Alice heard the sound of laughter as soon as she opened the front door.

Did Griffin have a friend over? In the three weeks she’d been living with him, he hadn’t once had another person over to the house. He didn’t even seem to go out socially. She was starting to think the guy was a monk, contrary to what the gossip rags said about him.

Another burst of laughter echoed through the house as she shut the door behind her. She followed the sound to the kitchen, where she found Griffin and—whoa.

“Hey! You’re home!” Griffin said, catching sight of her. “Alice, this is my buddy Boone. He’s down from Vancouver for a couple days.”

Boone Sheridan, star of the long-running Fox Network paranormal procedural Abnormal Investigations, beamed a dazzling smile at her. Alice had been slightly obsessed with the show—and Boone—in the early seasons when she was an undergrad, and it was surreal coming home and finding him casually hanging out in the kitchen.

In the flesh, Boone was smaller than she’d imagined him to be—barely an inch taller than her with a slim build—but possibly even more handsome. But the most jarring thing—other than the fact that he was here—was that he wore a plain black T-shirt and Nikes rather than the plaid shirt and cowboy boots that were his character’s trademark look on the show. It was all very disorienting.

“The famous Alice,” Boone said, coming forward to shake her hand. “We meet at last.”

What? Had Griffin been talking about her to Boone Sheridan? She’d had no idea they even knew each other.

“Nice to meet you,” she managed as her brain slowly recovered from the shock. The words came out nearly an octave higher than her normal voice, and she felt her cheeks flush.

Boone quirked an eyebrow in amusement, causing the ghost of Alice’s younger self to quiver in embarrassed excitement. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said. “It’s nice to put a face to the name.”

So Griffin had been talking about her. Alice was afraid to even imagine what he might have said. She cast a questioning glance at Griffin, who was observing them with an unreadable look on his face. “That’s funny. Griffin’s never once mentioned you.”

Boone rounded on Griffin in mock indignation. “Seriously, dude?”

Griffin shrugged. “I don’t like to drop my famous friends’ names.”

“Whatever, movie star.”

“You ready for another beer?” Griffin asked, jerking open the fridge.

Boone waggled his bottle to check the level. “Yeah, hit me.”

“Alice? You want one?”

There was a tightness to Griffin’s expression that made her think maybe he’d prefer she made herself scarce, so she shook her head, clutching her laptop bag to her chest. “I’m just gonna head into my room to do some work and leave you guys to whatever it is you’re doing.”

“No way!” Boone said, laying his hand on her arm. “You just got here. You can’t disappear on me already.”

Alice looked at Griffin uncertainly and his expression softened. “Stay and hang out with us.” He twisted the cap off a beer and held it out to her. “It’s open now. You have to drink it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to let a beer go to waste.” She accepted it and took a large swallow.

“That’s my girl.” Boone grinned and tipped his bottle in Griffin’s direction. “We can trade notes on what it’s like to have this guy for a roommate.”

She looked at them in surprise. “You guys were roommates?”

Griffin snorted, leaning back against the counter. “More like co-tenants in purgatory.”

“We lived in the same crash pad for about six months,” Boone explained as he set his empty bottle next to the sink, “along with a rotating roster of four other down-on-their luck actors.”

“It was vile,” Griffin said, making a face.

Boone rolled his eyes. “He’s exaggerating, because he’s unnaturally persnickety.”

Griffin crossed his arms, which happened to do amazing things for his biceps, and Alice wondered if it was a conscious—or unconscious—display to emphasize his muscular advantage over Boone. “If it’s persnickety to expect people to wash a dish or pick up their trash every once in a while to keep the rats at bay, then I proudly own my persnickety-ness.”

She was enjoying watching their back-and-forth banter, which had clearly been honed over years of friendship. It was a different side of Griffin than she’d seen before. She’d often seen him yukking it up with the guys on set, but she’d always gotten the sense that was at least partially for show. He wanted everyone to like him, yet he didn’t seem to be genuinely close to anyone. But now here was Boone, the first and only person Griffin had invited to the house, and for once he didn’t seem to be performing or trying to impress. It was like getting a glimpse into what Griffin had been like before the fame and money.

“Does he ride you all the time about cleaning up around the house?” Boone asked, turning to Alice.

“No,” she answered honestly. “Not once.”

“Seriously?” Boone shot an exaggerated look of surprise at Griffin, who simply shrugged.

“She cleans up after herself like a normal functioning adult. Go figure.”

“I’m pretty fastidious about that stuff, actually.” Alice nodded toward the sink. “Right now I’m having to physically restrain myself from rinsing out that bottle and putting it in the recycling bin.

Boone’s mouth curved into a smirk. “Match made in heaven.”

She saw something flash across Griffin’s face before he turned away to refill his water bottle. When he turned back his expression was oddly blank. She took a big swallow of her beer, thinking maybe she shouldn’t have stuck around after all. Did he not want her here? Was she imposing on his time with his friend?

“You know who else came through that crash pad while we were there?” Boone said to Alice. “Steward Vaughan.”

“Really?” Steward Vaughan had won an Oscar last year for his portrayal of Frank Zappa in a recent biopic. Instead of an acceptance speech, he’d mumbled an indecipherable poem he’d written about global warming.

“Total weirdo,” Griffin said with a nod. “Barely talked to anyone.”

“And he ate nothing but Vienna sausages!” Boone shook his head. “I’ll never forget the smell of them. He ate them so much he exuded them through his pores like some kind of giant, walking Vienna sausage in clothes. Remember that?”

“I’ve tried hard to forget.” Griffin opened the fridge and pulled out a package of ground beef. “I’m grilling tonight. How many burgers does everyone want?”

Alice lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “You’re eating a burger?”

“No, I’m grilling a chicken breast for me. But I’m making burgers for you two, because Boone has the metabolism of a hummingbird so the lucky bastard can eat what he wants, and as for you—” He fixed her with an accusing look. “I don’t want you eating Pop-Tarts for dinner.”

“Gimme two,” Boone said, rubbing his washboard-flat stomach. “I don’t have any more shirtless scenes left this season.”

“Alice?” Griffin asked. “One or two?”

“One, please. Thank you.”

“Were you really going to eat Pop-Tarts for dinner tonight?” Boone asked Alice.

“No!”

“What were you planning to eat?” Griffin asked, glancing over his shoulder at her as he formed the hamburger patties. “Go on, tell the class.”

“Peanut butter and jelly,” Alice mumbled into her beer.

“Wow,” Boone said, grinning at her. “That’s some A-plus adulting right there.”

“I don’t cook,” Alice said with a shrug. “I never learned how.”

Griffin’s eyes met hers, and she could see him putting two and two together, realizing why she’d never learned to cook. Dead mothers can’t pass down treasured family recipes to their daughters.

“It’s basically her only flaw,” he said, turning back to the counter. “Boone, get her another beer. I have hamburger hands.”

“That’s what she said,” Boone shot back as he moved to the fridge, and Griffin snorted. Smirking, Boone twisted the cap off a beer and handed it to Alice. “M’lady.”

If her past self could only see her now, having a beer with Boone Sheridan like it was an everyday occurrence. Now that the initial shock had worn off, it felt surprisingly normal. Working on a TV set had taken a lot of the shine off celebrity, and Boone wasn’t quite what she’d expected. He was exactly as pretty as he seemed on TV, but in person he lacked some of the sex appeal his character emitted through the screen.

“We used to watch a lot of The Office back in the day,” Boone told her as he leaned against the counter beside her. “Remember?” He flicked a glance at Griffin. “We’d have those Jim-offs.”

“Oh, I remember,” Griffin said without turning around.

“What’s a Jim-off?” Alice asked.

“You’ve watched The Office, right?”

“Of course.”

“So you know how the camera always cuts to Jim for a reaction when something ridiculous happens, and he makes a funny face?”

“Sure.” It was so ubiquitous that “stares into the camera like on The Office” had become an internet meme.

“But it’s a slightly different face every time, depending on the context and how Jim felt about what had happened. And because Krasinski was brilliant and we wanted to be just like him, Griff and I would sit around making Jim faces at each other until one of us broke.”

“And I always won,” Griffin piped up.

“You did,” Boone agreed with a grin. “I was always the first to break. Still am. I get in trouble for it all the time on set.”

Griffin finished forming the burgers, and they all pitched in to carry plates and condiments and buns to the back deck and set the table. While Griffin manned the grill, Boone tossed a ball for Taco, and Alice sat quietly sipping her beer as the two old friends chatted. It was all very pleasant and relaxed, and she wondered why Griffin didn’t entertain more often. He certainly seemed to enjoy cooking for other people.

When the food was ready, they sat down to eat, and Boone practically inhaled the two burgers on his plate. Griffin shook his head as he skewered a bite of chicken breast. “I wish I had your metabolism.”

“And I wish I had your career.” Boone wadded his napkin up and dropped it onto his plate. “I used to be the successful one, remember?”

Abnormal Investigations had started a year before Las Vegas General, so Boone had been the first to get a steady TV gig, but Alice could detect no bitterness in his tone. Only more of the same friendly rivalry they’d been exhibiting all night.

“You do all right,” Griffin said. “That show of yours is probably going to go for another ten years, and then you’ll never have to work again.”

“That’s the dream.” Boone leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach in contentment. “No one makes a burger like you do, man.”

Griffin carved another bite off his plain grilled chicken breast. “I’m surprised you could even taste it. You’re like an anaconda swallowing its prey whole.”

Boone smirked and turned to Alice, hooking a thumb at Griffin. “We used to call Griff the den mother. He was the only one who ever tried to cook in that hell kitchen at the crash pad. The rest of us lived off ramen and cereal, but Griffin always wanted to cook, like, actual meals and shit.” He swiveled his head to address Griffin again. “Remember that time you tried to make brownies?”

Griffin scowled. “Vividly. Someone had left a pair of old tennis shoes in the oven, so I had to clean it first, and only after I’d spent an hour sanitizing the damn thing did I realize it didn’t even work.”

Boone chuckled. “But you’d already bought all the ingredients, so you made the batter anyway and we ate it raw. I’ve never had such a stomachache in my whole goddamn life.”

Smiling, Griffin pushed his chair back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to see a man about a horse.”

Boone snorted. “Jesus, dude. You’re still saying that?”

“Always,” Griffin said, smirking as he headed inside.

“You know who else says that?” Boone yelled after him. “My pop pop!” When Griffin was out of sight, he swung back around to give Alice a speculative look. “You two seem to be getting along pretty well.”

“Yep.” She reached for her beer to hide her sudden shyness at being the focus of Boone’s attention. “It’s fun hearing stories about him as a struggling actor. I guess he’s always liked cooking.”

Boone leaned back in his chair. “I think a lot of his domestic streak is because of his mom.”

“He told me she died of lung cancer.”

Boone looked surprised. “He doesn’t usually talk about her. But yeah. It was just the two of them. I think he got used to looking after her even before she got sick. She was a single mom who worked two jobs, so Griff did all the cooking and cleaning around the house. When she got sick, he was taking business classes at community college, but he dropped out to take care of her. Then after she died, he moved out here to be an actor instead.”

“That’s kind of an abrupt change from business school.”

“I guess he figured he didn’t have anyone to take care of anymore, so he could do what he wanted. And he’d always wanted to be an actor.”

Alice tried to picture Griffin as a business major, going into some dull middle management office job. She had to think he would have been miserable living that life. “How long after that did you meet him?” she asked Boone.

“Like right after. I think he lived out of his car for a few weeks before he landed at the crash pad with me. All that den mother stuff and the cooking, it was what he was used to doing for his mom—but I think it was also him trying to hold on to a piece of her. To make a home out of that dump.”

“That’s so sad.”

She remembered the way she’d felt after her own mom had died. How lost she’d been after losing her mother and the only home she’d ever known in one fell swoop. There had been no possibility of making a home for herself when she’d gone to live with her father and his new family. Her stepmother and stepsiblings had reminded Alice every minute of every day what an imposition she was and how unwanted. And from her father she’d gotten nothing but the same disinterest he’d always exhibited toward her. She was nothing but an obligation to them, and she hadn’t been able to get away fast enough. Thank god she’d had the money from her mother’s life insurance to pay for college out of state.

“It was a real bad time for him,” Boone said, frowning as he scraped at the label on his beer bottle. “That’s why he’s got such negative memories of the place. I mean, yeah, it was a total shithole, but I’ve still got some nostalgia for that period of my life. There’s something special about the friends you make when you’re broke and desperate.”

“Who’s broke and desperate?” Griffin asked, rejoining them.

“We were,” Boone said. “We’re talking about the crash pad again.”

“Ugh.” Griffin’s lip curled. “That place.”

Boone shot Alice a sideways glance, lifting his eyebrows as if to say, See?

As Griffin started clearing the table, Alice felt an intense rush of affection for him and all his domestic tendencies. “I’ll handle all the cleanup,” she said, getting to her feet.

“I can do it,” he protested.

She took the plates from his hands with a stern look. “Sit down and relax. That’s an order.”

He surrendered without further argument as Boone tried unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. Alice stacked all the dishes with the efficiency she’d learned waitressing her way through undergrad, and went to clean up the kitchen. Not because she felt she had to, but because she wanted to.

“I like her,” Boone said as soon as Alice was inside the house. “She doesn’t take any shit off you.”

Griffin leaned back in his chair, smiling. “I know.”

“So what’s going on there anyway?”

“Where?” Griffin asked, affecting a blank expression. He knew exactly what his friend was getting at, but chose not to acknowledge it.

“You and Alice.” Boone fixed him with a penetrating look. “Come on, you’ve been shooting daggers in my direction all night.”

“That’s because I find you so annoying.”

“Bullshit. You’re smitten with her.”

“I am not smitten,” Griffin said. “Besides, if anyone’s smitten, it’s her with you.”

She’d practically been rendered dumbstruck at the sight of Boone. You’d have thought Griffin had brought home fucking Elvis. She’d never once acted that starstruck around him.

Boone erupted into delighted laughter. “I can’t believe it! You’re actually jealous! Holy shit! When’s the last time you liked a woman enough to get jealous?”

Griffin scowled, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. “It’s not like that.”

“Really?” Boone eyed him speculatively. “So if I wanted to take a shot, you’d be fine with it?”

It took an embarrassing amount of effort for Griffin to suppress the impulse to object. “I don’t have any say in her romantic life,” he replied tightly. He could actually feel a vein throbbing in his forehead.

“Come on, man, I’m just kidding!” Boone leaned over and gave his shoulder a shove. “That girl only has eyes for you.”

“She definitely does not.”

“Don’t be dense.”

“I’m not. That’s just not how it is with us. Trust me.” He shook his head, remembering how guarded Alice had been around him at first. “She barely even liked me when she moved in.”

Boone snorted and took a swig of beer. “All she wants to talk about when you’re not around is you. And the way she looks at you when you’re not paying attention? That girl’s head over heels for you.”

Griffin found that impossible to believe. Sure, they’d reached a point where it felt like they were becoming friendly, if not actual friends, but that was it. Alice’s interest in him was purely platonic. Of that, he was certain.

He leaned forward for his water, wishing like hell he could have a beer instead. “I told you, we’re just friends.”

Boone gave him a disbelieving look. “You’re hopeless. I notice you’re not denying you like her though.”

Griffin opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut again. There was no point. If he tried to lie about it, Boone would see right through him.

His friend let out another peal of laughter. “Oh my god, you’re in love with your dog sitter! I love it!”

“Shhh. Jesus.” Griffin threw a glance at the house to satisfy himself that Alice wasn’t within eavesdropping range. “It’s not love,” he insisted in a low voice. “It’s just an infatuation or something. I’ll get over it.”

Boone looked at him like he’d just proposed taking a vow of celibacy. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I’m paying her to house sit. I’m not going to sleep with someone on my payroll. It’s sleazy.”

“Okay, but—”

“No buts,” Griffin said firmly. “It’s nonnegotiable.” Not with the sexual harassment Alice had already had to deal with. No way was he going to risk crossing any boundaries.

“But,” Boone continued with his usual stubbornness, “she’s not going to be your house sitter forever.”

That thought had occurred to Griffin. But it wasn’t worth dwelling on. In a week he was leaving for three months, and who knew where they’d both be when he got back or how they’d feel about each other. They might drift apart in his absence. She could have a boyfriend by then, or take a job in another city. There was no point in pinning his hopes on the future.

Boone polished off the last of his beer and set the empty on the table. “Just for the record, I totally ship it. If you could see the way you two look at each other—you’re like the living embodiments of the heart-eyes emoji.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and tucked his hands behind his head, looking smug. “I can’t believe Griffin Beach, the king of No Strings Attached, has a crush on a woman he hasn’t slept with. I’m gonna need some time to let this sink in.”

“Don’t be a jackass.”

Boone’s expression turned uncharacteristically serious. “This is a big deal. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been totally closed off to even the possibility of love.”

Griffin frowned at him. “That’s not true.” He wasn’t closed off. Just practical.

He had his priorities, and right now advancing his career took precedence over finding a life partner. He was still young; there would be plenty of time to fall in love later, once he had established himself and things had slowed down. Besides, it wasn’t like true love had been knocking down his door and he’d been turning it away. He’d yet to meet a woman who’d stirred anything deeper than a temporary attraction.

That’s all it was with Alice too. An infatuation that would probably fade as quickly as it had developed. There was no sense ruining a perfectly good friendship over it.

“Look, I get why,” Boone went on as if Griffin hadn’t even spoken. “You’re scared of letting yourself care about someone and then losing them the way you lost your mom. But I’m telling you, that’s no way to live, man.”

Griffin shot him a mutinous glare. “You’re so full of shit.”

Boone’s latest girlfriend was a therapist, and ever since they started dating six months ago, the guy thought he was Dr. Phil.

Griffin’s mother had died over a decade ago, for chrissake. He wasn’t still walking around like some broken shambles of a man who couldn’t put it behind him.

The look Boone gave him was surprisingly earnest. “Just promise me you’ll keep an open heart. That’s all I’m asking.” His gaze swung to the horizon with a wistful sigh. “It’s hard to find someone who really gets you. Someone you can actually stand to be around who’s willing to put up with all your bullshit.”

On that point, at least, they were in total agreement.