Page 1 of Finding Her Leading Man

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Over one-thousand miles south of the New Amsterdam Theatre on Broadway and she still managed to draw a crowd. Instead of paying for a seat at a Broadway show, the dozen or so customers at the Daylight Diner just received free entertainment in the form of a toddler, a well-timed temper-tantrum, and a large strawberry milkshake. Not to mention that very remarkable High-C note that rattled the windows when the three-year-old screamed right before aiming the milkshake at her face.

Samantha Nilsson closed her eyes and took a breath, counting her blessings. It could be worse. She could have forgotten her lines or had her costume rip at the seam on opening night. Those years of performing were what forced her shoulders back. She could add this to the long list of embarrassing moments over the past month. Her stomach churned.

She exhaled, desperately wanting an antacid from the roll in her back pocket.

“Goodness, Samantha, darling,” Mrs. Iris Campbell said, rushing forward with a rag in her hand. “We’ve all had our disasters with Louis, but this one is a doozy. Thank goodness for paper cups, huh?”

Goosebumps rose along Samantha’s hot skin as the cold milkshake soaked into her T-shirt. She was a Broadway actress. She’d won two Tony Awards. She plastered on a smile as if the meanest critic in the world sat front row.

“It’s alright. Somehow, I should have turned his strawberry milkshake into a blue one. The pink color offended him.”

“Well, three-year-olds can be picky, but bless his little heart, he does have a mean streak.”

Samantha took the rag and began to wipe the ice cream off her shirt. “I’m sorry for the mess. If you can show me where the mop and bucket are—”

“Nonsense. I’ll clean this up. You run along and get into dry clothes. Becky should be here soon to help out. She’s out at Addie’s house for a bridesmaid’s dress fitting.” Mrs. Iris smiled sweetly, the soft lines in her face deepening.

Samantha didn’t have friends like that. When herex-fiancéleft her, herex-friendstook his side. They’d pitied him. They’d rallied around him. Two of them had so much pity for him that they’d felt the need to console him personally…in his bed.

For years, the man had cheated on her. She’d been oblivious. Dumb. Blinded by Jasper’s reputation and stage presence.

A cold sweat broke out along the back of her neck, a friendly warning before another anxiety attack. Her anxiety disorder had subsided since college, and she’d assumed it’d disappeared altogether.

It turns out that her anxiety just needed an idiot like Jasper to break her heart and ruin her reputation for it to come roaring back to life.

“Oh, honey, you look upset. I’m sure your shirt will wash just fine.”

Samantha shook her head. “I’m not upset. Really. I’m going to change my shirt. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She walked out of the front door of the Daylight Diner. The restaurant sat smack in the middle of Statem, Georgia, and across the street from the charming bed and breakfast where her mom had suggested she stay.

With her head down to avoid eye contact, a habit she hadn’t broken since leaving New York, Samantha walked to the nearest crosswalk and waited for the signal. She’d seen people just step out onto the highway that ran through town, ignoring traffic signals and jogging across the street as big tractor-trailers came rumbling toward them.

Like that man. She’d briefly caught sight of him late last night entering the bed and breakfast. She recognized the leather bag slung across his body. It reminded her of her youngest brother. He always wore a messenger bag like that.

The landlady had acknowledged the man with a bright smile and mentioned something about being in town for the wedding. It must be the same wedding that Ms. Iris had mentioned. The reason a pile of bridal magazines sat in the kitchen of the diner.

Samantha bit the inside of her cheek, keeping back the tears. She was happy for the bride, not that she knew her all that well. She’d not cried out of pity for herself.

Anger. Anger toward Jasper. Anger that she’d walked around, ignoring warning signs, if there’d been any. Stupid. Of course, there’d been signals. Jasper had blinded her the way he did everyone else in New York’s entertainment industry. His name gave him cred. He could do no wrong.

Shaking her head, she crossed the street when the light changed. She reached into the back pocket of her blue jeans and snagged an antacid from the small roll she always kept with her. With the first crunch on the chalky tablet, she grimaced at the medicine’s nasty attempt to have a “tropical” flavor. Not sure what the red one was supposed to resemble, but it wasn’t a fruit.

But at this point in life, she’d grown used to the taste.

She walked into the bed and breakfast, thankful no one was in the lobby, and started up the stairs to her room. She picked at her shirt, trying to pull the gross feeling of wetness away from her body.

“Excuse me.”

She looked up at the male voice. Her eyes adjusted to the light, focusing on a tan man in a snug, black T-shirt. She blinked, making sure the man was who she thought he was.

“Grayson?” Shock and a little relief coursed through her. It was the first familiar face in the past two weeks since leaving New York. “It’s Samantha—”

“Nilsson.” The small stairway didn’t leave much room, especially for a man like Grayson Moore, but he gave her a side-hug, carefully avoiding her shirt. “What in the hell are you doing here?” He pulled back. “And covered in what looks like a strawberry milkshake?”

“A toddler with a strong arm is to blame for the milkshake.” And now, the answer to the million-dollar question. “I take it you didn’t hear the gossip?” Maybe actors in Hollywood didn’t care about her and Jasper’s demise.

“You two are about to start some gossip.” Another man’s voice, filled with amusement, came from behind her.

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