Page 29 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

“Scared!” I give him a stern look, straightening to my full height. What does he take me for?

Flustered, I adjust the cuff of the aviator watch from Eli. “I’m not scared. Are you?”

“Nope. Then—I dare you to come out with me tonight.”

He can’t be serious. Are we teenagers? He’s obviously trying to provoke me into a reaction.Don’t give him that satisfaction.

“Adare. How ridiculous. Is this what actors do?”

“Mm, it varies on the film genre.” He’s nonchalant. Damn actor advantage, schooling his expression like that.

“Fine.” There’s a competitive streak in me, usually deeply buried these days, that abruptly comes to the surface. I won’t be outdone, shameless goading or not. “I’ll see you your dare, then.”

“You say it like you’re gonna raise it.”

My lips twist. “Dinner, then. Drinking on an empty stomach is a recipe for disaster. I’ve been told on excellent authority that crisps will only carry one so far.”

He grins with delight. “Right, dinner it is. Mind you, it might be late, depending how it goes. Us film people have long days.”

“So I’m learning about film people.”

God, he better not be gunning for a Michelin-starred restaurant. Already, I’m torn between regret and curiosity.

The director claps his hands, whistles, and then calls everyone to gather for the rehearsal.

“Guess that’s my cue,” says Blake. He starts to leave, then turns back and flashes a smile that takes my breath away. “I’ll text you if you’re not here when we wrap for the day.”

“’Kay.” I can hardly believe what I’ve agreed to.

Then, it’s all serious film business. I settle on the stool behind the counter, out of the way. Thank God, a chance to recover a slight distance from him. But even in the same room, goose bumps linger.

The actors gather. Scripts are shared. They talk blocking, lighting, logistics. And my heartbeat is faster than a sparrow, like this moment is something fleeting that could disappear in an instant.

…

There’s only so long a man can pretend to work on the books or browse online while a film rehearsal goes on. They run through lines and camera angles and do other things. I don’t know what exactly is going on. Warm-ups, possibly. I stay for some of the filming then retreat to my office after essentially swearing a blood oath to silence. Occasionally, I hear the wash of voices down the hall when they take a break, and then I know I can boil the kettle or run upstairs to get something. And I do end up—mostly—working.

Filming goes late. They weren’t joking about the endurance hours.

Around 6:00 p.m., Blake texts me. Clutching my phone, I reread the message several times.

Still want to meet for dinner? Cool vegan place nearby if you’re up for that The Wholesome Pea

I purse my lips, perturbed.

A cursory Google search tells me that Blake isn’t pranking me. In fact, there’s a legitimate new restaurant about a ten-minute walk away called The Wholesome Pea, celebrating the humble legume and bespoke seasonal dishes, according to its website. No Michelin star, but there’s 4.5 stars on the reviews, which seems surprising for a place celebrating the triumph of okra this week. If that isn’t troubling enough, the lack of appropriate punctuation in Blake’s text before the restaurant’s name has me twitching. A colon. A dash of some manner. Anything.

Rubbing my eyes, I tell myself to chill the fuck out.

I didn’t used to care about those things so much. I used to be relaxed.

Don’t judge people by their use of punctuation, Aubrey. Give the man a chance. Eli’s always saying I need to relax. And the arsehole’s right.

Fuck off, Eli.

Like I can’t angst over the prospect of a first date without Eli interrupting my thoughts. Rude. Better go back to the series of lewd daydreams I’ve had about Blake since meeting him. The man is very effective at driving me to distraction and beyond. Like my new habit of flinging hot beverages around whenever he appears, like some visceral automatic response deep in my nervous system that can’t be stopped.

Chilling the fuck out isn’t in my nature when it comes to Blake.

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