Page 65 of Falling Like Stars

An awkward silence falls, but I don’t care. It’s enough to see her. To be in her space again. The lounger next to Rowan’s frees up. I pull it next to hers and we sit side by side.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to be seen sitting together?” Rowan glances around. “Last time, we ended up in a tabloid.”

“Didn’t you sign the NDA upon entry?” I ask, then point at the trees and greenery that surround the pool area. “Eyes in the sky. Our host has this place on lockdown. Nothing’s getting out.”

Rowan nods, seemingly more at ease. “What have you been up to?”

“Shooting a film with Scorsese.”

“As one does. I’ve heard American Vice is a killer. But why am I not surprised?” Her expression tilts into concern. “You look tired.”

“I am tired. But you… You look…”

Fucking stunning. Radiant.

“Healthy.”

She smiles. “I’m doing better. A lot better. Saw a therapist. Made some progress.”

“I’m so happy to hear that.” I say and glance around for whoever she brought as her date, sure to approach any second now. “Are you…here with anyone?”

“Nope, flying solo,” she says. “And I’m sure you’re wondering how a lowly PA gets invited to a big-time producer’s shindig.”

“Stop with the ‘lowly’ already.”

She grins, her eyes alit from within, as if some of the shadows have been lifted off her. “Actually, I’m no longer a lowly PA. I’m now a lowly seamstress, working in the costume department for Avignon. One of the assistant costume leads scored me an invite to this party.”

“Wow, congrats on the job,” I say.

“I’m a cog in the wheel, but at least it’s closer to…” She gives her head a shake. “Anyway. I wouldn’t normally go to a party like this solo. Or at all, really but…” Her blue eyes rise to meet mine. “I was hoping I’d see you here.”

The honest declaration hits me right in the chest and sinks in. I can’t keep the grin off my face. “You wanted to see me, eh?”

She holds up her champagne flute. “That and the free booze.”

The joke doesn’t do anything to cover the soft vulnerability on her face or the heat in her eyes when she looks at me. Suddenly the air between us is charged with that special kind of electricity--the kind that's filled with the anticipation of what might come next.

“Trolling parties is one option,” I say. “Or—and hear me out—you could have just texted.”

Rowan glances down at her glass. “I know but…I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted, so I threw it to the universe instead.” Now she looks at me intently, and the space between us seems to evaporate. “And here you are.”

Here we are. Again. Maybe this time…

“Speaking of sewing,” I say when the moment grows long.

She quirks a brow. “Were we?”

“You made that dress.”

Rowan self-consciously smooths the fabric over one of her thighs. “Oh. Yeah. I did.”

“It’s fucking amazing. Pairs great with my jacket.”

“Well, that’s the real reason I’m here, Zach Butler. To return your lost property to you.”

I grin. “Well?”

“Well what?

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