Page 43 of Falling Like Stars

“Did you see…?”

I turn just as Zachary tears his eyes from above. Now his gaze is filled only with me. “I see,” he says, his breath pluming in the cold. “Beautiful.”

A silence falls, a roaring silence that is the rest of the world going quiet. All I can hear is my heart pounding in my chest, and then Zach steps closer to me.

“Rowan.”

“Y-yes?”

“Thank you for coming all this way.”

His hands slip to my waist and then he’s pulling me to him, angling his head, that beautiful full mouth of his moving toward mine. I have a stray thought that I’m not going to survive this, followed by another that I don’t care.

“Zachary!”

The sound—a woman’s voice—cuts through us and we jump apart. Jesus, Eva is here. She saw the photos and came all the way to Alaska just to fuck with him…

But no, it’s the second AD, Carla.

“There you are, thank God.” She comes running up, bundled head to toe, breath coming in white gusts. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we have a problem. You’re needed in Gakona.”

Zach sighs. “Sure, yep. On it.” He turns to me, apologetic but with dark eyes simmering with want.

“Perks of being a producer,” I say lightly.

“Remind me to never do it again.” He heaves a breath. “So…I’ll see you later?”

I read his meaning. Later. My room. I nod, conscious that Carla is waiting, shifting from foot to foot with urgency. “Yep. I still have your jacket.”

Silent understanding passes between us, and then Zach’s swallowed up by the night. But back in my room, the hours drag on until I can’t keep my eyes open. I drift on currents of maybe until I’m woken by a text at one a.m.

Broken generator. Couldn’t proceed until we got it handled. You’re probably asleep and I hope this doesn’t wake you but I’m sending it anyway because I hate that we were interrupted.

It’s fine, I type. That’s show biz.

I bite my lip, waiting as the rolling dots of his reply appear. Does he still want to come over? At this hour, that’s a booty call. Maybe that’s all he wants. Hell, that’s all I know.

It’s not fine, he texts. I was enjoying our date. Your eyes under all that starlight... That was a moment. Not debatable.

My fingers tremble slightly as I type back. If you insist.

Glad we agree, he sends, and I can practically see his boyish smile. You’re only two doors down but it’s late. If I come over now…that’s not very romantic.

A small laugh bursts out of me. It feels like joy. And they say chivalry is dead.

Not on my watch. See you tomorrow, Rowan.

Goodnight, Zach.

“Change of plans.” The script supervisor who also doubles as the camera operator on the small production thrusts a new sheet of sides at me.

I scan it quickly and a little, “Oh,” drops out of my mouth. My cheeks suddenly feel hot in the cold Alaska air.

The scene that was supposed to be shot this morning has been replaced by one in which Meg, the tavern owner’s daughter, and Jacob—Zachary’s character—finally have a confrontation about his plans to take the Long Walk into the snow. Meg has fallen in love with Jacob and vice versa (though he can’t admit it), and she refuses to let him go. She knows his grief is eating him alive and seduces him into a catharsis.

In short, Zachary is going to simulate sex with another woman today.

I examine my thoughts for any kind of jealousy and find there’s none. This is his job. And watching him purge his guilt and regret is almost more provocative to my heavy heart that yearns for the same thing.

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