Page 32 of King of My Heart

I pursed my lips and looked around again before my eyes landed on the side of his face. His white beard was freshly cut, looking as clean as ever, and his neck-long hair sat in perfect waves on top of his head, giving him that attractive silver fox look.

No wonder he’s a Hollywood legend. He’s handsome.

Without giving it a second thought, I pulled out my phone and opened my Google app to find pictures of him when he was younger. The search results did not disappoint, and I smirked when I saw a still from an older movie he was in, standing shirtless, showing off his muscular build.

“You haven’t stopped working out, have you?” I asked, taking in his broad shoulders and hard chest. His arms were thick, covered in a flannel shirt, but I could still see his muscles flexing under the fabric.

His head turned, and his eyes fell to my phone. With a frown, he said, “Quit looking at that.”

“I just wanted to know what you looked like when you were my age,” I replied with a shrug. “No guy I ever met had looked like you.”

“So?” He wasn’t amused by my story. He wasn’t uncomfortable, but he simply didn’t want me to look at old pictures of him.

Grumpy old man.

I put my phone away and sighed, deciding to change the subject. “I saw a flyer at the general store this morning for a beer and cider festival in Bruce Mines. I figured we could go since there’s not much happening around here. What do you think?”

“I don’t usually go out in public,” he muttered, sipping his liquor.

“Usually. Maybe that can change. The festival starts on Thursday. Maybe we can go then,” I suggested, tapping my fingers on my thighs. My knees were still pressing against his thigh, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

He was thinking about it, but it took him too long to reply, and I was getting impatient because hanging out with him sounded fun, and I didn’t want him to overthink it and say no. “You could wear a baseball hat and glasses. I know it’s not that good of a disguise, but I’d love to go with you. And if people recognize you and start to bother you, I will tell them off.”

He snorted a laugh, which sounded like an insult. “Youtelling peopleoff?”

Rude, but he was right. I probably couldn’t achieve anything by asking people not to bother a Hollywood actor.

“Fine, maybe that wouldn’t be so effective. But…maybe the people there won’t even care that you’re there. I mean, not that you’re not extremely famous or anything—”

“Iwasfamous.”

“Right.” I pursed my lips. Everyone besides him—and maybe everyone in this village—thought differently. “Still. Will you please come to the beer and cider festival with me?”

“Do you even like beer or cider? I haven’t seen you drink alcohol since you came here.”

Well observed.

“No. But I bet you do, and I’d give anything to see you try it and maybe break a smile because you enjoy it so much.”

I was hopeful I would get him to break one day. I was positive that as grumpy as he was, that wasn’t the real him. I believed his past made him cranky, and maybe he just needed someone to help him become the man he used to be.

He observed me with narrowed eyes, tapping the side of his glass with his finger. He was thinking, weighing his options and trying to understand if this meant much to me.

“Fine.”

“Really?” My eyes widened in surprise as I rested my left hand on his shoulder. “Oh, it will be so much fun! Festival food is always so delicious.”

He tried to shrug off my hand but stopped when I almost fell off my stool out of excitement. He turned toward me, putting both hands on my hips to hold me in place. “Careful.”

I calmed down from my very short high, forcing myself to keep the excitement inside. “I just really like festivals,” I admitted with a tight grin.

“I can tell.” His hands left my body as quickly as they were placed on me, and he turned back around to rest his forearms on the counter. “Your enthusiasm is sweeter than that fucking chocolate cake you made for me.”

I had to let those words play in my head a couple more times before I realized what he said. Although it sounded like a compliment, seeing as he hated sweet things, I wasn’t sure I could take it as one.

I pursed my lips and decided not to play into his comment. Instead, I got up and slapped his back lightly. “I’m going to the toilet,” I announced, leaving him at the bar.

CASPIAN

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