Page 80 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

I gaze at him, smiling. “You own a bean emporium?”

He grins. “You’d be the first to know if I did. No. My agent called again…”

“Oh?” I shift to see his face better, propped on an elbow. All the better to admire him, his soft expression, see his hesitation. “News about L.A.?”

Blake shakes his head. “Not quite. News about New York.”

“New York?”

He swallows, searching my eyes. I’m getting nervous as he draws this out.

“You can say anything to me, you know,” I murmur, tracing his chest and taking his hand. We intertwine our fingers.

“It’s another audition. A really important audition. It’s for a lead role in a major film that’s booked to start shooting. The actor they had just backed out last minute, so they’re casting again. I’m just waiting on confirmation on a date, but it’s probably very soon.”

“’Kay.” I kiss his fingers, then gaze at him. “Then you should do it.”

Blake makes some small unhappy noise. “The honest truth is that I’d rather stay here with you. Or in your flat. Or get back out to the countryside together, you know? New York’s the opposite of where I want to be.”

Some part of me thrills to hear this, to know Blake wants me so badly. And the realization that I want him just as much. “Lovely, I don’t want to stand in the way of your dreams. And…one thing at a time, I suppose. An audition’s one thing, landing the part is another.”

“Why’re you so sensible?” Blake groans, scooping me close and showering me with kisses. I couldn’t speak then if I wanted to, but having Blake greedily to myself right now is a thrill.

And we spend the night like this, drifting off to sleep at last quite some time later, me holding tightly onto Blake like he might disappear in my sleep if we happen to make the mistake of letting go. Wanting him like this is terrifying, but the thought of him absent from my life is devastating.

There’s a sharp rapping at the door at some unholy hour.

I can tell that much as I squint at my watch, head resting against Blake’s shoulder. The bedside lamp is still on, casting a small glow in the room. Beside me, Blake stirs with a groan, a silhouette.

I shift closer to him. Must be some drunk trying to get home. It’s so early that the sun’s not up, though I can see the first streaks of pink toward dawn through the small gap between the curtains.

A loud rapid-fire knock again.

“Blake,” someone calls. A man’s voice.

Ugh.

Definitely a voice. I’m definitely not at home. I kiss his shoulder sleepily, lifting my head to peer at him. “S’mebody’s here. Should I hide?”

He groans again and rolls onto his back.

“It’s Andrew,” says the voice through the door. “I need to talk to you.”

“Shit,” says Blake, sitting up so abruptly that I collapse on the pillow beside him. He springs out of bed, finding a robe in record time. My immediate instinct is to pull the duvet over my head and hide, because I’m brave like that.

Who’s Andrew?

Another lover? Who else would come knocking at this time, wanting to talk? Though his film project does seem to keep stupid hours, late and early both, to be fair. The film industry apparently has hours well outside of my shop hours, that’s for certain.

A moment later, I hear the door open.

“Hey,” Blake says. He’s still perfectly audible from where I’m hiding beneath the down duvet.

“Hey, sorry to disturb you so early, but I thought you’d want to see what the local press is reporting,” mystery Andrew says, all apologetic in tone. “I’ve got a couple of papers. There’s more online. Check your phone. I’ll let you have a chance to look at these too. Then call me and we’ll figure out a strategy. Don’t say anything online to anyone, for any reason.”

There’s a rustling of paper.

Mystery Andrew must be some sort of filming person.

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