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and set down her coffee cup
quickly before it fell from her numb fingers. “I guess we are.”
    #
    Jack looked down at the coffee cup in his
hands, wondering how his life had taken such a bizarre turn in just
a few hours. Yesterday everything had been pleasantly status quo
and now—Christ, was he actually considering going on a reality
television show?
    It did seem remarkably convenient. An
eight-week turbo-relationship and it’d all be settled. The entire
dating process condensed into one neat package. He’d have a new
someone—though he felt odd whenever he thought too much about that
part—and Lou would be free to do her own thing. Problem solved.
    And it was a problem. He’d been ignoring it
because, well, if he was honest, he had a tendency toward
tunnel-vision and ignored everything that wasn’t right in front of
his nose, but now that Miranda had pointed it out, he couldn’t help
but see it.
    It wasn’t just French Fridays. It was obvious
now even in the DVDs lined up on Lou’s keeper shelf. Midnight in
Paris. Roman Holiday. Sabrina. Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. La Vie
En Rose. Amelie. Even Ratatouille .
    Every one an escape to an exotic locale.
    She’d asked if he was unhappy, and the
question seemed almost ludicrous.
    He had a great job and two amazing kids he
couldn’t possibly love more. He lived with his best friend, who was
a wonderful, patient mother figure. He wasn’t going to lie—some sex
would be nice, but dating was complicated with two kids and Lou to
consider. He wasn’t hungry to fall in love. His life was already
full.
    But Lou deserved more. She deserved to be
free to see the world like she’d always dreamed. Or if she decided
not to, she deserved to be with someone who would love her to
distraction. Someone she didn’t feel obligated to help out because
he was a barely-functional single-dad widower.
    She deserved happiness.
    And if this would give that to her? He would
do it without a single regret. He owed her that.
    So. Logistics. If this was really happening… Was he really considering this?
    “I guess we should talk to Miranda.”

 
     
    Chapter
Five
     
    “Thank you so much for letting us take over
your home, Miss Doyle. Cream?”
    Lou watched numbly as one of the countless TV
people reached into her fridge and offered her a splash of her own
cream.
    “It’s Tanner,” she corrected. She was turning
over a new leaf. No more pretend—which was especially ironic with
the reality television people descending on them. “I don’t
take—”
    “Hey, lady, our volt-meter’s busted. How many
amps can this outlet take?” A man who looked like an electrician
waved a handheld electronic device in her direction—gaffer?
Gripper? She thought his title started with a ‘g’ but she couldn’t
be sure.
    No one introduced themselves by names, it
seemed. They all threw out titles she didn’t understand instead—PA,
segment producer, field producer. Fully half of them seemed to be
producers of some kind. They swarmed the house, firing questions at
her and tromping through the rooms with equipment, looking for the
most “home-like atmosphere” to shoot the advance footage of Jack in
his natural environment.
    Lou shook her head at the G
man—grapher?—trying to get her bearings. “Amps?”
    “So it must be Dr. Doyle who takes cream. Got
it.” The Cream Crewperson tapped something into her tablet with a
stylus.
    “Amps, volts. I need to know how much power I
can run through this outlet. I’m trying to protect your electrical
system here, lady.”
    “We have circuit breakers. You flip the
switches. That’s all I know.”
    The G crew guy gave her the
you-are-such-a-moron-I’m-amazed-you-can-breathe-without-assistance
look all the Hollywood people had been giving her for the last two
days and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I’ll figure it out
myself.”
    He had just stepped out of the kitchen when a
plastically perky woman with unnaturally red hair appeared in the
doorway.