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a woman who doesn’t mess around.”
    Again Ava didn’t acknowledge the bartender. She continued to stare at Charlie. After Joey walked away, she dropped her gaze, picking up one of the worn, smudged menus.
    What was going on here? Charlie had figured the binge-eating thing was just a reaction to her fight with Finola. He still did. But there was something more happening—he could sense it. He’d sensed it back at Finola’s office when he’d seen the sadness in her eyes.
    “Would you like to talk about it?” he finally asked, deciding maybe that was his best bet. Sitting here speculating about what was wrong was pointless.
    Ava’s head shot up, staring at him with those wide, far too innocent eyes. Something flashed through them, hesitation, mistrust, maybe fear. He wasn’t sure.
    Joey returned, placing her whiskey in front of her and a lager in front of him.
    As soon as the bartender left, Ava picked up her glass and took a deep swig; then her lovely face crumpled as she smothered a gag with the back of her hand. She shuddered, setting the glass down a little too hard. Tears glittered in her eyes.
    Charlie smiled sympathetically. Well, he’d been right.
    “Not your usual drink, huh?”
    She shook her head. “No.” She shuddered again, but to his surprise lifted the liquor back to her full, rosy lips. This time she took a smaller sip and managed to keep most of the disgust off her face.
    He sipped his own beer, fascinated by watching her, wondering how he’d got here. What was going on with this woman? And why was she hanging out with him?
    Once her glass was empty, he tried again. “Is the whiskey helping?”
    She considered the question for a moment, her nose wrinkled like a small child debating a difficult problem, then shook her head. “Not really.”
    He couldn’t contain his smile. Ava Wells was much more guileless than he would have ever imagined. Her image was exotic, worldly, sexy—never the beautiful ingénue. He wondered why—he would absolutely love to photograph her this way.
    “Well, if the whiskey isn’t working, maybe talking will. Are you upset because of your fight with Finola?”
    She stared at him, and he couldn’t quite decide if she was surprised by his directness or not. Her dark brown eyes roamed his face.
    Finally she tilted her head and asked, “Where are you from?”
    Charlie frowned. Well, that wasn’t what he’d expected her to say, but he supposed it was good that she was talking at all.
    “I’m from a small town in Ohio.”
    Her eyes lit up. “I’m from Kansas.”
    She said that as if they were from the same state, the same town even. But maybe just both being from the Midwest was enough. Was she homesick? Was that it? Maybe she wanted a break from modeling, and she wanted to go home. That might explain Finola’s irritation with her. Maybe.
    She picked up her glass, seeming to forget she’d already drained it, then she set it back down.
    “But Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” she muttered under her breath at the empty highball glass.
    Charlie raised an eyebrow at her words, surprised at the echo of his own recent references to The Wizard of Oz . But she wasn’t excited about the world of Oz like he was. She was clearly tired. Maybe even a little jaded, making it interesting that he couldn’t see anything but youthful innocence on her features.
    Charlie sighed, feeling a little helpless. Maybe she’d just had a rough day and needed an escape from her exciting supermodel life.
    He looked around the rundown bar; he could certainly offer her that.
    He picked up his own menu, his fingers sticking to a smear of half-dried ketchup along the edge. At least he hoped that’s what it was.
    “Why don’t we order something?” he suggested, waving his menu slightly, offering her a smile.
    She shook her head, then nodded. “Actually that sounds good.”
    They stared at their menus, both silent.
    “See anything you want?” Charlie asked, finding their