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that was looking out for his best interests.
“It sounds like the WWII film has been mostly cast, with names that I know and admire, so that’s something to consider.”
“Sounds like a smart choice, then.” I imagined him in WWII garb. He’d be dashing.
“The other isn’t as appealing. I want to avoid typecasting, so another action film so soon isn’t wise. They are willing to arrange the shooting around my commitments, willing to give me some creative license—but is it a good fit for me?” He shrugged.
“That’s pretty flattering, though.” But he didn’t look very thrilled.
“I guess it just depends on the scripts, what kind of read they are.”
“And they’ll be waiting for you. Sounds like an interesting evening. History, action, and a bit of psychosis all in one. Like a night with my family,” I said.
His laughed, his shoulders shaking as he turned onto a driveway. “We’re here.”
I looked at the updated ranch with an appreciative eye. It was a sprawling white house with big picture windows and huge green yard. I could see a wide back deck that led down to the beach along the back. A beach out your back door.
We didn’t say much as he collected my bag from the car. Once inside, I poked around, delaying the inevitable. I knew it was right and expected; there was no reason to drag it out. But I didn’t want to say goodbye yet. I didn’t want the feelings that he brought out in me to go with him when he left.
I took a deep breath and turned to him, smiling.
“I don’t want to go, Claire.” His voice wavered.
I looked up at him, surprised that he felt the same. “But you have to.”
“Why?” His eyes narrowed a bit.
“Because this isn’t real life.” I sounded like I was asking a question.
“It is for me.” He pulled me close and kissed me lightly.
“You have scripts to read and important decisions to make.” Breathing seemed to get a little challenging as his lips continued to move over mine.
“What will you do?”
“I slept most of the day. Maybe I can find a book to read. I am on vacation, you know. I’m supposed to be relaxing.” I kissed his lower lip.
He pulled back then, glancing over my shoulder. “Shannon left you something rather important and legal-looking.” He led me to the table where the publishing contract lay, on top of a colored envelope—all arranged by a vase of flowers.
“That’s mine.” I reached for the contract, but his hand caught it first.
His eyes read the cover page. “This is about your book? The project?”
“It’s not a project. It’s more of a journal.” I sounded angry.
“A journal?” His jaw seemed to tighten and he turned his attention back to the contract.
“Sort of. It’s very personal. Why Shannon thinks I need to share it is beyond me. But she does, so much so that she’s already sent it to a publisher.” My voice wavered and I closed my eyes, willing the tears back.
“Oh.” He was assessing my face as he said gently, “Without your permission?”
I nodded silently.
“That’s a bit unforgivable of her,” he murmured. “Are you all right?”
“I’m really angry. I can’t believe she put my very…very humiliating life into a stranger’s hands because she thinks it should be published.” I felt tears well up and shook my head. I will not cry.
Josh seemed at a loss. His eyes went back and forth between me and the contract. “I imagine she thought she was trying to do something good for you.” He tilted my head back, meeting my eyes with tenderness.
