“His career,” I answered quickly. “It makes sense. He was over; he was being cast in all kinds of crap, and then once he was cast in a film with you—the new heir apparent to his golden-boy status—now he’s getting exposure again, right? Maybe he’s ensuring that doesn’t go away. He’s making sure people are talking about him again.”

“Seems a stretch to me. He’s always complaining about the paparazzi. He can’t stand them when they’re around,” he said, but I could finally see the wheels beginning to turn just the tiniest bit.

I didn’t want to lose any ground, so as much as I wanted to smack him upside the naive, I kept quiet, let him think on it for another moment. He chewed on his lower lip, looking pensive, and I let the sheet drop on the right one. He looked back up at me in surprise.

“You’ve earned it.” I smiled.

“Are we done talking? Already?”

“I said what I needed to say. You listened. I appreciate that,” I answered softly as he reached out to cup an exposed breast. His fingers were tender as he stroked me, not sexual this time, but deeply sensual. Comforting. Warm. Coaxing me onto my back, he snuggled into me, head on my breast, fingers now pressing into each tiny dent between my ribs. We breathed together, watching as the sun crawled across the ceiling.

“When are you leaving to go back to the desert?” I asked the top of his head. I hated that he had to leave again, but they still had a few scenes left to shoot.

“Two days.”

“I’ll be glad when you’re done. It’ll be nice to have you at home for a while.” I kissed his forehead.

He was quiet for a minute, then started to get out of bed. He leaned back down over me and gave me a small smile. “Let’s get some breakfast, Crazy.”

* * *

Once I had him full of toast and marmalade, we relaxed over coffee, which is what we were doing when Holly called. Kissing me on the head, he took off for the shower before I could even answer, mouthing the words in the shower to me. I rolled my eyes as I answered the phone. I wasn’t sure what was going on there.

“Hey, dillweed.”

“Hey, asshead. What are your plans this afternoon?”

“Um, I didn’t really have any. Was going to go for a run maybe?”

“Nope, you’re shopping with me.”

“I am?”

“Yep, let’s meet at Monica’s at one. I need to get some new dresses—something beachy and cute.”

“Ah. You and Michael going somewhere fun?”

“Perhaps, can you go?”

“Sure, I’ll see you there.”

“By the way, do you still want us all to come over tomorrow night to watch?” she asked. We’d talked about getting together to watch the night the show premiered on TV.

“Yes, definitely. I need everyone here to make sure I don’t go looking for the bad reviews.”

“Can we bring anything?”

“Yes. Vodka. Lots. Not sure what you guys will all drink, but the vodka’s for me.” My heart stuttered a bit when I thought about the fact that my TV show would be debuting tomorrow night for all the world to see. Well, the American world. “Okay, see you in a bit,” I said, starting to hang up.

“Wait, wait, is Jack there with you?”

“He’s in the shower. Why?”

“But he’s been home with you all morning?”

“Yeah, why? What’s up?”

“I’m going to wring that limey’s neck! Never mind. Not your problem. Tell him to check his fucking messages, okay?”

“Okay,” I answered, not wanting to get involved.

“Okay, see you in a bit, fruitcake.” She hung up.

Thoughtful, I sat there for a bit, tossing my phone back and forth. I didn’t want to get involved, but I had to admit I was curious what was going on.

Not your problem. Don’t get involved.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I headed back toward the bathroom, smiling when I heard him humming in the shower. Opening the door, I reached out for him through the steam.

“Hey, get that sweet ass in here.” He grinned, shampoo suds turning his head into a cotton ball.

“Nope, no time. I’m meeting Holly for some retail therapy,” I answered, dodging his soapy hands. He responded by sticking his tongue out at me. “Speaking of Holly, she told me to tell you to check your messages?” I tried, raising my eyebrows but keeping my tone light. He nodded at me but submerged under the spray. “I’m also going to pick up some things while I’m out today for tomorrow night. I was thinking we’d just make little nibbly things and everyone can nosh while we watch. Sound good to you?”

“Wait, what? We’re having people over tomorrow night?” He emerged from under the spray.

“Yes, Jack, for the show, remember? It’s on TV?”

He stood there, blank-faced, as the shampoo washed down the drain.

“Right, sure, of course. Who’s coming?”

“Holly, Michael, Nick, Lane is going to try, and I think Rebecca too.”

He grimaced. I waited for him to say something, but he was quiet.

“So, nibbly things? Okay?” I prompted.

“Sure, sounds good, Grace.” He nodded again, then returned to the spray, ending the conversation.

“I’ll see you later this afternoon then?” I asked, backing out of the bathroom. He nodded once more, then turned toward the water.

* * *

“And then he just went right back under the spray! It’s like he totally forgot about everyone coming over tomorrow night!” I exclaimed into the mirror as I waited for Holly to come out in yet another dress. We’d been at the boutique for only fifteen minutes, but she’d already found several she just had to have.

“Are you sure you told him to call me?” she asked over the dressing room door.

“I did. I told him to check his messages, as directed.”

“Did he?” Her head popped up over the door.

“That I don’t know. I told you, I just deliver the messages. I’m not getting involved.” I sipped the champagne the boutique had so thoughtfully provided. “What’s going on anyway?”

“Thought you weren’t getting involved.” She chuckled, coming out in a strapless dress that was sex on legs.

“I’m not; I’m not. Forget I asked.”

“He’s just really hard to get ahold of right now, and we’re in the middle of negotiating the Time sequel. Not a great time to go incommunicado.” She poofed her cleavage. “What do you think?”

“Hot. Way hot. What are all these dresses for anyway?”

“Michael’s taking me somewhere tropical. Not sure where. He just said bring frilly dresses.”

“Frilly?”

“I figured out that frilly translates to skimpy in Michael language.”

“Not even close.”

“Yeah, frilly means flouncy, which means blowy, which means barely there. That took about five minutes and some show-and-tell to figure out what he meant.” She laughed, a blush creeping into her cheeks.

“I’m so glad you two are together,” I said suddenly. I watched her smile into the mirror.

“You are?”

“Are you kidding? Of course! Things worked out perfectly.”

“Not gonna lie, I wasn’t sure you’d be okay with it,” she said as she turned toward me.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?” I asked her, looking everywhere else.

She huffed as she headed back into the dressing room. After a moment the dress came up over her head. “Grace, shut up. Obviously there’s history between you.”

“Okay, sure, but it’s just that: history. Honestly, I couldn’t be happier for you two.”

She poked her head back up over the door. “I’m pretty happy too. Now we just need to get Jack figured out and my world will be all roses and fucking fairy tales.”

“I’m getting worried, Holly, like, really worried.” I met her eyes.

She nodded. “Me too, fruitcake.”

* * *

The next day started out like all Shit Days: totally normal. Sex with Jack—awesome. Breakfast after sex with Jack—delicious. Call-in radio interviews all afternoon—stellar. That night? Oh boy.

Jack was out and about most of the afternoon, which was better for me. Talking about myself was weird, and talking on the radio—selling myself and my show—was hard to do when you have a hot Brit making faces at you and trying all manner of naughty to get you to screw up. Once the interviews were over, I went for a run in Griffith Park to unwind and calm my nerves. No such luck. I was wired. I ran my normal circuit almost ten minutes faster than I usually did, and I could’ve gone another round without thinking twice. I was nervous, I could admit that. Tonight was the real test. Up until now only industry people had seen the show, now it was up to the public to say if it was any good.

I kept busy all afternoon: cutting up fruit for a salad, setting out plates and bowls and silverware for everyone, mixing up a batch of margaritas to go with the guacamole I made with avocados from my trees in back, and I was just putting the finishing touches on a cheese platter when Jack blew in.

“Crazy, you ready for tonight? I’m ready. You ready?” he shouted from the front door. I caught sight of a black Suburban as it left the driveway. Was it Bryan? Or was it Adam? They both drove the same car . . .

Before I could think on it too long, Jack swept me up in his arms and swung me around. “Mmm, I missed my girl!” he murmured, pressing wet kisses all along my neck and into the top of my dress. “Christ, Grace, you know what it does to me when you wear that apron.”

I pulled away from him for a moment, laughing as I smoothed my dress. I did know what it did to him when I wore this apron.

That’s why you put it on.

Also to protect my dress from the avocados. That green stain is hard to remove.

Who are you fooling?