Page 39 of Falling Like Stars

“I’ve seen it.”

Her voice is casual, but her lips are parted, and I could’ve sworn I heard her breath catch. Not that I blame her. I’m trying to play it cool, but my heart is beating too fast.

“So, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight at the Orca. To say thanks for bringing back my favorite jacket.”

A flash of a shadow crosses Rowan’s eyes, like a bad memory I can see but not make out. She wrestles with it for a second and then straightens.

“I could eat.”

“She could eat, ladies and gentlemen,” I tease and laugh as she swats my arm. “Great. So, yeah. It’s a date.”

Rowan gives me another wry look, but she doesn’t disagree, either.

It’s a date.

Chapter Eleven

“YOU SURE ABOUT this?” J.J. asks. We’re in my West Hollywood studio, with her on her stomach on the bed beside my open suitcase.

“It’s a job,” I say, tossing every black sweater I own (four) into the bag.

“Bullshit.” J.J. sits up. “You have your pick of productions. You’re going to Alaska for him.”

I let the last sweater fall. “No. Not exactly. But…maybe—”

“Maybe?” J.J. quirks a brow. “We’re at maybe, already. Big step.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Aren’t you always telling me to stop hooking up with losers?”

“Yes, and Zach Butler is the exact opposite of a loser.”

“So, what’s the problem now?”

“I don’t know,” J.J. says, her voice soft. “It feels like a lot all at once. Sudden. I don’t think you’ve processed your grief about Josh. This feels like…proving something.”

I nearly flinch at how close J.J. comes to the truth. But what the hell can I do?

“I’m trying, J.J.,” I say. “I’m trying for something different. Maybe nothing will come of it. Probably nothing will come of it, but this is the best I can do right now.”

My friend is quiet for a moment, then gets off the bed and hugs me. “I’m proud of you for that.” She pulls away to hold me at arm’s length. “I just worry that it’s still all there underneath. And if you don’t deal with it, hon, it’s going to deal with you.”

That conversation with J.J. from a week ago flashes through my head as Zachary Butler asks me to dinner. I stare at him stupidly, the old fear, guilt, and regret telling me I don’t deserve even that. Dinner with a nice guy. But for once in my life, I fight back.

“I could eat.”

It’s the most unromantic response in the history of dating, but later that night, after a shower and a change of clothes at the dingy hotel, Zach’s knocking on my door.

“Hi,” I say. It’s all I can manage after I open it to him filling the space with his tall, ruggedly handsome frame. He’s grown a slight beard for the role, his hair is longer, and he’s dressed in boots, jacket, and jeans—all durable but top of the line. Like the world’s most elegant lumberjack.

He’s beautiful.

I’m in the only non-black outfit I brought: jeans, boots, and a heavy sweater under a puffy jacket. Nothing that screams sexy, but Zach’s hazel eyes seem to fill with me.

“You look—”

“Bulky?” I say and clear my throat. “I hope this place doesn’t have a dress code.”

He grins. “I think we’re safe. Hey, you’re only two doors down from me,” he says as I follow him out into the hallway. Fluorescent lights flicker over the industrial carpeted floor. Zach nods his head at #3 on our way out. “That’s me. We’re neighbors.”

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