Chapter 32
I’m not sure what came over me. We’ve been selling more and more copies of ‘The Way We Move’ since the announcement of Ansel as the lead.
Since filming started right here in Seattle.
Raymond would tell you that my ‘dating’ the lead in the movie had also been phenomenal for business, but I wasn’t sure that was true.
But with all the talk and the gossip and the Ansel Barlowe of it all — I found myself missing him, just a little.
Like there was a tiny, Ansel-shaped, hole in my heart.
We hadn’t seen each other since that night. And honestly, I’d been trying not to see him? We’d texted a little — stupid, safe things about work or press requests — but neither of us mentioned that night.
Neither of us had dared.
So… when I left my shift — I only worked four hours today — I drove to set. I told myself it was to watch filming. To support him. To see how the movie was shaping up. But deep down, I knew better.
The security guy waved me through — Ansel had already put me on the list — and a PA led me to the soundstage. I expected chaos. Lights, cables, shouting. And there was chaos — people running around, setting up, prepping props. But then the scene started.
Everything paused.
And I forgot how to breathe.
Because Theo walked in.
Not Ansel. Not the charming, grinning man who drove me crazy without even trying.
Theo Rivera. My Theo. The Theo from my mind, the character I had leaned on during my divorce — before, even.
‘The Way We Move’ held such a special place in my soul; it had healed me in ways I didn’t even know I had been broken.
And here he was… Theo Rivera. With his life turned upside down, with his job loss and his ailing mother and…
I couldn’t breathe.
I was sure that Ansel would ruin Theo — not because he was Ansel, but because no one was Theo. No one was going to be good enough to fill that role, not in my mind. Anyone who was cast would be too cocky, too ego-centered, too Hollywood.
But he wasn’t any of those things.
He was heartbreak and hope and fire all at once. Every movement deliberate, every line lived in. He had Theo’s stubborn tilt to his chin, the flash of defiance in his eyes. The ache. The longing.
My chest hurt.
Someone nudged me. I hadn’t even realized I was standing there, frozen. “You okay, Ms. Haddock?” one of the crew asked with a soft grin. “You look a little star-struck.”
“Cut!”
The spell broke. The crew bustled in, resetting props, adjusting lights. But Ansel — Theo — just stood there, chest heaving, hair mussed like he’d been through hell.
And then his eyes found me. Like he’d known I was there the whole time. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink.
He said something to the director — quick, quiet — and then he was walking toward me. Fast. Determined.
God, he looked unfair up close. Sweat clung to his hairline, the collar of Theo’s shirt open just enough to show the hollow of his throat. His expression was still half-wild from the scene.
“You came,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “I put your name on the list weeks ago, just in case. I didn’t expect—”
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
His mouth tilted — not a smile, not exactly. Something softer. Something that made my stomach flip. “What’d you think?”
I laughed, shaky and unsteady. “Think? Ansel, you—” I had to stop. I pressed my hand against my mouth while shaking my head. “You are him.”
His brow furrowed like he didn’t quite believe me.
“You’re perfect,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
And there it was — the spark in his eyes, the one that always undid me.
The crew moved around us, talking, working, resetting. But it felt like the entire set had narrowed to just him. “I was so sure nobody could get Theo right,” I admitted, voice soft. “But you — God, you were him. Exactly how I pictured. Better even.”
His throat worked as he swallowed, gaze flicking over my face like he was memorizing me.
“Junie,” he said, quiet. Like it was a confession. His hand rose, cupped my cheek in his palm.
I felt like I could melt. “I mean it,” I whispered through the tears that had sprung up, unbidden.
Even blurry, his smile was radiant. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine. “Your opinion is the only one that matters, kid.”
I really… don’t know what came over me at that moment. Something about the atmosphere or the lights or the rush of seeing Ansel as Theo…
I kissed him.
I grabbed the collar of his shirt and just… pulled him down to me. His lips weren’t soft, not like they’d been at the pool. They were rough, dried, overused from hours of acting, I guess.
But it was right.
He stood, stock still, for several seconds… almost as if he was afraid I’d disappear if he kissed me back.
But when my free hand wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him close to me, he snapped.
His fingers curled into the fabric of my dress as he tugged me closer still. The hand that rested on my cheek tilted my face up towards him, thumb skidding along my jaw and sending a shiver down my spine.
Ansel kissed me like it had been waiting inside him for years — like the self-control, the rules, the pretending had burned up in an instant.
I hadn’t even lasted three fucking days in his orbit before I crashed into him.
And God — I matched him step for step. His tongue darted out, pressing softly against my lip, and I couldn’t help the way I grinned against him. Mimicking our kiss from eons ago, I shook my head, curling my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.
But this time, he didn’t move on. He took my bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, so gently.
I gasped, and his large hand splayed across my back. There was nowhere for me to go except into his arms. So I stretched up on my toes and kissed him harder. Our lips moving together in time with the beat of our hearts. A song that only we could hear.
“Barlowe!” Someone called, and I just barely registered it behind us. The hand that had been on my cheek had shifted, tangling into my hair as he held me against the lines of him.
This right here, this moment, I had been so afraid of letting him close because of this.
Because I knew how right it would feel.
God, I was so fucked.
“Barlowe!”
Ansel inhaled sharply, pulling back from me. But his eyes were filled with something that I wasn’t willing to acknowledge. Not yet.
“Sorry,” he whispered, lips brushing mine as he spoke. I blinked, worried about what might tumble out of my mouth if I attempted to speak.
“Y’okay, kid?” he asked softly, the pad of his thumb brushing along my cheek.
A nod. All I could manage was a nod. Everything inside me threatened to combust.
He pressed his lips to mine again.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
His grin was radiant.
“I’ll call you later.” He whispered with an air of promise.
So fucked.