Page 49 of When You Rescue your Celebrity Crush

Rob also declines the schnapps, but the others each take a glass. Blake raises his and the group follows suit. “To old friends. And new ones.” He nods at me. Everyone sips their drink.

The alcohol hits my throat with a typical burn, but the sweet berry taste soothes it. It wouldn’t be my first choice of beverages, but for an after-dinner drink, it’s not bad. I try another sip.

Rachel glances at Matt, then turns to me. “Your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

“Tell us about yourself. We know you’re an amazing actor.” Her eyes flick to Matt, and everyone else nods and chuckles. Matt’s face goes pink in the lantern light. “And that your father has a place at the Ranch.” At my involuntary jerk, she holds up a hand. “Don’t worry, we don’t care which house is his, but everyone knows he has one there. He hasn’t exactly been stealthy about it. But we don’t know much about you.”

I shrug. “Not much to tell. My mom and dad got divorced when I was six. I lived with my mom in Pasadena. Spent part of each summer with my dad. Went into the ‘family business.’ My overnight success only took seven years. And I just finished shooting my first major film.”

Jamie leans forward. “What’s Ryan Davis like?”

Dylan makes a face.

I shrug. “He was nice enough. Very professional. He and I didn’t spend much time together outside of filming.” Mainly because I wasn’t interested in the parties, but I don’t say that. In the weirdly sheltered atmosphere of Rotheberg, I feel the need to make Hollywood seem like it was portrayed in the nineteen fifties. Glamorous. Full of successful actors and upbeat go-getters. I tell them a carefully sanitized version of my last audition.

We move to the firepit, and Rachel lights it while Blake pulls his guitar from the back of the vehicle. Someone passes the schnapps bottle around, and I pour a bit more into my glass. I decline the beautifully frosted cupcakes and settle on a folded blanket against a fallen log. Matt sits on the log beside me, his leg warm and solid against my shoulder. Blake tunes the guitar, and he and Matt sing a couple of songs. Their voices mix well together, as one would expect from brothers.

Then Blake launches into a well-known John Denver song, and everyone joins in. Someone brings out graham crackers, chocolate bars, marshmallows, and long handled forks, and we make s’mores.

I try to get Matt to eat mine, but he refuses. “You made it; you eat it. That’s the rules. You didn’t have a cupcake—you can use the extra calories.”

He noticed I didn’t eat dessert—is that flattering or stalkerish? I already know the answer. If anything he did felt stalkerish to me, I wouldn’t be here. And even though I know he’s a super-fan, everything about Matt feels genuine.

I look at the sticky mess in my hand. The heat from the marshmallow has melted the chocolate, and it oozes out the sides. I lick the fluffy, chocolate-dripping goo from the side of the cracker and the sweetness is almost too much. Then I take a bite. The crispy cracker helps cut the intensity of the filling, and I finish the little sandwich almost too quickly. “That was good, but wow, so much sugar.”

Matt laughs and finishes his own. “I know. I can’t believe we used to scarf these down as kids and demand more.”

“I still love ’em.” Dylan shoves another marshmallow onto his fork.

Jamie takes it from him. “Nope. I don’t want to hear you moaning tomorrow about how much sugar you ate. One is all you get.” She looks at me. “He’s a pastry chef. Eating too much sugar is a hazard of the job, and he doesn’t need to compound it during his off time.” She turns back to her fiancé. “You’re the one who keeps talking about turning into the dough boy.” Dylan looks like he’s in decent enough shape, although he’s nowhere near Blake or Rob’s body-builder physiques.

I lick the goo from one of my fingers, then catch Matt staring, his eyes glued to my mouth. Heat flows into my face, and I bite my lip. He looks away with a barely audible groan. A heady sense of power surges through me, and I wait until he looks back to lick the next finger. Matt’s eyes close, and he gives himself a little shake. Then he pours some water on a paper towel and holds it out to me.

A little thrill of disappointment goes through me as I take the damp towel. Matt’s eyes flick past me, and I turn to see Rachel raising her eyebrows at him. For a brief second, I’d forgotten we had an audience. My face goes hot, and I duck my head as I wipe my fingers.

I check my cell phone. There’s no signal out here, but it’s already after eleven. Normally, I’m a late-night gal, but even with the nap, I’m tired. I take a moment to do a quick video of the group around the campfire—not so I can post it, but so I have a reminder of this evening. These people—this group of friends—opened their circle and welcomed me in. None of them seem to care about my celebrity status. No one has asked about my famous father or my Hollywood connections. Jamie asked about Ryan Davis, but only after I brought up the subject of our film. They genuinely seem to like me.

A movement to my left draws my attention, and I glance up to see Matt covering a yawn. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he shakes his head. Our wordless communication is perfectly clear—we can stay as long as I like.

“Is it past your bedtime, old man?” Blake asks as Matt yawns a second time.

Rachel slaps her fiancé’s leg. “Some sad people have to work during the day.” She exchanges a grin with Jamie then points at Matt. “Too bad you don’t get the summers off like we do.”

Matt throws a marshmallow at Rachel. Before it reaches her, Kitty lunges from the ground and catches it in her mouth, startling a laugh out of the rest of us.

I push myself up, stumbling against Matt’s leg as I get my feet under me. He puts a hand on my back to steady me, warm and solid. Heat spreads through my body. “It’s past my bedtime.”

The group protests, and it sounds so real, my heart swells in response. Matt rises to stand beside me, his hand on my back again. “You heard the lady. She’s much younger than me, and she’s tired, too.”

I give him a sideways grin. “I didn’t say I was tired, I said it’s past my bedtime. But I actually am tired. And I have a busy day tomorrow—I have to move up to the Ranch.”

“Do you need help with the move?” Rob asks.

I smile in appreciation. “No, it’s just me and my suitcase. But thank you.”

He taps his index finger to his eyebrow in a one-finger salute.

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