“EVERYTHING OKAY?” He dropped that arm around me and steered me toward the farmers market a few blocks away. When I just nodded, he stopped and looked me over.

“Oh. Yeah. Jenna's just having a hard couple months. I thought it might be good to get some girl time. Good for both of us.”

We walked on, just enjoying the sunshine till he stopped in front of Starbucks.

“What are you doing?”

“I need more caffeine.” He pulled the door open. “Do you want anything?”

“No. We just came from a place that has really good caffeine.”

“Right, but today's goal is to have our picture taken out being couple'y. I know you didn't want The Brew to become a hangout, so I thought we should carry other cups.”

I stopped halfway into the store. It was amazing how he could come up with things so...thoughtful.

“Thanks.”

He shrugged as if it was no big deal. As if anyone would have thought of it. I hadn't thought of it and I was the one trying to protect my private life while dealing with living in his spotlight. Of course, I wasn't used to having to think things through like that. I was used to no one looking at me. The most I had to do was look reasonably cool when I went to a book signing or talk.

Which, yeah. Me, cool? But, people expected writers to look like writers, not actresses, so it was typically all good.

Connor went in and stood in line, me at his side. Almost right away people went from glancing our direction to out-and-out staring. It didn't take a genius to realize the old-fashioned shutter click was the sound of a cell camera snagging our image. How quickly it was texted or emailed or tweeted to the world was anyone’s guess.

Part of me was annoyed. I mean, that was the entire point of the morning and yet in the irrational back part of my head I was thinking, what’s wrong with these people? Would they like their Sunday morning to be documented by the masses? Can't we just grab coffee and be left alone?

Connor brushed my hair over my shoulder and ran his hand down my back and up again. Down and up. Every time I started to stress, Connor reached out. I’d never been around such a toucher before. It was like he needed ways to ground himself to the person he was with.

I leaned into him a bit, wishing instead of being lit up by his fame I could hide in his shadow.

He ordered himself another coffee and a tea for me. I listened as he made small talk with the girl behind the counter who kept giggling. She couldn’t get through a sentence without the nervous sound squeaking out. Of course, he couldn't get through a sentence without her doing it either.

But, she was young and nice and star-struck. I tried not to blame her, but all I saw was the entire afternoon stretched out in front of me with a constant stream of giggling.

Somehow, he kindly separated us from her small talk and moved us toward the door. We were stopped twice by fans. Both times he was gracious.

Outwardly I smiled and stood by silently attempting to look trophy-like.

But Connor was patient with everyone, even when I could see the edges starting to fray. He stood with a little girl wearing a pink Nighthawks’ shirt for a couple pictures. He introduced everyone to me as they introduced their friends.

He treated every single person like we were at a dinner party and he was excited to get to hangout with them. It was impressive. It was gracious.

It was exhausting.

When we finally cleared the doorway and hit the street, Connor took my hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

“You'll get used to it.”

“I don't think so.” I really didn't. And, I didn't see why anyone would want to. I was feeling a little shell-shocked and wondering if I could head home…and crawl under my bed.

“It's not so bad.” He whispered, his nose just brushing by my ear. “The fans are the reason I have a job.”

I stopped. Just stopped walking. It took him two steps to realize I wasn’t with him, giving me a jolt when his hand gave mine a little yank.

“What?” He took a sip of his coffee and glanced around.

“It's just that...” I was more than a little surprised I was about to say this.

“It's just that what?” he asked.

“That's my job too.”

He looked like I was speaking a different language and I realized how disjointed my entire thought process had become.

“Fans. That's my job too. I have to have fans or I don't have a job.”

“Oh.” Out came that grin. He was using it a lot today. “Well then, see? We do have something in common.”

It was true, but it was unexpected. Of all the things I'd thought to find in common with Connor Ryan it hadn't been this.

Okay, so I hadn't really expected to find anything in common with him. But, if you'd told me there was something—anything— I have guessed something really stupid. Something obvious. Like, we both have agents. Or we both breathe air.

Not something as important as valuing people who made our jobs—our lives—possible.

He gave my hand a little tug as he grinned at me again.

I just fell in step with him and tried not to ponder the fact that he had a value system in at least one area that I didn't think was shallow and worthless.

It was a start.

Of course, in the power balance of value-systems, womanizing still outweighed his kindness to fans way more than a few photos could ever make up for.