I lace up, grab my phone, and head down the hall. I’ve been cooped up the last few days without a car and need to hit the pavement. I open the front door, step onto the driveway, and—

“Tate!” I yell over my shoulder. My eyes won’t budge from the sight in front of me. “Tate, get out here!”

A door opens and quick footsteps come down the hall. Tate barrels around the corner, his face strewn with worry. “What? What’s the—”

He stops when he sees what I’m looking at. “Ah,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Took you long enough.”

“What?”

“It’s been here for hours. I thought you’d hear them dropping it off, but you must’ve been asleep or something.”

My mind is struggling to keep up. “No, I was listening to music… Wait—” I shake my head. “You’re telling me that this is for me?”

Tate gives me a smug look. “You got it, sweet cheeks.”

That awful pet name snaps me out of it. I force my legs into action and hurry to over the brand new Toyota Camry sitting in the driveway. The silver paint’s so sparkly that I have to shield my eyes against the glare. Leather seats, sunroof, Bluetooth, the works. It’s…

“Beautiful,” I whisper, running my hand over the smooth surface. “But why?”

Tate shrugs. “You said your Camry—”

“Wanda,” I correct.

“Whatever,” he says, a smile playing on his lips. “Anyway, it’s not worth the repairs. I can’t have my girl riding around in a broken down pile of—”

“Hey, be nice!” I try to ignore the fluttering in my stomach from being called his girl. “Is this to buy me off so I’ll stay?”

Tate frowns. “I thought you’d already decided to stay.”

“I have,” I say quickly, and it’s the truth. Tate’s been nicer this past week, and I could see he’s making a real effort to be more respectful toward me. Plus, Kevin had called me and offered to take me on as a client if I stayed…

What? I’m no saint.

“But is this to make sure I stay? I said I don’t want your money.”

Tate cocks his head. “Oh, so you don’t like it? I’ll just call the company and—”

“No! I, uh…” My eyes drift back to the sleek sedan behind me. “It’s perfect, Tate.”

He joins me by the side of the car. “It has all the latest gadgets and safety alerts. I wanted to lease you something nicer than a Toyota, but they’re really safe, and I know that means a lot to you.”

I stare at him for a moment and then throw myself into his arms.

“Whoa, Charlotte—”

“Thank you,” I murmur, resting my cheek on his hard pecs. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

His chest is stiff and resistant at first, but as I wrap my arms around his waist, it relaxes underneath me. His arms reach around me and pull me closer, enveloping my smaller body into a deep hug. His chin tilts down and rests on the top of my head for a moment before he steps away.

Tate clears his throat. “Glad you like it.” An awkward pause comes over us. Maybe the hug was too much.

I turn away and glance inside the car. The keys are in the ignition, just waiting for me. “Wanna take Wanda Two for a spin?”

Tate’s laugh breaks the tension. “Sure. I could use a break from my lines. Hungry?”

“You bet,” I say, already climbing in and adjusting the seat and mirrors. “What do you have in mind?”

“Mexican. I think I could get us in at Hacienda.” He takes out his phone.

“Actually, I have a place that’s even better.”

“Better than Hacienda?”

“Yup! And totally undiscovered.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”

I back down the driveway and slide through the gate. If you had told me six weeks ago that I would be driving Tate Gunner around in my new Camry, I would have laughed in your face.

Well, to use one of Tate’s favorites…

Stranger things have happened.

* * *

“I didn’t think we’d be driving all the way to Koreatown for Mexican,” Tate says, glancing around at the rambling apartment buildings and busy sidewalks.

“Come on, it’s not that far.”

“It’s been thirty minutes!”

“There were a lot of lights!”

He snorts. “It only took forever because you insist on going the speed limit.”

I scowl at him. “So I’m a safe driver, sue me.”

Tate turns and stares out his window, but not before I see the smirk on his face.

“Anyway, this is my old neighborhood.”

Tate laughs. “I knew you lived in Koreatown! Remember when we first met? I said—”

“Oh, I remember,” I say grimly. “You were such an asshole.”

“I—” He stops and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, okay. I guess I was.”

I spot a parking space on a side street and turn.

“I’m surprised you stuck around,” Tate says after I’ve eased Wanda Two into a spot.

I shrug as we exit the car and I lock the doors. “I’m not a quitter. Besides, things with you are better these days.”

“Coming around to me, sugar cakes?” Tate says, nudging my arm with his elbow.

“Not when you insist on calling me horrible pet names.”

Tate’s laugh is cut short as we round the corner. A line two blocks long meets our hungry eyes.

“Undiscovered?” Tate mutters next to me.

“It’s a local favorite,” I argue, pulling him with me to the back of the line. “I told you it’s worth the thirty minute drive from the Hills.”

Tate sniffs the air. “Fair enough. I’m going to tear this taco stand apart when we—”

“Um, are you, like, Tate Gunner?” a voice pipes up behind us. We turn to see two teenagers gaping up at Tate.

“Yeah,” he answers, giving a tentative smile.

The girls squeal and fly into action. In seconds, I’m holding both their phones and they’re flanking Tate.

“Can we get a picture?” one of them begs.

“Can you sign my shirt?” the another asks with a coquettish smile.

Tate glances at me and arches an eyebrow. “Sure,” he says to his fans. I stifle my laugh as they cluster around him for the photo. I snap a few, and then Tate signs one of their shirts—the back, not the front like she offered.

“Well,” I say once they’ve skipped off, “that didn’t take long, famous guy. I think you broke her heart by not signing her boobs.”

Tate grimaces. “Comes with the job. I just hope this doesn’t get out of control.”

“What do you mean?”

Tate shrugs. “You’ll see…”

And see, I did. Not even three minutes later, Tate and I are surrounded by a loud and pushy crowd.

“Over here, Tate!”

“Is that your new girlfriend?”

“Will you sign my [insert any and every body part]?”

I struggle to stay on my feet in the chaos. I try not to let the crushing crowd overwhelm me, but I still feel like a drowning woman on dry land. There are just so many people and voices and arms everywhere.

Suddenly, I’m shoved forward. Hard. If the crowd wasn’t just as dense in front of me as it was in the back, I would’ve fallen flat on my face.

“Charlotte!” Tate fights his way toward me and wraps an arm around my waist. He scowls at the crowd and asks them to step back, to give us a little space. His lips graze my ear as he leans down. “Are you alright?”

I nod, trying to keep my head. I can’t help but cling a little tighter to his shirt as the crowd surges toward us. I drag my frightened eyes to his. “Tate…”

“I’m going to get us out of this,” Tate says, grabbing my hand. “Come on.”

“¡Un paso atrás!” a voice booms out over the noise. “¡Deje de molestar a mis clientes!”

As ordered, the crowd steps back and quiets down. A break in the crowd forms, and an old Hispanic man hobbles toward us. “Hola, bienvenido al restaurante de mi familia,” he says, giving us a warm smile.

I glance at Tate, waiting for him to respond, but he only gives me a lost look. I turn back to the gentleman. “Hola. Gracias por ayudarnos, seńor.”

His smile grows and he starts heading back the way he just came, waving at us to follow.

“Come on,” I say to Tate, pulling him forward through the crowd.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re about to get that food you were talking about.”

We reach the front and the man introduces us to his wife and daughter. I translate for Tate as we go. The man tells his daughter to take our order and then turns toward the grill. I give our order, but the girl doesn’t move. Her mouth is open as she blatantly gapes at Tate.

“Rosalita!” the man says sharply, jolting his daughter out of her trance. She blinks a few times and turns bright red.

Tate smiles and picks up a napkin and pen on the counter. “Ask them their last name,” he says to me. I give him a confused look, but do as he asks. He finishes writing just as the tacos appear. Tate tries to pay, but the man waves him off. Tate shakes his head and offers the man the napkin. He passes it to his daughter to translate.

“It says,” she begins softly in Spanish, “‘Best tacos in Los Angeles from the best family in town. Thank you, Sanchez family. Tate Gunner.’”

The man beams with pride as he pins it above the cash registers “Gracias, señor.”

“Gracias,” Tate replies. He stuffs a hundred dollar bill in the tip jar and picks up our order. Fifty eyes follow us as we move away and round the corner.

I lead us to a free bench in the shade and turn to Tate. “That was really nice of you back there. You’re full of surprises.”

“Right back at you,” he says, handing me my tacos. “Where did you learn Spanish?”

“My nanny.” I take a bite of my street tacos. Heaven. “Camila came to live with us after my mom passed. I was only twelve, and my dad could barely function, let alone be a single parent.”

Tate puts down his taco. “I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

“It’s okay,” I say with a small smile. “She’s a wonderful woman. I think of her like my grandmother. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her, actually.”

“Just say the word and we’ll visit.”

I turn to him. “You’d want to do that?”

“Sure. I’d love to.”

I bite my lip and look back down at my tacos. “Um, what about you?”

“Sorry, I don’t have a Hispanic grandmother that taught me flawless Spanish.”

I playfully tap his arm. “When was the last time you were home?”

His grin slips. “Three years ago. For my dad’s funeral.”

“God. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay. He had a triple bypass at forty-five, so it wasn’t completely out of the blue. But it’s been hard on Harper—my sister. She has to deal with that and take care of my mother.”

“What happened to your mom?”

“Early-onset Alzheimer’s. It got worse after Dad died.”

I put my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve got Harper and now you.” He gives me a gorgeous smile that sends red-hot heat up my neck. “So, what made you want to be an actress?”

He polishes off his second taco as I catch up to the sudden change of subject. I get it, though. It’s hard to talk about stuff like this. I sit back and grab a chip off Tate’s plate. “Sigourney Weaver.”

Tate chokes. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I saw her in Working Girl when I was fourteen, and I knew that’s what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

“What? A shoulder pad-wearing corporate witch?”

“No!” I laugh and smack his arm again. “Poised, self-confident, badass, great hair…” I sigh. “Only Sigourney could rock a perm like that.”

“Fair enough, but don’t go getting any ideas…” He shoots me a glance. “I like your hair the way it is.”

The flush reaches my cheeks. “Anyway,” I mumble, “who’s your inspiration?”

Tate munches on his third taco for a moment. “Cary Grant.”

I give another sigh. “Because of his hair?”

“What is your obsession with celebrities’ hair, woman?” Tate demands. “No. Grant stood for something that’s getting lost in Hollywood today. He was old-school cool, a gentleman, like Bogart or Gene Kelly.”

I nod. “I’d say you’re following in their footsteps.”

“Nah, I got off track.” He meets my eyes. “But I think I’m getting back there.”

I glance away so he doesn’t see my third blush.

Girl, get this blushing under control!

Tate finishes his last taco and stands up. “Dessert?”

“You just ate four tacos with a side of chips and guac.”

“Yup…” He reaches his arms over his head in a stretch. His shirt inches up, affording me a superb glimpse of tanned skin. Yup, abs still flat as a washboard. “And now it’s time to top it off with some ice cream.”

“Ice cream? I thought stars were all macrobiotic vegans who melted in the presence of dairy.”

“Not all of us.” Tate offers me his arm and I take it, resting my hand lightly on his bare forearm. I blame the fluttering in my stomach on the tacos. “Besides, I’ve got to keep Lupo in business.”

I laugh and then groan, remembering how sore I was after that first session. Lupo kicked my butt up and down that weight room. Tate had stood there, laughing the whole time, only to then have the wrath of Lupo rain down on him.

I wish I could say I laughed at Tate’s pain, but I was way too busy drooling. Tate’s a man in peak physical condition; a sight I’ve never seen up close and in action. I watched his muscles and abs and pectorals strain against his sweat-drenched shirt as he went through the complicated drills. At one point, Tate lifted up his shirt to wipe his face, and I literally had to steady myself against the wall.

I glance up at the man walking next to me. Tate’s changed this past week. He’s still gorgeous and knows it, but he’s actually not a total pain in the ass.

Tate looks down and catches me staring. He gives his best shit-eating grin. “Can’t tear your gaze away, baby doll?”

I roll my eyes and focus on finding my car.

Never mind. He still has a long way to go.