“Pfft, please. I’m the master of this game.”

He really is—or was—but at least I can give it a shot. He always had better questions. I usually went for the obvious, but his questions were scarily detailed. It’s almost as if he spent every free minute reading celebrity gossip magazines.

“Okay, are you ready?”

“Yup.” He cracks his knuckles and then stares me down. “Do you want me to give you a celebrity first?”

“Yes.”

He takes a moment, considering, until a giant smile breaks out on his face.

“You’re in the grocery store. You’re in the midst of picking out chicken breasts and have your hand inside a plastic bag, pawing through the chickens, protecting your hand from any random leaked juices.” He knows me too well. “When all of a sudden, from the corner of your eyes, you spot Orlando Bloom, thumbing through the steaks. Go.”

“Orlando Bloom? Hmm . . . okay. I would approach him with a simple question, like . . . I’m having a dinner party and need help picking out some chicken breasts. Do you think you could help?”

“Damsel in distress, nice approach. Unless he wants to go down in history as a dick, he’ll step up and help you out.”

“And since I think Orlando is a nice guy, I have him hooked. And then I would ask him a few questions about chicken, until I ‘realize’ he’s Orlando Bloom. Then I’d tell him how much I loved him in Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Good, one of his blockbusters.”

“And then I’d tell him that Johnny Depp didn’t steal the show at all, that he was the true star. After the compliment, I would ask him to sign my boob and move on.”

Silence for a second. Rogan’s brow pinches together. Just from the look in his eyes, I’m going to guess he has a better way of communicating with Orlando. Rogan always does.

“First of all, let’s agree on no signing of body parts. If Jennifer Lopez can’t sign my dick, then Orlando Bloom sure as shit can’t sign your boob. Secondly, you think he’s going to sign something after you blatantly lie and tell him he was better than Johnny Depp? You won’t get anywhere with that.”

“Of course I will. He’ll be flattered.”

“He’ll know you’re lying,” Rogan counters. “Everyone knows Johnny Depp made those movies.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Okay, what would you have done?”

“I would have complimented his dick.”

“What?”

“Come on. Don’t you remember when those dick pics came out? He was paddle boarding with Katy Perry, pantsless, dong flapping in the breeze, ready to be fish bait the minute he fell into the water.”

Oh . . . hell. Damn it! He’s right. The dick pics.

He laughs. “I can see the regret in your eyes.”

“He does have a big penis.”

“Exactly, and if only you told him you liked the photos and were impressed with his . . . assets, then you would have for sure gotten at least an autograph if not a shot at his panties.”

“It pains me to admit it, but you are so right.”

“I know I am. Now give me a celebrity. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

And for the next half hour, he does, as we bounce celebrities back and forth. All I can think about is how familiar this repartee is and yet how thrillingly new it is as well.

Okay, I’ll give it to the designers of the puffy vest. Warmth with no restriction. I can see why it’s a popular wardrobe choice. Of course I paired mine with a flannel button-up, jeans, and . . . sneakers.

And so I take on my third day of filming, much more comfortable this time. Even Carl mentioned something about my outfit today, which surprised me; I didn’t think he was able to pry his eyes from his tablet long enough to notice anything.

It’s our last day at the Harbor Walk House, thankfully. The location is amazing, but it’s really tight. After all, we’re restricted to the bridge spanning the bay.

“Hey, Harper.” Brian, the lead actor, comes up to me before the first take, makeup towels tucked in his shirt, his hair already styled, that brilliant smile plastered on his face. “How are you this morning?”

I clutch my clipboard to my chest. “I’m doing well. Thank you. Grateful for the normal call time.”

He chuckles. “I was doing a film a few months back that had us waking up at one in the morning for two weeks straight. It was pure torture. This feels like a cakewalk.”

“Ouch, I would have quit. I’m so not a morning person.”

“Well, it doesn’t show, if that helps.” He nods at my vest. “Changed up the wardrobe today.”

Jeez, how many people noticed? “Yeah, thought I would go for something a little more comfortable.”

“We all had a bet going to see how long it would take you to give in to comfort. I had you pegged at four days, thought you’d stick it out longer. Can’t believe I lost.”

“What?” I laugh. “You were all betting on me?”

“We do it with every newbie. We appreciate the professionalism, but when you’re working these long hours, comfort is key.”

The breeze picks up, brushing my hair over my face; I quickly push it behind my ear. “I learned that in a matter of hours. Now if I can remember to put my hair up tomorrow, I think I might be all set.”

“Then you’ll be just like the rest of us.” He winks. “I meant to ask you, is there—”

“Hey, Harp.” Rogan’s voice shivers up my back as he wraps his arm around my shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. His grip is territorial, and when I look up, I can’t miss the jealousy in his eyes. He holds his hand out to Brian. “Rogan Knightly. I own a few of the properties where you’re filming.”

With his movie-star smile, Brian takes Rogan’s hand and gives it a firm shake. “Brian Garrett. It’s nice to meet you. The Harbor Walk House has to be one of my favorite locations. I can only imagine how peaceful the mornings are when there isn’t an entire cast and crew milling around.”

“One of my favorite places to watch the sunrise,” Rogan says, arm still firmly around my shoulder.

Brian eyes Rogan’s grip; understanding passes over his features before a small smile tugs on the corner of his lips. “I have to get going, but I wanted to ask you, Harper, where’s the best place to get some lobster bisque around here? I want to make sure I don’t miss out.”

There’s no question who makes the best lobster bisque in town; if someone tells you differently, they’re probably being paid off by a competitor. “Easy. The Lighthouse Restaurant over on the peninsula. Ask for extra cheese and bread.”

“Awesome. Thank you.” Brian turns to walk away. “You’re a wealth of information, Harper. I love it.” He gives me a quick wink and then takes off toward hair and makeup, leaving me alone with a very unhappy Rogan.

“Breathe,” I tell him before turning in his arms to face him.

“I am breathing,” he snaps.

“Really? Because it seems like you’re about to crack a tooth from how tense you are.”

He fixes his eyes on Brian’s back. “Just concerned for him. He should really be practicing his lines instead of flirting with the sexy redhead.”

And there it is.

I shake my head and pat his chest . . . his very fluffy chest. And that’s when I notice. He’s wearing a navy-blue puffy vest. “Did you wear this for me?”

“No,” he says, chin tilted up. “I wanted to fit in.”

I tug on it. “Just admit it, you wore it for me.”

“Definitely not for you.” He smiles, bringing his hands to my hips. “But if you wanted to, you know . . . wear something for me on Friday, like a really short dress, I would appreciate that.”

This man is impossible. With a giant eye roll, I step away. “Your desperation is showing, Rogan.”

“It’s been showing since the minute you came back to Port Snow,” he counters, tugging on my jeans pocket and pulling me into his warm embrace, my back to his chest. “I’m just letting myself act on it now.” He presses another kiss along my neck this time.

I swat him away. “Stop that. Not here while I’m working.”

“Is making out with your boyfriend not a job requirement?”

“Boyfriend?” I look over my shoulder. “I thought we were just dating.”

“With our history, it’s the same thing.” His answer is so casual, as if the word boyfriend doesn’t hold an immense amount of weight.

“I don’t know if we’re ready for titles. We haven’t even gone on a second date yet.”

“Trust me, by the end of Friday night, you’re going to be wearing that title with pride.”

I don’t doubt that; back when I was his girlfriend, I couldn’t have been more proud of the man I teamed up with through this crazy journey of life. It was so easy to give him my heart and soul, and it would be even easier to do it again. The prospect is terrifying but, I have to admit, also exhilarating.

CHAPTER THIRTY

ROGAN