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course, but over her guest.
    Did she treat every traveller this way? Must’ve been exhausting.
    “I understand,” he said. “Hope your date goes well.”
    “Thanks.” She fluffed her hair over her shoulder, and gave off a sexy, confident vibe. It was an odd thought, but weren’t women supposed to be nervous when going on a first date? “Hope it goes so well that I don’t see you until dawn.”
    And with a sexy grin, she walked out the door, leaving the inn quiet and dark.
    Keep busy. Dive into work.
    He called Rita to check on the status of the show. She reassured him that everything was going as planned. Light and sound checks ran perfectly. Setup was finished. They’d spend tomorrow doing last minute run-throughs. He’d need to be there in the early morning to check everything over—his demand, not hers—and then report no later than 6 o’clock to get ready for the show itself.
    He hung up, and twiddled his thumbs a whole two seconds before washing the dishes he’d made in the sink. He padded upstairs and took what he thought was the longest shower of his life, and then dressed in jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt.
    It’d only been thirty minutes since Rachael left.
    This was what Rita had wanted. She’d said he needed peace and quiet. She’d said the quaint town of Blue Lake would do him good after the train wreck performance in Houston.
    As he walked out the French doors onto the back lawn, he breathed in the cold night air. His lungs didn’t constrict, the way they did in Los Angeles when he took deep breaths. He looked up at the bright smattering of stars and exhaled.
    A sense of calm washed over him, but he wasn’t going back into the inn alone.
    Maybe he’d meet the crew at their hotel and they could grab a few drinks.
    As he strode down Main Street toward the center of town, he fished out his cell and called Rita again. This time, there was no answer. He searched the internet for their hotel, but didn’t have a signal.
    Exactly how deep into the Sierra Nevada Mountains were they?
    He kept walking, but something struck him as odd. He strode right down the middle of the street without people ambushing him for autographs. A few women caught his eye, smiled and whispered to one another as if they recognized him, but they didn’t run to his side, screaming their heads off.
    It was almost as if they all knew who he was, yet respected his space.
    Blue Lake was definitely a different beast than Los Angeles, in a surprisingly refreshing way.
    Before he knew it, he stood beneath a wooden awning with a swinging sign that read “Angie’s.”
    He glanced in the front window. The place didn’t look like a hole in the wall at all. Candlelight on every table created a warm feel that was inviting and homey, while silver decorations hanging from the walls added hints of modern décor.
    It was exactly the place he’d take a woman like Rachael.
    Determined not to be seen and look like a stalker, Cole kept his eyes on the wooden-planked sidewalk and stormed by the windows. And bumped right into someone who pushed out the front door. He got one glimpse of the woman with the flowing blonde hair and dark gray sweater, before he accidently knocked her to the ground.
    Rachael.
     
    * * *
     
    Someone blindsided her, slamming against her shoulder like a bulldozer.
    “Oof!”
    The heel of her boot caught on a wood plank. She tripped.
    Strong hands roped beneath her arms and caught her before she hit the ground. She steadied herself, got her feet beneath her and took a good hard look at who’d knocked into her…and then caught her. She lost her breath, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the fall or the sight of Cole, his honey-brown eyes softened with worry.
    “Are you all right?” he asked, picking up her purse from the gutter.
    She shook her head so it’d stop fuzzing and took her purse. “Yes, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
    “Going for a walk.” He glanced over her shoulder as if he was