When our lips meet, they’re both a bit cold from the outdoors and the makeup remover, but it doesn’t take long for the heat to swallow me whole. His lips move over mine as gently as his hands did, and I sink into him and his kiss.
“Emmy,” he murmurs, parting us, leaving just a sliver of space between our faces.
It’s enough for me to read the look in his eyes, to knowwhat he’s going to say before he says it. And it hits me that I know him now. Not just his body, his lips, or the ridges of his perfect abs. I know his mind, and I know his heart.
And even though I thought the words to myself just hours earlier, I don’t think I’m quite ready to hear them.
So I press my lips to his again, urgently and desperately. “Let’s go home, yeah?”
There’s a flash of disappointment in the bright blue of his eyes, but it doesn’t last long. He covers it with a grin, hopping up from the makeup chair and lacing our hands together as we head out of the trailer and back to the inn.
—
We meet in the lobby a couple of hours later, having separated and gone to our individual rooms for a bit. I told Grayson I needed a shower, which wasn’t exactly a lie, but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth. I did need to wash the hours of being on set from my skin, but I also needed to stand under the stream of hot water and try to make sense of what’s been going on in my head. And in my heart.
Because I’m not totally sure when my feelings for Grayson fucking West changed. Thatfuckingused to mean one thing, and now means something totally different. But even with all the fucking aside, something is different now. We’re different.
Was it the way we finally clicked and found our stride together in our scenes?
Was it how he opened up to me and allowed me to see his vulnerable side?
Was it when he took care of me when I felt like shit and looked even worse?
Or is it the way he kisses me, the way he cups my cheekin his hand like I’m something to be treasured. The way he puts my pleasure first, always. The way he makes me laugh and the way he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
It’s a lot. And I don’t know if I’m ready for it. I also don’t know what happens when we venture outside our perfect, happy showmance bubble. What will it be like when we go back to LA and he goes on location, or I’m on a writing deadline, or one of us has to film a sex scene with someone else? What happens when the press hounds us or the fans talk shit about us? What happens ifNo Reservationstanks or if the critics say we have no chemistry?
Hmmm. At least I’m confident that we don’t have to worry about that last one.
But even still, a whole host of unknowns lies before us, and it was only a few weeks ago that we couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Is it possible to go from enemies to lovers in a matter of days? The romance screenplay writer in me says absolutely yes. The realist might need a bit more convincing. Because now if we fail, if the two of us don’t work out, the whole world will be watching.
None of these overwhelming thoughts keep me from spending longer on my appearance than I normally would. Despite Grayson having had his mouth and hands on practically every part of my body, this is technically our first date, and I want to look good.
It’s also negative freezing outside, which greatly limits my ability to show off my best assets. Still, by the time I come down the stairs dressed in tight jeans and an oversized cream sweater, a red wool coat draped over my arm, and long curls swinging down my back, I feel pretty. Mystomach is hosting its own performance of the Irish-jig scene fromTitanic, but at least I feel pretty.
And so it’s kind of a low-key shame when I find Grayson waiting for me at the front door, out-prettying me in every way. He’s also dressed in jeans and a sweater, only his chunky blue one is the exact color of his eyes. He’s already donned his gray coat, and he basically looks like he stepped off the cover ofGQ.
My breath flutters in my chest as he bends down to drop a chaste kiss on my cheek and helps me into my coat. “You look gorgeous, Ems.”
“Yeah. Same.” You’d think a woman who makes her living writing love scenes would be able to form some coherent responses to the most basic of first-date greetings, but in this case, you would be horribly wrong.
It doesn’t stop the slow grin from spreading across his face. He holds open the front door for me, and we exit out onto the stairs, the railings lining the sweeping porch still covered in a smattering of snow despite the fact that we’re heading into April.
“You wanna walk or drive?” Grayson offers me his arm as we head down the snow-covered steps.
I take it gratefully and shiver as the cold seeps in even through my coat and sweater. “Drive, please. I was not made for snow.”
He bumps his hip with mine. “Oh come on, it’s practically balmy.”
“You people from the middle are weird.”
He unlocks his midsize SUV, opening my door for me like a real date. “You’re the born-and-bred Angeleno who doesn’t like avocados.”
I scoff in mock indignation, but before I can respond, he’s shut the door and is crossing to the driver’s side of the car. He climbs in, and as we buckle up, I hold my hands up to the heater while it kicks in. “Where are we going?”
“There’s not much fine dining in Pine Springs, but Linda told me about a pub downtown that should have some good food.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
