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After that hour talking to Daphne and enjoying the night scenery, he’d zonked out and slept harder than he had in months. It was only when light blazed that he’d bolted up, the bright strip of sunshine screaming that he’d slept until noon. He hadn’t. The sun rose earlier here than at home.
Now he was awake and thinking of last night. Of their time on the deck. Of how he’d forgotten to be Chris Ainsworth. He’d been sleepy, not thinking straight, and just forgot. He should be in full-on panic mode right now, desperate to repair the damage. He wasn’t because… well, because there didn’t seem to have been any damage.
He’d been himself, and Daphne hadn’t reacted at all.
No, that wasn’t quite right. She hadn’t reacted negatively. She’d been more relaxed and comfortable than he’d ever seen her.
The early evening had started fine, with them on the couch talking about writing and accounting, but there’d still been an awkwardness because he had to play Chris Ainsworth. Later, when he’d forgotten the act, it’d been magic. He hadn’t felt that comfortable with anyone in years. He’d wanted to stay out there all night, talking and laughing and just being with her.
This could be something. He’d suspected that for a while, but now he was sure of it. He had something with Daphne. Something he’d been looking for, even if he hadn’t realized it. The possibility of a committed relationship. Not a fling. Not a brief affair. Something real.
And how would that work? She lives two hours away—by plane. Do you expect her to upend her life and move to Vancouver with you? Or are you going to leave your own life behind, leave all your family and friends, to come up here?
He pushed that aside. Just because he wanted more than a fling didn’t mean he had to work through living arrangements before the first kiss. Put the cart back behind the horse.
The point was that he wanted to start something with Daphne, and wherever it ended up, it had to start with intention.
That meant he had to take this slow. Let her get to know him.
Get to know Chris Stanton.
He needed to tell her the truth before the film crew arrived. Give her time to assimilate it before they got here.
I’m not actually an actor, Daphne. I’m an accountant.
It’s more than that. I’m not the guy I’ve been playing, either. I created Chris Ainsworth to be what I figured you’d expect. A little dense. A little self-absorbed. A little bit of a dick. Not too much, but yeah, Chris Ainsworth was a struggling actor who’d throw himself into the role of Zane Remington and be whatever you needed.
Yet he’d proven that he—Chris Stanton, chartered accountant—could be Zane Remington.
Or had he? This film segment would be his first live performance. Maybe he should wait until afterward.
No. He had to tell her so they could resolve this before the crew arrived. Give her all the time she needed to regain her equilibrium before those cameras turned on, because this segment was a huge deal.
So maybe he should get past the filming first? Not do anything to give her cause for concern?
Chris’s fingers itched for his laptop. This required a balance sheet—in favor and against coming clean pre-TV-segment. But he’d left his laptop at home because it wasn’t a Chris Ainsworth accessory. Maybe if he could find some paper? Daphne was a writer. She’d have paper, right?
He’d draw up a balance sheet to help him weigh—
Downstairs, Tika erupted in a canine Invasion! Invasion! alert. Chris strode into the bathroom and looked out the window to see a truck rolling down the long drive.
The vehicle stopped, and a woman got out of the passenger seat. A woman who looked like she shopped at the same place he had when assembling his outdoorsy Zane wardrobe. She wore an orange puffer vest over a long-sleeved shirt, trail shorts, thick hiking socks, and boots.
The film crew.
He was almost out of the bedroom before an odd chill stopped him. He looked down to remember he was still naked and snatched clothing from the chair as he raced past.
When he reached the hallway, he realized he’d grabbed his sweats, which was far too “Chris” for a first impression.
What would Zane Remington do, surprised by an early film crew first thing in the morning? He spotted his Zane glasses, and put them on along with his boxers. Glasses and underwear. Fully dressed. At least for Zane.
Chris galloped down the stairs to find Daphne trying to corral Tika. The dog barked ferociously at the door, as if the knocking signaled a battering ram.
“It’s the film crew,” Chris whispered, as if the crew might hear him through a solid steel door, with a dog barking.
Daphne’s eyes widened, and her watch-bearing arm shot up.
“They’re early,” he said. “Really early.”
