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I’m shocked you even said bitch .”
    Clare raised her eyebrows, and Dylan stared out into the ocean. After a moment, he said, “Okay, she was. Totally a bitch. Soured me on the whole relationship thing.” He hated talking about his ex.
    Clare stared at him in her innocent way. “You’re way too good-looking to be off the market.”
    Clare’s comments embarrassed him, but he wasn’t sure why. “Settle down, Nebraska. I’m going to take a nap. Don’t drown.”
    “I’m serious,” she said. She picked up the camera and snapped a picture of him. “You really are beautiful. Breathtaking. Like the ocean.”
    “Cut it out, Clare.” Dylan felt like a thirteen-year-old again with his sisters picking on him.
    “You could say thank you.”
    “Thank you. Now quit taking my picture.”
    Clare put the camera down and leaned back on her elbows. “It’s nice to talk to someone. Everyone at work hates me.”
    “How can they hate you? When you aren’t being a smartass, you seem pretty decent.” Dylan flipped onto his side to face Clare and propped himself up on his elbow.
    “Thanks, I think.”
    “Why did you come here? The real reason, please,” Dylan asked. The sea breeze blew his hair into his mouth. His agent forbade him from cutting it until the movie premiere, but the day after, he planned on shaving it all off. He tucked it behind his ear.
    Clare looked serious for the first time since Dylan had met her. “I ran away.”
    “From what? Mafia?”
    “Ha. Spoken like a true New Yorker. I ran away from my life. And my mama. And a boy.” Clare squinted at him. “Dumb, right?”
    “Well, that’s one way to break up with someone,” Dylan said. “Move across the country.”
    “He’s still hanging around. He runs my family’s stables. I’ve known him since I was thirteen, and he’s kind of hard to run away from. His name is Lucas, and we’re engaged. Sort of.”
    “Sort of?” Dylan asked. Engaged?
    “Long story.”
    “Relationships suck,” Dylan mumbled, suddenly cranky.
    “Not friendships, though,” Clare said. “Will you be my friend? Can I take one more picture of you?”
    “Yes to friend, no to pictures.”
    “You’re a model, Lusty. Aren’t you used to the camera?” Clare leaned into Dylan and turned the camera to face them. She snapped a selfie before putting it down again. “It’s probably better if I don’t take your picture now, anyway. At least until you get your pores cleaned out.”
    Clare took another swig of her water as Dylan gave her his best dirty look. “You are so snarky,” he said. “You remind me of my annoying sisters.”
    “You are so sensitive for a movie star.”
    “I’m not—”
    “—a movie star,” Clare finished. “I know. You just play one on TV. What would you be if you weren’t a non-movie star?”
    “I’m not telling you. You’ll make fun of me.”
    “Me?” Clare asked sarcastically. “I would never.”
    “Yes, you would.”
    “You have really low self-esteem for a movie—” Dylan squinted at her, and she corrected herself, “I mean, a Californian.”
    Dylan shook his head. “If you must know—”
    “I must.”
    “I would have gone to college and then maybe, perhaps, been a physical therapist. Maybe a sports trainer.” Dylan waited for her to bust out laughing, but she didn’t.
    “You could still,” she said. “You seem serious about your Lusty body.”
    “What about you, if you weren’t a bookstore guru?”
    “A bookstore guru? I like that. Sounds very California. Hmm. Since we are being honest here, I would go to art school and study photography.”
    “For real?”
    “Yep. I’d get a big camera, take some classes. I love thinking about composition, color, setting up shots. Even with my little point-and-shoot. I took the picture of my family’s farm you saw in my office,” she said proudly.
    “That’s a great shot. You’re already a good photographer.”
    “Thanks.”
    Dylan laid back on the blanket and pretended