Page 46 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

"You know your stuff," Natalie said.

"I teach creative writing at UC. Reading and storytelling are basically my oxygen.”

A professor.

Of writing.

Who dresses well.

And could be Ewan McGregor’s twin.

With eyes like St. Patrick's Day.

Somebody pinch me.

"Listen,” he said. “I’m about to head to the Tosche Station to pick up some more power converters. Care to join me?"

"Tosche Station?”

"You really haven't seen Star Wars, have you?"

"I really haven't.”

He smiled. “How about grabbing some coffee with me then?”

A store employee approached and handed him a receipt. “You’re all set, Mr. Lockwood.”

Natalie blinked. “L-Lockwood?”

Holy shit!

If a genie could have granted her one wish at that moment, it would have been the power of invisibility. Or the ability to turn back time. Or one of those wand things from Men in Black, to erase his memory. Her cheeks burned with regret and embarrassment, but Hart Lockwood didn’t seem bothered in the least.

He extended his hand to her, his mouth breaking into a knowing grin. "You can call me Hart.”

Oh.

God.

Kill me now.

The rain stopped as they walked to a retro diner. Natalie tried to ignore the mortification of insulting both his book and his name, but Hart brushed it off with easy charm. Inside, he ordered a black coffee and recommended the French Silk pie. They talked for two hours—books, travel, business, everything. She lost track of time.

“My new novel comes out next year—the last in the series. Which means …”

“What?”

“A big launch party,” he said with a flirty grin.

“Oh?” she said with surprise.

Hart walked his fingers across the table and poked Natalie’s arm. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone in event planning who might be able to help with that, would you?”

Her breath caught. “I might know someone.”

Before he could respond, the server dropped the check and announced closing time. Natalie begged to pay (penance for her earlier insults) but Hart wouldn't hear of it. He stood and removed her jacket from the back of her chair. He helped her into her jacket, his hands warm on her shoulders.

Back on the street, they waited for her ride. Nervous energy slipped through her like a Plinko disc.