I get to the set ridiculously early on Sunday, and I’m pacing Del’s trailer when she and Jez arrive. They walk in mid-conversation, and Jez freezes upon seeing me.

I stop cutting a path from the tiny sofa to the tiny kitchen. “Jez, we need to talk.”

“Oh, gosh,” Del says, looking from me to Jez. “I’m going to be late for make-up.”

As she scurries out, I take a step closer to Jez. “Please, baby,” I say. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what happened yesterday. Because I get why you were upset when you had it all wrong. But when we sorted it out—”

“But we didn’t,” she says. “That’s what I realized. We didn’t sort anything out at all.”

I feel suddenly cold. As if someone has dunked me in a vat of ice water. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t expect it,” she says, moving to sit on the sofa. She has her head down, her forehead pressing against her fingertips.

“What?”

She looks up, and I see the tears in her eyes. “You.” A single tear trails down her cheek. “I didn’t expect you.”

I’m at her side in an instant, my arm around her, pulling her close. My chest is tight, because the words she’s saying are the words that have been growing inside me. The words I haven’t wanted to examine closely at all. But now … well, maybe now I should.

“Tell me,” I say softly. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I realized last night, when I saw that stupid phone notification. It felt like I’d been sliced open.” She sits up straighter, moving out of my embrace. I know it’s so that she can look at me as she talks, but the loss of contact feels as painful as a kick in the balls.

“I’m feeling too much for you,” she goes on. “And I know you’re not looking for a relationship, but when I’m with you—”

She cuts herself off and shakes her head, as if trying to knock her thoughts into place. “I want more,” she says simply. “More you. More time. More everything. I want to let whatever this thing is between us grow and see what happens.”

The wave of relief that sweeps over me is so intense that I’m surprised it doesn’t knock me over.

I know I should tell her that I want the same thing. That I want to let this play out. For however long it takes.

I should tell her that she’s brought me back to life. That’s she’s a miracle and a surprise and so damned unexpected, and that I never want to let her go.

I should tell her that somehow, someway, we’ll make this work. That I know it can work, because in my gut—in my heart—she’s already part of me.

I should say all of that. Instead, I say, “We have three more days.”

For a moment, she just looks at me, and I want to kick my own ass for being such a pathetic loser. I want to call the words back and tell her the truth. But the words won’t come. I’ve been telling myself so long that I don’t do relationships, that I can’t make the words come. Because what if I’m wrong about her? About us?

What if I let her in close, and she rips off my balls? What if I need those three days to figure this all out?

“You’re right,” she says as she pushes off the sofa. “We still have three days. And that’s great.” She runs her fingers through her hair. “Yeah. So, I, um, need to go meet with the production team. It’s going to be a while, I think. So, I’ll see you back at the hotel. When you bring Delilah, I mean.”

I stand and reach for her, relieved when my hand finds hers. “Jez, please. I don’t mean—”

But she pulls her fingers free. “No, it’s fine. You’re right. This has been fun, and we have three more days. I was just…”

She trails off with a shrug. Then she leans forward and kisses me lightly. “It’s all good, really. I’ll see you tonight. And this thing we have. It really is fun. It’s great, just as it is. But I really have to go,” she adds, checking her watch.

Then she practically bolts out of the trailer, and I drop back down on the couch.

Fun.

What a horrible word.

I’m still sitting there thirty minutes later wondering how the hell I managed to turn what was shaping up to be the best thing that had ever happened to me into complete and total shit in under ten minutes. Honestly, I must have some sort of rare power of destruction, because I think that’s a fucking record.

And maybe—maybe—if I hadn’t kept reminding myself how much I didn’t want a relationship, I would have grabbed hold of this one and clung on so tightly she could never get away.

Fuck it.

I stand up. Maybe I blew it a few minutes ago, but I can fix it now. I’m not entirely sure how, but I am sure that groveling and honesty—and one hell of a nice dinner—will probably be involved.

I’m just about to go find her and start the groveling part of the equation, when the door to the trailer bursts open and Delilah rushes in, her eyes bloodshot.

“Del, what’s going on? Is Jez okay?”

She nods. “She’s fine. She went somewhere with the producers.”

“So she’s not on the set?”

She shakes her head, and I curse the missed opportunity. “Then what’s the matter?” I ask.

“They’re shutting us down. This was it. We just wrapped the Austin shoot.”

I sit back down again. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“They just announced it after we shot the final scene. They’ve revamped the script. Everything that was supposed to happen under the oak tree or outside the stone house is going to be in a cafe. We’re shooting those scenes in LA.”

“Los Angeles,” I say, as if I’ve never heard of LA before. “When?”

“Travel tomorrow. Shooting starts up again on Tuesday.”

“So much for three days,” I murmur. “Fuck.”

“Please, Pierce. You have to help me.”

I look at her, and realize it’s not just the shortened shoot that’s bothering her.

“What’s going on?”

“Levyl’s here already. In town, I mean. He’s staying at the Driskill,” she adds, mentioning the historic hotel that’s across from my office and just a few blocks from the Starfire. “I have to see him. Please, you have to help me get in to see him.”

“Are you insane?”

She blinks and tears stream down her face. “Please. Don’t you get it? I need to see him. He needs to know that I’m sorry—that I love him, but I did a stupid thing. Maybe he won’t forgive me, but I have to let him know I love him, and that I always have. And that even if we’re not together, I still want to be his friend, and I never, ever meant to hurt him.”

“Del…”

“No, please. I know it’s a risk. And I know that maybe he’ll push me away or tell his people to not let me in, but I’ve got to try. I can handle the hurt, Pierce, I really can. But I can’t handle knowing I might have missed out on something good. And I really can’t handle knowing that I hurt someone I love and didn’t try to make it better, you know?

I sigh. Because, goddammit, I know all of that.

And I know that this kid has a hell of a lot more courage than I do.

“If this ends up on social media, your sister is going to kill both of us,” I say, and in response she throws her arms around me and kisses my cheek.

“Thank you, thank you. You’re the absolute best. I’m so glad you and my sister—”

“Come on. If we’re going to do this, we should get going. Do we even know if he’s at the hotel right now?”

“He is. He always holes up for a couple of days before a concert. Sometimes he’ll invite the press or a few fans up, but he doesn’t go out. He might party after, but never before.”

“That makes locating him easy. What about access? If you call, will he tell you the room number? Let you talk to him? In other words, is this just a question of me getting you to him? Or do we have an element of covert ops happening?”

“Um, I think it’s kind of a CIA operation,” she says, and I have to laugh.

“All right, then. Let me make a few calls.”

An hour later, I’ve called in a half dozen favors, talked to pretty much everyone I’ve ever met in Austin, and have managed to track down the band’s liaison at the hotel, who put me in touch with the band’s manager, a woman named Anissa.

“Levyl and I have been friends for years,” Anissa tells me. “And I was around during a lot of the drama with Del. I don’t know if Levyl will see her, but I think he should. And I can at least get you in the room.”

As far as I’m concerned, that’s about as good an outcome as I can hope for, and so Del and I set off for downtown.

I leave my car at the office, and we walk across the street, then follow Anissa’s instructions to get to the service entrance that the band has been using to avoid the press.

Anissa’s there to meet us, along with the hotel liaison I’d spoken to earlier. “Thank you so much,” Del tells her. “It’s great seeing you again. But I’m not getting you in trouble, am I?”

Anissa waves a hand dismissively. “If he’s pissed, he’ll get over it. Like I said, I’ve known him forever. Trust me when I say this is nothing.”

We follow her through a maze of service corridors to the freight elevator, and then finally to the door of Levyl’s suite.

“Ready?” Anissa asks.

Del nods, but before Anissa can take her inside, I reach for Del’s sleeve. “You’re sure about this? If this visit ends up on social media, it could start the whole scandal raging again, especially if it doesn’t go well. And if that happens, you might end up off the movie. Not to mention how pissed off your sister will be.”

“I get it,” she says. “But sometimes you gotta take the risk, you know?”

“All right, then.” I release her arm, then step back. “I’ll be here. And Del?” I add, as she’s crossing the threshold. “Good luck.”

Thirty minutes later, I’m pacing the hallway, trying to decide if the fact that this is taking so long is a good thing or a bad thing. Possibly, she’s still groveling. Or maybe he’s flown into a screaming rage.

But hopefully, they’ve reconciled and they’re catching up. Frankly, I like to think that at least one of the Stuart women will leave this town in a good place.

God, I’m a heel.

I let Jez believe there was something between us because there was something. But then when it came down to the wire, I shut down and shut up.

I don’t even have the courage of an eighteen-year-old.

And right here and now, I decide that I’m going to fix that.

Because, dammit, I think I’m falling in love with Jezebel Stuart. And it’s past time that she knew it.