

We’ve left our respective tub corners and are face to face in the middle. Better wine access, is all, though I’m not mad about being this close to his hazel eyes that are fixed on me intently, or the water beading on his chest, the steam rising up…

“Your turn, by the way,” Zach says.

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