Love and Other Hollywood Endings

Eleven

ELEVEN

“You wear a disguise.”

“And you’re a master of the obvious.”

“I do not speak of your outer appearance. You are in disguise from your heart.”

Autarch Zear and Lys Amarga, The Quantum Wraith

X avier rubbed his aching neck and sighed. The production day had been a long and brutal one involving Contessina and Roberto Madeira, who played Lys’s loyal friend and would-be love interest Con, running across the sunbaked landscape in full warrior gear. Xavier was careful to give the actors breaks from the action, ensuring they stayed hydrated and as comfortable as possible, but the desert was the desert.

He was sweaty and covered with dust and grime from a day spent exposed to the elements. He wanted a cool shower and a hot meal, and he wasn’t picky about the order.

As a rule, Xavier kept his personal and professional life separate. He meant what he said to Sutton. Erik’s life was disruptive enough, growing up on film sets where intense family-like communities form but then dissipate and disappear after several months as everyone headed off to their next project, sometimes never to communicate again. Maybe that was why he messed up his first chance with Sutton. When she didn’t respond to his letter, he placed their strong but still unsure connection in the bucket of “intense but temporary production relationships” as a way of sublimating how deeply he felt about her.

Now their relationship was explicitly in that bucket. But the more of Sutton he had, the more he needed. And his need wasn’t confined to the sex, amazing as it was.

He wanted her . Her smiles, her frowns, the way her eyes crinkled in the corners when she couldn’t make a spreadsheet behave to her specifications. Her ease with the crew, settling units that had been at war with each other since day one—like Costuming and Props, who’d had a running battle over control of Lys’s battle sword and scabbard—with softly worded suggestions. The way the Arizona sunshine couldn’t compete with her smile when it came to lighting up a room.

Not that he’d had much opportunity to slake his thirst. Once at the Pronghorn, they’d separated, and he found himself swept into the hectic maelstrom that always occurred at this point in production, when the newness had worn off but the cast and crew realize they still had multiple weeks to go, working on the same old project. Creative choices became narrower as continuity took over and they had to adhere to decisions made earlier, even if those decisions weren’t optimal in hindsight. And the grind of twelve- to fourteen-hour days—especially for the PAs and assistant directors, who were the first to arrive on set and the last to leave—sapped energy and could turn even the most good-natured crew members into grumblers.

Normally Xavier relished the challenge of maintaining morale on the set, finding new ways to engage and inspire the team, to continue pushing them to deliver their best work. But his inability to be with Sutton was sorely testing his patience. In the last two weeks, they’d had few hurried encounters in her office during a meal break—thankfully her desk was sturdy—and once he snuck in and out of her room like a teenager trying to avoid curfew. His right hand got more of workout now than it did when he was a teenager who hadn’t gotten up the courage to speak to girls yet.

Thinking of Sutton reminded him she had yet to tell him if the company move to the location they had scouted was feasible. They were running out of time to schedule the equipment and other logistics that would be necessary. He took out his phone to call her as he approached the porch steps of the ranch house only to find her sitting on the porch bench, her head bent over her own phone.

“Hi,” he said, ridiculously thrilled to see her even though he had last seen her only two hours ago. Granted, they had barely exchanged three words, as she was on the set to meet the new craft service providers. “What are you doing here? Did we have a meeting scheduled I forgot?”

Her head flew up at his voice, and her mouth curved in a warm smile. “I’d like to think I’m unforgettable. But, no, we don’t. I’m here at Erik’s invitation.”

“Erik?” He brought out his key and opened the front door, indicating she should go first. If the gesture allowed him to discreetly ogle Sutton’s luscious ass, delectably outlined by her leggings—well, he always prided himself on his ability to take advantage of visual opportunities whenever they presented themselves.

“He said he wanted to talk comic books, and I’m the only person around who reads the same things he does.” She exaggerated the swing of her hips as she walked, throwing him a teasing look over her shoulder. “It’s going to be difficult to go back to wearing business casual after this shoot is over.”

Right. The clock was ticking. “Nice of you to indulge him.”

“I thought I was indulging you.” She grinned. “And nothing nice about it. I can’t get to my local comic book store to pick up my pull list. Erik is doing me a favor by letting me read his.” She stood next to him as he flipped through mail forwarded to him by the studio. Concentrating was difficult with Sutton so close he could count the freckles on her cheeks, marvel at how her red-gold strands formed perfect, tiny ringlets in front of her ears.

She leaned closer to him. “So…are you busy later?”

He wanted to be busy right then, right now. Hoist Sutton in his arms, lock her legs behind his back and take her against the wall; hard, fast, slake the constant fire that replaced blood in his veins whenever he saw her. But he shook his head. “Can’t. Family dinner, and then I need to nail down the dialogue for the final scenes. It’s now or never.”

Disappointment flashed across her expression, wiped away when the front door started to open. She straightened up and put some distance between them. “Got it. You know, we never did discuss the film’s ending—”

“Hey, Sutton.” Erik bounded through the front door and came to a screeching halt next to them. “Sorry I’m late. Want to go into the living room?” He turned to Xavier. “You’re sweaty and gross. You should wash up before dinner.”

“And, hello, how was your day to you, too?” He turned to Sutton. “Am I really…?”

She glanced at Erik. “I’m…staying out of this.”

“That’s a yes.” He sniffed his clothes. Yep, he could be fresher. “Have fun, you two. See you tomorrow, Sutton?”

“Of course.” He was learning her smiles, and this was her professional courtesy smile, the one she wore when dealing with recalcitrant department heads. But when Erik moved to lead the way to the living room, she gave him the smile she seemed to reserve only for him, full of sultry promise. “Rain check,” she mouthed, and then disappeared after his nephew.

Xavier took as long in the shower as he needed to wash the grit off his skin and out of his hair, and then to relieve the ache Sutton always created. It didn’t take long, a few firm pumps of his erection while conjuring her taste on his lips, her throaty gasps in his ear, her slick heat clenched tight around his cock. Sutton sprawled, limbs heavy, her green eyes half-lidded with want for him, a curvy goddess of desire focused only on him. He came with a muffled grunt, his endurance shot to hell. Perhaps it was a good thing he had to turn down her offer tonight.

Nah, who was he kidding. This was a poor substitution for Sutton. But he needed to get used to it. While the production had weeks to go, they were still only weeks. Before long, he’d be off to his next film and so would she.

Keep your eyes on the goal, Duval , he warned himself. Don’t make the same mistake you made with Mimi.

He toweled off and threw on a clean pair of jeans and a fresh T-shirt. Production days could be wildly unpredictable and often turn into production nights, but on Mondays he did his best to break filming in time for dinner with Erik and Ilsa. Having at least one night a week devoted to family was special to him, something he never had as a child, as his parents were far too busy with their lives to pay attention to the “oops” baby. He pulled a comb through his wet hair and then ran down the stairs, following the scent of barbecue ribs, his favorite. Ilsa had taken classes from a barbecue master when she and Erik accompanied him on a shoot in Austin, so tonight was a meal he didn’t intend to miss.

But when he walked by the living room on his way to the kitchen, he spotted Sutton sitting on the sofa, looking at one of Erik’s comics. His heart lit up. “Hey. You’re still here.”

She glanced up, startled. “Hi!” Her smile transformed into a smirk as her gaze ran over him. “Well. You clean up nicely, Mr. Duval.”

It was as if his session in the shower never took place. Her effect on him was immediate and hard. “Glad you think so.” He cleared his throat. “Where’s Erik?”

“I don’t know.” She threw her hands up.

“What do you mean?”

“We came in here, he showed me this week’s haul—I approve, by the way, great choices—and then Ilsa came in and said she needed his help but I should stay here, and he’ll be back shortly. And that was—” she looked at the stack next to her—“eight issues ago.”

“Interesting.”

“I thought so, too, but now that you’re here, you can say goodbye to them both for me. I should probably get going, let you have family time.” She rose to her feet, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder.

Ask her to stay for dinner. But asking her to stay would be crossing the streams of his work life and his personal life. And while he liked Sutton, was incredibly attracted to her, was going to miss her terribly when production was over, their relationship had an expiration date. His family did not.

“I’ll tell them. But Ilsa is a stickler for manners. She’d never allow Erik to leave a guest alone this long.”

Sutton shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t think of me as a guest? Or at least not one who needs to be entertained?” She rose on her toes as if to kiss him, then caught herself. “Damn it, you look so good. I have to go.”

“I’ll walk you to the front door.”

“That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” she said, placing the comic books carefully on the coffee table. She straightened up. “Oh, by the way, earlier you mentioned the final scene and—”

“Ta-da!” Erik appeared in the doorway, startling Xavier and causing Sutton to jump. “Welcome, lady and gentleman, to Chez Duval.”

Xavier glanced at Erik, then doubled back for another, longer stare. Was his nephew wearing a…tuxedo? A rather outdated tuxedo with large lapels, but still. Erik loved to perform, and growing up on film sets, he had his share of costumes, both outrageous and otherwise. But a tux was new. “What the hell is—”

“Uh-uh, this is a very refined establishment.” Ilsa appeared behind Erik, wearing a black shift dress with a pristine white apron over it. Her accent was now more French than her native Ukrainian. “And in quite high demand. But luckily for you, we have one table for two available.”

Xavier didn’t budge. He couldn’t. He was rooted to the ground. “What are you guys doing? What’s going on? Is Erik rehearsing for a play I don’t know about?”

Sutton’s expression vacillated between amusement and bewilderment. She glanced at her moisture-wicking T-shirt and leggings. “Whatever it is, I have a feeling I am underdressed for this evening.”

“But no!” Ilsa tsked. “At Chez Duval, you are always in style. Isn’t that right, Erik?”

“Absolutely,” Erik said. Xavier was now over his surprise enough to realize Erik had been holding something behind him, and now his nephew revealed a long-stemmed red rose, which he gave to Sutton. “For you.”

Sutton took the flower, her gaze still full of bemusement. “Thank you.”

“And now, if you would like to follow me, your dinner awaits.” Erik made a sketchy bow, then offered his arm to Sutton. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, playing along with a straight expression, but threw a confused smile at Xavier over her shoulder as he escorted her out of the room.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Xavier turned to Ilsa. “Now will you tell me what’s going on?”

Ilsa dropped her affected accent. “Erik wanted to do something nice for you and Ms. Spencer. This is his plan.”

“But what is his plan?”

“You don’t expect me to ruin the surprise, do you? But I will say Erik was a champ and he spent a lot of time with Contessina’s younger niece when she came to visit, helping out. They watched many old Disney films. Like The Parent Trap . He might have gotten a few ideas.”

“Fine.” Xavier had known Ilsa long enough to know when he was up against a brick wall. “Where am I going? And there better be ribs, because I smell them.”

“You’ll see.” Ilsa led him not toward the kitchen, as he was halfway expecting, but to French windows off the dining room that led to the backyard and the red-hued mountains in the distance. “And… voila !” she said with a flourish, pushing the doors open.

Xavier stayed where he was, struck motionless by the transformation.

Unlike the expansive front yard, where the Friday crew drinks had taken place, the backyard was small and tired. There was an oval brick patio, dotted along the edges with planters containing succulents that could withstand the day’s heat, and a few hardy trees with trunks painted white as a form of sunscreen. But tonight, the area was transformed into a festival of twinkling golden lights, strung up and down and among the trees in a haphazard pattern. A circular table for two sat in the center of the patio, set with a cloth tablecloth and napkins. A candle anchored in a jar with sand was in the middle of table, with additional candles flickering on the edges of the patio and in the planters.

Sutton stood to one side of the patio, a filled flute in her hand. “I guess we’ve found Chez Duval,” she said.

Xavier blinked once, twice. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly.

“You’re letting the cold air escape,” said Erik from his side.

“My bad.” Xavier stepped outside and closed the French doors behind him. “What do you two think you’re cooking up? Because we should let Ms. Spencer have her night.”

“I’ve got champagne, I’m fine,” Sutton said.

Ilsa approached Xavier with a filled flute for him. He tried to refuse it, but at her frown and Sutton’s raised eyebrow, he accepted and decided to play along with whatever game Erik and Ilsa were playing. “Are we all having cocktails?” he asked. “Mocktails for Erik, of course.”

Erik shook his head. “Please, take your places,” he said, sweeping his hand toward the table, and then pulled one of the chairs out. “Mademoiselle?”

Xavier looked at Sutton. She shrugged at him, and then with a smile for Erik, she sat in the proffered seat. Xavier took the chair across from her and then looked at Erik. “Okay. What’s next?”

Erik glanced at Ilsa, who nodded at him. “Siri, play tonight’s playlist,” she said, and from a portable speaker placed in a nearby planter came a slow, jazzy ballad.

“Enough is enough.” Xavier started to stand, but a quelling look from Ilsa caused him to sit down. He snuck a glance at Sutton. Her cheeks were red, but her gaze danced with amusement. “I had nothing to do with this,” he said.

“I didn’t, either,” she said. “In case you thought—”

“I didn’t. But I don’t want you to think I would—”

Erik appeared before them and handed them each a piece of paper. “Your menus.”

Xavier didn’t look at his, choosing instead to fix his stare on Erik, the stare that used to be successful in getting his nephew to confess to the broken plate or the missing phone. However, the stare had started to lose its effectiveness around Erik’s tenth birthday. “Okay. I’ve been patient. But it’s a school night, and I have work to do after dinner. It’s not fair to keep Ms. Spencer here when she might have other plans.”

“I don’t, actually,” Sutton began, but pressed her lips closed when Xavier turned his stare on her. At least it worked on someone.

He turned to Erik. “Start talking.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to do something nice for you.”

“I appreciate that. But you can’t just—”

“Xavier.” Sutton tapped the menu in front of his. “Take a look.”

“Why?” He pulled his gaze from Erik. “What does it say?” He glanced at it.

Welcome to Chez Duval

Tonight’s Menu

Oysters on the Half Shell

Baby Back Ribs (Xavier’s favorite, if you don’t like them you don’t stand a chance)

Chocolate Dipped Strawberries

Red Wine

“This is a very romantic dinner,” she said.

“Good. That’s what I wanted,” Erik said.

“I did suggest some vegetables,” Ilsa said. “But Erik had veto power over the menu suggestions.”

“Wait.” Xavier held up his right hand, the gesture that could cause a set of three hundred people to fall quiet, but he had a feeling would have little to no effect on his nephew and his coconspirator. “Erik, Ms. Spencer and I work together. I appreciate you’ve gone to a lot of trouble, but you can’t make assumptions about people like this.”

Erik folded his tuxedo-clad arms across his chest. “What assumption?”

“You seem to be assuming there is…something…between Ms. Spencer and me.”

“But there is, isn’t there?” Erik’s gaze flicked from Xavier to Sutton and back again. “You know the crew is making bets about you.”

Sutton choked on her champagne.

Xavier placed a hand on her back, asking with his touch if she was okay. She waved him off, dabbing at her lips with a napkin while composing herself. He turned to Erik. “What are you doing, listening to gossip? You know better.”

“Is it gossip? C’mon.” Erik stared him down. His stare was more effective than Xavier’s had ever been. “I like Sutton. I know you like Sutton. And I think she likes you, too.” Erik folded his arms across his chest. “Stop wasting time.”

Xavier pinched the bridge of his nose. Now he understood Ilsa’s warning. “Erik. You can’t go around trying to… Parent Trap people.”

“It’s just a dinner,” Erik continued. “If you guys don’t like each other, at least you get some of Ilsa’s ribs.”

“Well, I for one am honored you thought of me as someone worthy enough to date your uncle. Thank you.” Sutton had recovered from her mishap from the champagne. And she’d also recovered her humor. She winked at Xavier.

“You know I can find my own dates, right?” Xavier was starting to see the comedy in the situation, although embarrassment at having Sutton be roped into his nephew’s scheme overrode everything else.

“I know you can. But do you? Because I haven’t seen many.”

Ouch .

“I’m not going to be around much next year, what with going to a new school. And Sutton lives in LA, so she’ll be someone there you know.”

“Oh?” Sutton turned to Xavier. Any amusement in her expression had fled. “You’re moving to Los Angeles? I thought you were based in New York City.”

“I…” He glanced at Erik, whose gaze narrowed further with every second he delayed in answering. “That’s the plan,” he said to her, noting her freckles appeared darker than normal. Or maybe her skin was paler. “You know my goal is to make more studio films after The Quantum Wraith . It’s easier to take meetings when you’re in the same city as the studios.”

“And I’m going to go to school. A real school, not being tutored.” Erik threw an apologetic look at Ilsa. “Not that being tutored isn’t, you know, great.”

“No apologies needed. I’m looking forward to retirement from English essays and algebra equations.” Ilsa placed her right arm over Erik’s shoulder, and Xavier noted with a pang that Ilsa had to reach up to do so. Any day now, Erik would be taller than her.

“I see.” Sutton buried her face in her menu, her gaze refusing to be caught by his. “Well, dinner sounds delicious. I can’t wait to eat. Thank you for arranging this, Erik.”

“Of course.” He shrugged out from under Ilsa’s arm and ran into the house. “I’ll be right back.”

Ilsa followed him, closing the French doors he’d left open behind her. “Enjoy the champagne. Hors d’oeuvres are coming up.”

The music playing over the speakers switched to something that sounded vaguely familiar. Xavier tried to place the song while observing Sutton, who was still engrossed in the menu as if her life depended on memorizing its contents. He cleared his throat. “There aren’t many choices at this restaurant,” he attempted to joke. “That will hurt the Yelp rating.”

She finally looked up. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat fast and leave. I know you have work to do and so do I, but Erik has gone to a lot of trouble. I want to honor that.”

“I’m not worried. Aside from being worried you would find this to be ridiculous. And overstepping. Which it is.”

She huffed. “It’s not ridiculous. It’s sweet. Erik is obviously concerned about you. It’s nice.”

He supposed it was. From a certain point of view. “He’s a good kid.”

“But one who’s growing up. Why didn’t you tell me you were moving to LA?” Her tone was light, but her gaze would not meet his. No matter how hard he tried.

“I…” He shrugged. “It never came up. I guess I just assumed since you knew I wanted to transition from indie to studio films that meant living in Los Angeles.” He was making the move for Erik’s sake. Which is why he supposed he never associated the move with informing Sutton.

She nodded, playing with the stem of her champagne flute. “I see. And, I guess, the fact we’ll both be in LA doesn’t change anything. We already said we’ll always be colleagues.”

“I’d like that.” He missed the Sutton of before. The Sutton who had almost broken out into giggles when she saw his dumbfounded face upon arriving at the patio. And he had no idea what he said or did to make her disappear. “Is there something wrong?”

“Et voila!” Erik bounded out the French doors carrying a silver tray that held a large bowl of shaved ice with twelve oysters on the half shell arranged on top. He looked at Ilsa, who was on his heels. “Did I say that right?”

“You did,” she answered.

“I’m learning French,” he said to Sutton, placing the bowl between her and Xavier. “Here’s the first course.”

“Thank you,” she said, but her gaze focused on her fingers twisting on the table.

Xavier frowned. “If you need to leave, it’s fine.”

“I don’t need to leave!” Her words erupted. “I’ve repeatedly said I’d like to stay for dinner. Or…” Her cheeks turned from rose to white. “Do you want me to leave? Is that it? You don’t want me here. At your house. With your family.”

“No—” Erik started, but when Ilsa put her hand on his arm, he stopped talking. However, his gaze was narrowed in a dangerous expression Xavier recognized all too well.

“Why don’t we continue with our plan,” Ilsa said to Erik, and then turned to Sutton and Xavier. “We’ll return shortly.”

Xavier watched his nephew and Ilsa enter the house and shut the French doors before returning his attention to Sutton. “What’s wrong? Something is off.”

She laughed, a short outburst that had little humor in it. “It’s amazing to me how you can be so perceptive most of the time, excel at putting a facsimile of life on film, but when it comes to your life—you know what, never mind. I don’t want to ruin this for Erik. Let’s have a nice meal for his sake.” She took two oysters from the serving bowl, settling them on her plate. “Very decadent.”

Her careful smile didn’t reach her eyes. As a connoisseur of her expressions over the past weeks, he could tell when she was putting on a polite mask. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She pulled the oyster from its shell and let it slip down her throat, making an appreciative hum he felt low in his groin. “Delightful. Have one.”

“I’d rather know what’s going on in your head.”

She put down the second oyster. “It’s just…my own stupidity, I suppose. You made it clear that whatever you and I are doing, your family is off-limits. I guess I should have said I have a prior engagement and left, but I…”

“You didn’t want to disappoint Erik. You said that.”

“Right. Erik.” She nodded, her focus sliding to the planters and their flickering candles. “Those aren’t real candles, are they? With real fire? Should we be worried?”

He followed the direction of her gaze but wouldn’t be drawn off course. “The fire looks fake to me. But Sutton, I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay.”

“I don’t.” She finally allowed her gaze to be caught and held. The green depths swam with deep shimmering emotion. His heart leaped, a hard knock taking him by surprise. Air suddenly seemed in short supply. “If anything, I feel—”

“Et voila, encore!” Erik came onto to patio bearing a large, covered platter.

Xavier didn’t need the cover removed to know what was underneath. He could smell the smoke on the meat and tang of the sauce from where he sat. Ilsa followed behind with a folding table that she set up alongside Xavier and Sutton. When she was finished, Erik put the platter down. Sure enough, a pile of the most delicious ribs Xavier had ever tasted in his life were revealed.

“Dig in,” Erik proclaimed.

Xavier’s stomach rumbled. He only had eyes for the ribs, but Sutton’s gaze narrowed. “What happened to the tux?”

“Oh.” Erik shrugged, looking at his T-shirt and shorts. “More comfortable this way. Besides, Darren would think the tux was weird, so I didn’t want to wear it to his place.”

“Darren? As in Darren Chen?” Xavier tuned to Ilsa. “It’s a Monday night.”

“Erik has been invited to join Darren’s class for a field trip to Tumacácori. They’re leaving first thing in the morning, so it’s more convenient if he spends the night at the Chens.” She smiled. “They needed an extra chaperone and I volunteered, so the Chens also invited me to stay in their guest room. They live close to the school, so more convenient to arriving on time tomorrow.”

“That’s tomorrow?” Xavier had been so upside down since that night in the desert with Sutton, it was a wonder he remembered his own name. He rose from the table. “Can I do anything to help you two get ready?”

Ilsa smiled. “Everything is taken care of. Traci Chen called and said they picked up pizza, so we’re going to leave now. Right, Erik?”

Erik nodded. “Yeah. So, I think you have everything you need. Oh, and the strawberries are in the refrigerator. We didn’t want them to melt.”

“Have a good meal,” Ilsa said over her shoulder as she guided Erik into the house. “We’ll be back tomorrow around dinnertime. If we’ll be later, I’ll text.”

“Have fun,” Sutton said.

Erik waved at her. “Take a comic if you want,” he called before the French doors closed behind him.

The silence that fell on the patio would be deafening if not for the syrupy music coming from the portable speaker.

“I can turn that off,” he offered.

“If you want,” she said, that impenetrable shutter falling over her expression again. “So, after we make sure the coast is clear, I should go, right? Let you work.”

Go? No. He didn’t want her to leave. He picked up the carving knife and fork, intending to cut a portion of ribs for her. His mouth watered at the smell. “You haven’t tried these. They’re life-changing.”

“No, thanks, not in the market for a life change. Tell Erik and Ilsa everything was delicious, and I enjoyed the dinner.” She rose from her chair.

He felt as if one of the production trucks had backed over him. Flat and knocked for a disorienting loop. “This night has taken a wrong turn. And I’m not sure where.”

She shook her head. “There’s no wrong turn. Just…signs I should’ve paid attention to. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He caught her arm by the elbow as she passed him, more like a brush of his palm against her soft, smooth skin. She stopped as soon as they connected, her chest rapidly falling and rising. Now that his shock at the romantic dinner ambush had started to fade, he could see the advantages in the situation. “Sutton. Stay. I know Erik and Ilsa have left. On the other hand… Erik and Ilsa have left, and we’re alone.”

She hesitated, her tongue coming out to wet her lips. “Why didn’t you tell me you were moving to Los Angeles?”

Was that what was wrong? The thought punched him hard between the ribs. “You’re upset because we’ll both be in LA. I understand. But we don’t have to work together again if you don’t want to. Or even see each other. I won’t bother you.” Rosalie and Erik’s father had had a tumultuous relationship, with several breakups before Erik’s father disappeared for good. Xavier still vividly recalled how angry and how powerless Rosalie felt when Erik’s father would show up at her office or outside her home, unable to take no for answer. He would never behave in that manner, but Sutton didn’t know that. “We’re in the same industry, so we might show up at the same events. But I promise, on your terms.”

“Wait.” She stared at him, her lips slightly parted. “You think I’m upset because when you move to LA I might spot you across the room at a film premiere, and that would—what?—ruin my evening?” She clasped her free hand over her mouth. “That is the silliest, most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

The knot in his throat threatening to close off his airway started to dissipate. “Then, what’s wrong?”

She inhaled, then blew the air out in a puff that sent the red-gold tendrils framing her face flying. “Not telling me you are moving to Los Angeles says to me you don’t plan to stay in touch after this production wraps.”

He frowned. “How could you think that?”

She blinked at him. “How could I not?”

The song playing over the speakers changed to a tune more familiar to him. “My Heart Will Go On” from the film Titanic . Rosalie watched the film on repeat while pregnant with Erik. Appropriate, he supposed, because he sensed there was an iceberg right here in the middle of the Arizona desert, and he was either going to crash on its icy perimeter or maneuver back to smooth seas. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to presume. I told you. I value being colleagues.”

Her gaze searched his. Then her shoulders fell, and she started to laugh. A giggle really, at first, that developed into full body laughter. “It’s LAU all over again,” she said, her words breathy exhales.

“It is?” He began to chuckle, simply because her amusement was infectious.

She nodded, grabbing onto a chair as if she needed its support to keep her upright. “It is. I’m waiting for you to make the first move, and you’re waiting for me, and next thing you know there’s an undelivered letter and we don’t talk for ten years.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “At least your nephew and Ilsa don’t suffer from the same paralysis.” She inhaled, sobering, then came to stand before him. “Xavier Duval, would you do me the honor of going on this date with me? A real date. Not fake like the candles, not pretending to people’s faces we are work colleagues only but sneaking around behind their backs. Just the two of us and dinner.”

Warmth spread from the center of his chest to his arms, legs, further out to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I would like nothing more than to be your date, Sutton Spencer.”