Four long and dreadful days had passed since the premiere, and Maia hardly had a spare moment to think of London between filming segments for late-night talk shows, signings at theaters, and performances with two orchestras and her co-star.

Yet think of him she did.

She thought of the way he teased her about her dress and helped her situate it at the same time. She thought about the way his eyes danced right before he said something funny. She thought about how her hand still fit in his as if they were made to clasp together for eternity. She pondered the times her heart had thrummed when his thumb caressed her knuckles. With all her thinking, or because of it, an acid-lined hole grew in her chest. She named it the I-Miss-London Hole.

The hole wasn’t getting any smaller. They say time heals all wounds, but that’s crap. If anything, she ached more for him now than she did the morning after the premiere. It didn’t help that she was scheduled for small-town morning shows this week, and her first stop was Dallas, Texas—home of the mighty Texas Titans. There wasn’t a road in this town that didn’t have a billboard dedicated to the team—and London was on half of them. Granted, he was in full gear including a helmet, but she knew his number and the shape of his body, and therefore knew it was him up there tackling a receiver on the seven-yard line. Jeez! A girl couldn’t very well forget a guy with his kind of advertising power.

Knowing London, he probably hated those billboards.

“Close your eyes, please,” Kristi said. Without giving her time to brace herself, she airbrushed powder over Maia’s entire face to set the foundation she’d applied moments before.

Maia held her breath, afraid her lungs would have a better complexion than her face. “You have no sense of portion control,” she mumbled through tight lips.

Kristi waved a paper in front of her face, sending cool puffs of air across her cheeks. “You look fabulous for someone who is going on five hours of sleep.”

Maia released her breath. “Thanks, so do you.”

She grabbed a brush and eye shadow and worked with all the seriousness of Michelangelo. “Sooo, we’re in Texas.”

“Hmm.” Maia learned long ago not to talk wile Kristi held a brush in her hand.

“Isn’t your long-lost love in Texas?”

Maia grabbed her hand by the wrist to hold it still, because she couldn’t hmm an answer for that kind of loaded question. “He’s not mine. He hasn’t called. And I have no idea where he is.”

“Testy much?” Kristi shook out her hand. “If you’re so worked up about him, why don’t you call him?”

Maia’s face heated under all the layers of makeup. If she wasn’t careful, she’d crack her plaster. “Because I don’t have his number.”

Kristi’s mouth fell open. “That’s … unfortunate.”

No kidding.

The assistant producer appeared at Kristi’s elbow. “Maia, you’re on in five.”

Uh-oh! Maia sucked in a breath as Kristi’s hands flew, sending powder and brushes flying, smearing and blending with her fingers, and saying Italian words Maia was pretty sure would get her kicked out of the Sistine Chapel.

With a flourish, Kristi removed the cape used to protect Maia’s choral, knee-length professional dress, and the assistant took her arm, leading her through the hallways. When they arrived on set, people parted and whispered her name as if she were a real-life princess and not just an animated one. She shook hands with the host, and then they were on camera.

She wondered if London watched Waking Up with Dallas—if he’d see the interview. She wanted him to, wanted him to rush to the studio and insist on seeing her before she left town. He could be in his car right now, speeding through yellow lights. Her fingers suddenly felt full of energy and she drummed them on the arm of the chair.

“Maia, what was your favorite part about making this movie?”

Maia had her answers at the ready. The local morning shows were given a script, and they generally stuck to it because no one wanted to be blacklisted for mistreating a guest. “Being able to work with Michael Stopston was huge. I’ve been a big fan of his work for as long as I can remember going to the movies.”

“Me too.” The short interview continued as planned and predictable until the host, Bob, turned to the camera. “We’ve got a fun hometown connection for our viewers today.” An image of her and London walking into the premiere together flashed on the screen.

Maia doubled the speed her fingers drummed. Just seeing his handsome face did funny things to her heartbeat. He could be here any minute.

“This is London Wilder, safety for the Titans, walking the red carpet with Maia. Tell us, Maia, how long have you known London?”

“For years.” She blinked several times, her brain working desperately to figure out how much she should spill. To heck with it. The paparazzi would dig up the whole story with minimal shoveling. All they’d have to do was wave a couple hundred bucks under an old classmate’s nose and they’d have all the dirt they wanted. Being up-front here would save her a PR mess later. “Actually, it’s an interesting story. We were high school sweethearts.”

Bob gaped at her like a fish in a bowl. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Maia bit back a laugh. He hadn’t prepped as well for this interview as he should have, and he was caught.

“Before you ask,” she said, throwing him a lifeline, “we were on different paths back then. I wanted to pursue theater, and he had a football scholarship that was too good to pass up.”

“And you’ve found each other again?”

Her hands stilled, all the electrical energy draining like sand in an hourglass. “Actually, we bumped into one another at a charity bachelor auction and again at the premiere.”

“Will you see him while you’re in town?”

What was this, a morning talk show or a gossip column? “We don’t have any plans to get together.”

The producer gave the signal to wrap things up.

Bob put on his professional mask. “Thank you for joining us …” He listed information about the movie and the red lights above the cameras went dark.

Bob stood and offered her a hand to help her out of the chair. She accepted his help and smoothed her dress over her hips. A small group crowded around, thanking her for coming and congratulating her on the movie. Many of them had seen it with their kids over the weekend.

“Did you hear about the break-in?” asked a small man with big glasses. He wore a black zip-up hoodie a size too big for his thin frame.

It took Maia a moment to realize he was talking to her. “I’m sorry, what?”

He pushed the glasses up his oily nose. “I thought that since you’re friends with London, you’d hear about the break-in.”

Maia’s blood thickened and cooled in her veins like gelatin. Had London been hurt? How had she not heard about this? “I haven’t …”

“We covered it last week.”

She grabbed his forearm. “You have video?”

He nodded, leaning away from her like she was a crazy person screaming about the end of days on the corner of Cuckoo and Dangerous. She felt crazy dangerous. London was big and strong—she’d never felt so safe as she did when she was with him. No one could hurt him.

“Show me.” She released his arm, which he rubbed. “Please.” She followed him to his desk, where he did a quick search in the database and brought up the thirty-second clip.

Kristi and April joined Maia. “What are we watching?”

“Shhh!” Maia leaned over the guy’s shoulder, getting a whiff of cheesy potato chips in the process.

The reporter, a cute brunette in a red jacket, stood in front of a nursery. Above the door, the sign read The Flower Pot. She held a microphone to her chin and said, “I’m here in front of The Flower Pot with Owner Karen. Can you tell us what happened?”

The camera zoomed out and there was London’s mom. Maia covered her mouth with her hand as tears pricked her eyes. Karen! Maia soaked her in. The woman had welcomed Maia into her home and treated her like a daughter. It was Karen who took Maia dress shopping for the Christmas Ball …

Maia fidgeted with her purse. The single thin strap of something that resembled leather had worn until the original red showed gray. It was her best purse, her only purse—a castoff of her mother’s. She brought it along because she wanted Karen to think she was grown-up and not frightened of stepping into a department store.

Karen walked through the dress department with her back straight and her eyes alert. She was so sophisticated without a hair out of place. The soft highlights that framed her face gave her a touch of youth, though she didn’t need it. She hummed and nodded and scowled as she flipped through the stunning gowns.

Maia was a half-step behind her, doing her best to keep her hands from shaking.

“What about this one?” Karen stepped back but held on to the plastic hanger to keep the dress facing out.

Maia’s eyes grew wide. “It’s white.” She gulped. The bodice dripped with sparkles over white fabric. Even in the fake store lighting that turned Maia’s olive skin a complementary shade of puce green, the bodice shimmered with possibilities. The skirt was made of yards and yards of puffy fabric, gathered here and there to create volume.

“It is the Winter Ball. White is highly appropriate.”

She reached out and brushed her fingers over the wide neckline. “I—” Her heart dropped into the bottom of her purse, where it clinked pathetically against the few coins collected there. She had some money she’d saved, but doubted a dress like this was in her price range. “Maybe something not so flashy.”

Karen’s forehead puckered. “Will you at least try it on?”

Eager to please London’s mother, she agreed. It took seven minutes to choreograph herself into the dress. One minute to take off her jeans and fitted tee. Two to psych herself into putting the dress on. One minute to figure out that the zipper was on the side of the dress instead of up the back. Two to wriggle herself through the tunnel of lace and tulle headfirst, and arrange what limited assets she had in the right place. And one long minute to stare at herself in the mirror in shock.

She didn’t look like little Maia Esposito, daughter of the town floozy. She looked important, special. She hugged herself and the dress in the process, wanting more than anything for London to see her wear it. When he held her hand, she could believe he saw her like this every day. He treated her like she was already all the things she hoped she could be.

“Maia? Can I see?”

Maia closed her eyes and gathered her courage as she gathered the skirt—moving elegantly would take practice, but she was up for the challenge. She hadn’t dared look at the price tag for fear that this dream moment would pop like an overinflated balloon.

She pulled open the door to the dressing room and stepped out, the aged carpet rough on her bare feet.

Karen’s eyes filled with tears. “You are a vision.” She swirled her hand, indicating Maia should spin.

She did, slowly, soaking in every moment in this dream dress.

“Do you love it?”

Maia pulled her arms to her chest. “Almost as much as London.” Her face immediately reddened. She shouldn’t say things like that to his mom. She and London hadn’t even said the L-word to each other. She got the impression that he was waiting until the ball, which was super sweet and totally romantic and sort of maddening because she was dying to hear him say those three perfect words.

There were several occasions when she barely stopped herself from telling him first. It wasn’t that she was trying to push him into loving her or even saying that he did—it was that she was bursting with her love for him and had the hardest time holding it in. Which was part of the reason she loved the dress so much—she knew London would love it, too.

Karen smiled fondly. “I am so happy he found you, Maia.”

Just when Maia thought her heart was too full of love for London to hold any more, his mom had to go and say something so nice it broke right through the fullness issue and made more room. She threw her arms around Karen’s neck and squeezed.

Karen was startled and frigid in Maia’s embrace.

“Thank you for saying that.” Maia moved to release her, feeling dumb for letting herself get caught up in the emotions and the moment. It must have been the dress, because she was usually timid around adults.

Just as her hold loosened, Karen wrapped her arms around Maia’s middle and hugged her back. “Thank you for making London so happy.”

Maia smiled and blushed as she stepped back. She and London were new-ish as an official couple, and this whole girlfriend role was new to her. So was having a mom around who cared.

“Why don’t you slip out of that dress and I will check the price. I thought I saw one like it on the sales rack.”

“Really?” Hope surged anew, and Maia hopped into the changing room. “That would be unbelievable. I emptied out my savings. I hope it’s enough.” She bit her tongue. Stop talking. Karen was great, but she didn’t need to know how tight things were at the Esposito house.

“Come out when you’re done, sweetheart.”

Maia leaned her head against the door, soaking in the term of endearment. She’d only ever had one guy call her anything but Maia—and he’d been after more than a movie and popcorn. She’d kissed him because he’d called her “sugar.” She’d thought that meant he liked her more than he actually did. Coming from Karen, sweetheart sounded motherly and tender and it filled a gaping hole in Maia’s childhood.

“Someone broke in and smashed pots, uprooted flowers and trees, and destroyed our display tables,” said Karen on-screen. Her hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and her face was makeup free.

“She has the skin of a thirty-year-old,” said Kristi.

Maia smiled. Her own mother’s face was leathery and full of age spots. Karen looked young and vibrant despite the worry lines framing her mouth. They didn’t make moms like Karen anymore—at least not in Maia’s experience. Her own mother was happily set up in a condo in Vegas living off an allowance. They didn’t even spend Christmas together anymore.

“Do you know who might have done this?” prodded the reporter.

“The police have a few leads, but I’m not at liberty to discuss that at this time.”

“Good answer,” muttered Maia.

The image switched to inside the fence, where the damage was vicious and cruel. “I spoke to the officer in charge of the investigation, and he said they aren’t ruling out the possibility that this was a group of teenagers, though the evidence suggests there was only one man responsible.” As the camera panned, London could be seen sweeping up black dirt, his back hunched and his head down.

Maia’s heart cried out at the sight of him beaten down and discouraged. “Where is this?” she asked the poor tech guy she’d scared into his cubicle. He opened a browser and did a Google search.

I could have done that. She berated herself for saying too much. Now everyone within hearing distance knew she was headed over there. “I’d like to send them some flowers … wait.” She flipped around to talk to Kristi and found about fifteen people clustered behind her. “That is a flower shop, so … no flowers.”

Everyone began calling out ideas.

“Doughnuts.”

“Cupcakes.”

“Coffee.”

“A giant sub.”

“A fountain.”

“A fountain?” She turned towards Bob. “Really?”

He shrugged, embarrassed. “Everyone else was thinking food. I was trying to be different.”

Maia collected herself. She’d gotten so caught up in London that she’d forgotten the barriers in place to keep her life private. With a gentle pat to Bob’s forearm, she said, “They’re all brilliant ideas.” She made a show of checking the delicate silver watch on her left wrist. “I have another appointment that I have to hurry off to. April, will you take care of sending something to the Wilders?” And by something, Maia meant herself. She hoped her assistant—who knew her moods better than anyone on earth—would pick up on her desire to leave without a news crew on her tail.

“Right!” April nodded and spun on her heel. “Let us through, please.”

The group dispersed enough to allow Maia and her crew to leave. Their nondescript town car pulled to the curb just as they pushed open the glass doors. Kristi loaded her supplies into the passenger seat, where they would maintain a steady temperature in the Texas heat, and they were off.

Maia sat as far forward as her seat belt would allow. The damage to The Flower Pot had happened the same night as the premiere. She had a sour stomach of the sourest sort thinking Karen’s place was being torn up while she and London were all wrapped up in getting cozy.

If the downward turn of London’s mouth and eyes were any indication, he needed her right now. “Excuse me, driver? Can you go faster?”

He responded by flooring the pedal.

“Whoa!” April grabbed the seat. Kristi started up with those Italian words again.

Maia drummed her fingers on the seat and prayed for the driver to be smart, fast, and keep to his end of the confidentiality agreement. She had no idea what she was going to do once she got to The Flower Pot, but she didn’t want it broadcast—especially after letting the whole high school sweethearts situation out of the bag. That was sure to go viral before she left Texas.

She pulled against the seat belt, unable to get to London fast enough.