“Why would you do a dating show?” She gave him the once-over as if he were a tasty morsel. “I can’t imagine you’d have trouble finding dates.”
Travis didn’t seem to notice. “It’s a favor to my sister. Good publicity for the island and Darkaway Island Ranch, which my family owns.”
“I read about that place in the guidebook,” whispered a third woman as she elbowed a fourth woman. “Cookouts, cowboys and Drake Valentino. I’m all in.”
Travis started to tell them he spent little time there, but the women seemed more interested in taking selfies with him than listening to what he had to say. I frowned, watching these interactions. It had to be frustrating for him to be treated like a commodity like this. Which made me wonder how he’d gotten into acting. He sure was a natural.
One resourceful fan even had him hold up a blank piece of paper so she could use the photo at their gender-reveal party. “If it’s a boy, we’re naming him Drake,” she said.
“Good luck,” he told her. I wasn’t sure if he meant good luck with the birth or good luck raising a kid whose namesake was a man-whore.
During one particularly long interaction, I popped over to Dark Tarts and bought several handheld chicken pot pies made with fresh herbs and vegetables.
“Thank you,” he said as we continued down the cobblestone street a few minutes later. He took an enormous bite, coveringhis mouth while he chewed. “How did you know that Cluck You is one of my favorites?”
I shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
We snacked on our delicious hand pies and headed down a set of twisty, winding stairs toward the marina. From this vantage point, we could see the Ferris wheel in the distance and some of the boardwalk.
“How did you get into acting anyway?” I asked, wiping some crumbs from my chin.
“Purely by accident,” he replied. “As you know, we get a lot of tourists here. One summer, I was home from college, working at a pizza joint in town and trying to stay out of my dad’s orbit, when I met the casting director forSecret Shadows,who was on vacation with her family. She encouraged me to audition, said I was perfect for a new character they were casting, and the rest is history.”
“Drake Valentino’s origin story.”
That made him laugh. I liked the sound of it and how it made me feel all melty inside.
“Even though Drake can be a total asshole,” I told him, “you really are a fantastic actor.”
He laughed again. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”
“It is.” I hip-bumped him. “Hey, thanks for going to bat for me back there with Dr. Eisenhorn. I really appreciate it.”
He turned to me with a hand on his heart as if I’d committed a moral sin. “The Third.”
I snorted out a laugh so hard I had to grab his arm, hisvery musculararm, to keep from toppling over. “That guy was something else,” I said, swiping at my eyes and hoping my mascara hadn’t run.
“Yeah, a total asshole.”
“And his dismal shop with all those cobwebs.” I shivered. “I kept looking around, expecting to see a giant spider crawling around the corner.”
I suddenly had a horrifying thought and gripped his arm again, nearly knocking the Cluck You out of his hand. “You don’t have giant spider shifters here, do you? Please tell me there is no such thing. And don’t lie to me either.”
Who knew what sorts of monsters existed here? While it had been manageable so far, I drew the line at big-ass sentient spiders.
He chuckled. “No giant spiders.”
“Okay, phew.” My heart rate slowed to something manageable again. Letting go of his arm, I side-eyed my beach bag. “So, how far off is Monsterval again?” I couldn’t remember what the poster at Unholy Grounds said.
The amusement on his face disappeared. “It’s seven weeks away. The festival falls on the same weekend as the White Wolf Moon.”
I turned away, took another bite and did the calculations. That was a month after the end of the contest and the end of my free vacation. I didn’t exactly have the money to cover that sort of expense on my own. And although Travis and I were really hitting it off, I didn’t want to make any assumptions that I would be the contest winner. Speaking of dismal, I was reminded of my track record in accurately predicting a man’s intentions.
A few large yachts bobbed out in the harbor, their lights glittering on the dark water, while others were moored at the docks. At the end of one of them, people and various creatures were boarding a shiny black and red pirate ship. Probably a booze cruise.
“It must be amazing to call this place home,” I said, changing the subject and wiping a few flaky crumbs from my face.
I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me—or if he wasn’t going to answer—until he finally said in a low, gruff tone, “This place hasn’t felt like home in a very long time.”
