Page 7 of Heart Set on You

After saying our goodbyes, I change into my pajamas, wash my face and snuggle into bed. Then I close my eyes and replay my run-in with Miles. Over and over again.

It had all been a lot. Miles’ charm. Being that close to him. The rush of desire I felt was so strong, it took hold of my chest and made it hard for me to breathe. There’s a reason why it’s his face that pops up when you Google “America’s hottest man.” He is heart-stoppingly, breathtakingly handsome.

Or maybe it’s just been a while. It’s been two long years since any man has kissed me, touched me. Not since Eric, a guy I met in film school. We dated for two years and not even he had ever made me feel this way.

I set my alarm for tomorrow morning, rest my cell phone on the nightstand beside me and turn off the lamp. I push any thoughts of Miles Bennett and my non-existent sex life out of my mind and try to get some sleep.

The next morning, I am sitting in the craft services tent, jamming a raspberry scone into my mouth and scrolling through my Instagram feed. I like a photo that Cara has posted of my nieces and nephew around the fire in my gran’s backyard. They’re roasting marshmallows, my youngest niece perched on Gran’s knee. As always, my heart does a free fall in my chest at the thought of missing these moments with them. I keep scrolling to a photo of Meg with a margarita glass covering the bottom half of her face, the caption reading Fiesta, siesta, margarita. Repeat. She’s in between jobs so she hopped a plane to Cabo with her boyfriend. Tapping the comment button, I type, What I wouldn’t do to be sipping a marg beside you.

Meg and I have always been close. I don’t remember a day as long as I’ve known her that we weren’t. When we met, she was the funny, loud, popular girl who lived four houses down from me. I was the quieter one who stayed happily in her shadow. Meg knew how to play the piano, do front and back walkovers and always loved hanging with the boys. She was also in my class every year from grade three right through to our high school graduation. Over the years, we’d done just about everything together: gone to Nashville on weekends to watch the latest bands, poured our hearts out to each other about crazy ex-boyfriends and been there for each other when times were tough. And they have been, like when my parents died and I cried in her arms every day for weeks. Now, we’re both 24, still each other’s best friends and the ones we always turn to when life gets tough.

“You missed a good night,” Abby says, flopping down in the chair beside me. It’s 7:15 in the morning and filming has been delayed due to an urgent last-minute meeting between Josh and the production company. “I hope that FaceTime call with your grandparents was worth it. You missed out on a game of Would You Rather? with a bunch of the crew. The cute blonde key grip guy likes threesomes and leather, by the way.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “Sounds wonderful,” I say, tucking my phone into my pocket.

I pick up my coffee with two hands and am taking a sip when Abby and I both turn to see Miles walking into the tent with his PA. They’re in the middle of a conversation, neither of them looking up as they head straight for the breakfast buffet, picking up plates and filling them. He’s wearing a pair of black joggers with a gray hoodie, his hair and makeup already done. His PA leans into his shoulder. I watch them, because it’s impossible not to. I swear half the room is staring. His head bends toward her, his laugh floats through the room and I know in this moment – a big aha! moment – that I can’t let what happened yesterday happen again. Talking to him, being that close to him, is a very bad idea. I wince when I think of that glimmer of hope I felt when it seemed like he had noticed me. Just the idea that Miles Bennett would be interested in me is ridiculous. He’s a born charmer and I can see now that I’m no different than every other girl who’s felt that spark of hope when he’s looked her way.

Now I’m sitting in a tent, probably with raspberry preserve on my face, pathetically watching the way his arms flex when he pours coffee from the carafe into his Styrofoam cup. The move of his muscular thighs as he reaches for a napkin. I inwardly cringe at myself for ogling the talent, but I’m positive I’m not the only one. Every woman here is following his every move. If Miles notices, you can’t tell.

His gaze sweeps over the room, eventually landing on me. He pauses, then smiles. It’s a different smile than the one he’d given me on set the first time or the one when he saved me from Violet. This smile feels deliberate. Genuine. Despite my best intentions, something flickers in my chest.

Abby looks from Miles to me, her eyes wider than the highway, kicking my ankle under the table with her boot. I nudge her very gently to stop her from making a scene. Thankfully, she can take a hint.

He walks in my direction and even if I couldn’t see it, I can feel his eyes move to my mouth, my jaw, my shoulder, and finally back up to meet my stare. I can feel it like a feather, softly brushing over my skin. I hold my breath, and the room goes silent. And then it’s over, as suddenly as it started, our connection interrupted by a crew member who approaches Miles with a question. They chat for a few seconds, giving me an opportunity to get a closer look. I look at Miles’ hand, the one holding his coffee cup. His fingers are long and tan, his nails perfectly groomed.

Abby’s voice cuts through my train of thought. “What the hell was that?” she demands. “What is going on between the two of you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I force myself to tear my eyes away from Miles. I have to before I am consumed by him.

“I’ve got to go,” I tell Abby, crumpling up my napkin, pushing it onto my plate.

“But I haven’t finished telling you the rest of the story,” she protests. “You would never believe-“

“Oh, I think I can imagine,” I say. But just because I can imagine whatever outrageous gossip she’s about to spill, it doesn’t mean that I want to.

Abby licks the icing from her cinnamon roll from her index finger. “It’s okay. I’ll fill you in at lunch.”

“Thank goodness. I’m not sure I could survive not hearing the rest,” I tease, pushing back my chair. She gently grabs my arm as I stand.

“And we are also circling back to whatever it is that is happening between you and Miles Bennett.”

I stand, my knees wobbly. I take my plate and coffee cup from the table and grab my clipboard of sides that I need to go over. I slip through the tables full of crew and assistants, past the craft services bar, and out the door.

Chapter Five

Miles

I didn’t see her leave, but by the time I’d dealt with the crew guy’s questions, she was gone. I didn’t see her again for the rest of the day.

I can’t seem to shake her from my mind. When I met with Josh about a script change this morning, I found myself scanning the room, searching for her. At lunch, I was distracted by the craziest shit, like wondering if she had brought her own lunch, or was she eating in the craft services tent? Or maybe she ran out and picked up take-out. Did she prefer Thai, or maybe tacos? Is she a vegetarian? And when I filmed the big kissing scene today with Violet, it was Rylee’s lips I wished were kissing me back.

What the hell is happening to me?

I’ve had my fair share of women. When I first started getting noticed in Hollywood, I couldn’t get enough. I got used to women falling at my feet, and I slept with many of them. For a time, I lost myself in it all, hooking up with girls who only cared that my name was Miles Bennett. I had a different model or actress by my side every month, but that shit gets old, fast. I know it had disappointed my parents – especially my father, who has always been a family man, madly in love with my mother. I grew up in a home where family, morals and values are much more important than wealth and privilege. I’ve always looked up to my parents, and it felt shitty knowing I had let them down. They’ve been nothing but supportive of me, encouraging me to follow my dream of becoming an actor rather than join the family business. And I felt like shit knowing that I had let them down.

My dad owns the Seaside Hotel chain. High-end, luxurious boutique hotels across eastern New York. Parker is the C.O.O and my sister Jules runs the marketing side of things. My other brother, Liam, is a lawyer, but he works with Dad pretty regularly, reviewing contracts and evaluating potential business deals. I think I knew working in the family business was not in the cards early on and I’m grateful that my father never pushed it.

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