Too soon, he was dropping her back off at the airport on Sunday afternoon.

“I wish you were staying just a little longer,” he said in a low voice as they stopped at the end of the security line. “I should have had you stay so we could go back together.” His new flight left at 8:20, meaning he’d get back to Silverweed Falls around midnight and wouldn’t see Joy until the following day. He missed her already.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” she laughed. “You’re busy anyway, and I need to get back. I’m anxious about the auction.”

“It’ll be fine,” he promised. “You’re the most organized person I know.”

“Just don’t be late!” She tapped him on the chest. “I’m counting on you.”

“I’ll be in the air before you’re on the ground,” he promised her.

She sighed. “I’d still feel better if you were going with me.”

He kissed her forehead. “I know, and I’m really sorry. But I’ll get there and it’ll be fun, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” She tilted her head up and let him kiss her, a sexy kiss, full of promise, then took the handle of her bag from him. He gave her one last squeeze, then walked away.

The interview had been taped. He’d done his best to look presentable, act humble, express gratitude, and politely deflect questions about his personal life. He shook hands with the interviewer and the producer and made for the elevator as quickly he could without being rude. He glanced at his watch. His carry-on was in the car, and thanks to his TSA Precheck status, he could skip the security line. Even allowing a little time for bad traffic, he’d be able to make it.

Once he was in the elevator, he turned his phone back on, which he’d kept off for the interview. No sooner was it on than it rang. He sighed, fishing his car keys out of his pocket as he answered it.

“Hey, Noel,” he said to the phone.

“Chris!” Noel’s voice was eager. “Have you been keeping an eye on the box office reports?”

“Not really, no.” He thought of Joy and smiled. He’d had much better things to keep an eye on this weekend.

“Galactic Crusaders hit $140 million just over Friday and Saturday. It’s crazy! I mean, we knew it would do well, but that’s like, Harry Potter well. Like, Hunger Games well. It’s fantastic! Once tonight’s totals are in, we’ll probably be looking at one of the top five opening weekends for the entire year.”

Chris tried to collect his thoughts. $140 million was such a huge number that it didn’t really register with him. “Wow,” he managed, trying to match Noel’s enthusiasm. “That’s great!”

Noel chuckled at Chris’s obtuse reaction. “It means,” he said patiently, “that you’re going to make a lot of money. Millions. You’ll probably be getting royalty checks on this for the rest of your life. Especially after the sequel’s out.”

The elevator door slid open and Chris walked out into the lobby. He could see the sun through the glass plate windows, could almost see it sinking toward the horizon. He strode across the lobby, anxious to get to his car, and then the airport. Right now he was thinking of the plane he needed to catch, not the box office receipts. Of course, Noel, as his agent, stood to make a small fortune out of this as well, so it was no wonder he was excited.

He forced himself to speak. “Noel, that’s awesome, man. Thanks for letting me know. And thank you for everything. I’d never have gotten this role without you. I really appreciate all your help.”

“Still humble, I love it.” Noel laughed. “Okay, I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re doing. Just wanted to be the first to give you the good news.”

“Thanks, man,” Chris mumbled.

Pocketing the phone, he pushed his way through the glass doors and glanced around. There were more people around than he would have expected for late in the day on a Sunday, but his car was parked on the street barely a block away. He noticed the occasional stare in his direction and avoided eye contact; he hated to be rude to fans, but he really didn’t have time for autographs. With his free hand, he pulled his sunglasses out of his breast pocket and put them on.

$140 million … You’ll be getting royalty checks for the rest of your life …

He thought of his dad, who’d probably never made more than forty thousand dollars in a year … who hadn’t lived to see his own success, let alone his son’s.

He blinked back a few tears, glad that he had his sunglasses on, as he clenched his jaw.

“Chris!”

He turned around instinctively at the sound of his name.

“Chris!” shouted someone. “Who’s the new girl?”

“Is Vanessa jealous?”

The flash of a camera was quickly followed by several more as Chris was swiftly surrounded by more than a dozen people, all with phones or cameras. His jaw tightened.

“C’mom, Chris, give us a smile!” shouted a young blond woman.

Chris could see his car only a few yards away and cursed himself for not parking in the station’s parking garage.

“What do you think about the reaction to Galactic Crusaders?” yelled a blogger whom Chris had encountered before. He was a nerdy but aggressive guy who reminded Chris of one of those yappy little dogs who get their teeth into your pants leg and refuse to let go.

“How much money are you going to make on the back-end deal?” yelled someone else.

Chris stopped and gave the small crowd a tight smile. “Look, get a photo if you need to, but no questions today, ’kay? I’ve got a flight to catch.”

“Are you heading to Portland?” shouted the blonde reporter.

Her question was all but drowned out in the flood of other questions and comments. By now the reporters had attracted the attention of dozens of passers-by, too, who had pulled out phones and were trying to get pictures of their own. Chris looked around, trying to suppress his growing agitation.

Yappy Dog Guy took a step closer, elbowing the blonde girl out of the way. He snapped a couple of pictures before leering at Chris. “Tell us more about Joy Albright! Old flame? New flame? Just a little arm candy for the weekend?”

Chris felt his blood pressure mounting. Fortunately, a pair of cops were striding down the street toward the commotion. With any luck, they’d break it up quickly. “I just said no questions. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for my flight.”

He took a step forward but Yappy Dog stepped in front of him and grabbed him by the arm. A surge of anger rose in Chris. He tried to tug his arm away, but the guy held tight.

“Apparently, Ms. Albright was involved in a sex scandal at Falls State University about a year and a half ago. Would you care—”

Chris punched him in the face.

* * *

Joy had fallen asleep on the flight and still felt slightly groggy as she walked down the skybridge, past the gate and out into Portland International Airport. She had just passed a coffee shop in the security area and half-regretted that she hadn’t stopped for an iced Americano, but if she had one at this time of the day, she wouldn’t sleep that night.

And she was looking forward to a restful night. She already missed Chris, but she’d have him back tomorrow. In the meantime, she was looking forward to some space to process the weekend.

She was in a relationship. A smile spread across her face as she made her way through the throngs of people toward the exit.

A passionate, friendly, fun relationship, with a guy she really liked.

No, this had to be more than like, didn’t it?

Was she falling in love? Was that what this giddy, nervous feeling was, this feeling that her heart was too light for her body? Yeah, maybe …

The smile widened.

The sky outside was a warm orange, and she fished her sunglasses out of her purse in anticipation of needing them as soon as she was out of the airport. Pulling her suitcase beside her she walked past the ticket agent desks and was making for the escalator that would take her to the sky walk and the parking lot. Suddenly she heard someone calling her name. She looked around, not seeing anyone she recognized and took off her sunglasses in order to see better.

Almost instantly, she was surrounded.

Cameras flashed and clicked. People shouted her name and blocked her way. She had a moment of sheer terror—why would the press be after her unless something terrible had happened? Was Charlotte hurt? Was Chris? Visions of armed gunmen, campus shootings, earthquakes and fires ran across her mind.

Then she began to catch what they were saying.

“Why was he in such a bad mood?”

“Did you guys have a fight?”

“Joy, what’s your take on the arrest?”

“Has he ever hit you?”

A different kind of fear seized her, along with at anger at these strangers for blocking her way and making her think someone had been killed.

Arrest? Who—Chris? Why? What had he done? And what did it have to do with her?

She jammed her sunglasses on her face and pushed through the small throng. “No comment. No comment,” she repeated, trying to sound forceful.

Abandoning hope of walking directly to her car, she pushed her way outside and quickly crossed the street to the median where taxis waited. Walking straight to the nearest one, she dove inside as quickly as possible, dragging her suitcase in behind her.

“Where to, ma’am?” asked the cheerful cabby.

“Long-term parking lot, please.”

“You could just walk—”

“Please!”

The cabby shrugged, then noticed the throng of reporters lining the sidewalk, still trying to snap photos of Joy. He studied her in the rearview mirror. “You famous or something?”

She shook her head. “No, I—they mistook me for someone famous. They’re kind of crazy. Could we go?”

“Yeah, sure.” He put the car in gear and pulled out into traffic. “Who did they think you are?”

“I’m not sure,” Joy mumbled, trying not to look out the window as the crowd of reporters fell behind them.

The cab driver’s eyes flicked between her reflection and the road. “You look kinda like that Desperate Housewives lady.”

“Who? Eva Longoria?”

“Yeah, that’s her. You could be her twin almost, just with darker hair. I bet that’s who they thought you were.” He gave her a satisfied nod in the mirror.

She paid $20 for a three-minute cab ride. He would have given her change, but she was in too much of a hurry to get to her own car. Anyway, he deserved a tip for getting her away from the reporters and telling her she looked like Eva Longoria, she thought wryly.

After she was safely away from the airport, she pulled off the highway into a service area and checked her phone.

She hadn’t thought earlier to take it out of airplane mode. Nothing from Chris, but there were several texts from Charlotte, one with a link to a celebrity gossip blog. From what she could tell, Chris had been arrested at LAX for punching a reporter in the face.

That idiot! What was he thinking? How could he go from being so sweet and gentle and charming when he said goodbye to her at the airport, then barely an hour later apparently go berserk and get in a fistfight?

Though from the article and the accompanying photos, it hadn’t been a fight so much as Chris clocking a guy who looked to be about half his size.

She groaned. What would happen to Chris? To the play? To the—damn it, the fundraiser! Would he be able to get back in time?

And—she felt selfish even thinking about it—what would happen to her? To Charlotte? Would there be reporters camped out at her house?

She called Charlotte, who, to her relief, assured her that no one had come to the house or bothered her.

“But, Mom, what’s going on? Were you there when he hit the guy? Do you know why he did it? Will he be back in time for the silent auction?”

Joy shook her head even though Charlotte couldn’t see her. “I don’t know. I have no idea,” she murmured, hardly aware of what she was saying. “I’ll be home in about an hour. We’ll … figure it out then.”