Reel (Hollywood Renaissance #1) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,57

alone with my menu and the sound of rushing water. Slowly, the tension that’s been locked in my shoulders and back for the last month eases. I settle into the padded seat and let the tension drain away—let the burbling creek drown out the voices in my head reminding me of all the work waiting. Jill was right. This was exactly what I needed.

I’m gonna kiss her Monday when we get back to work.

“Right this way, Ms. Saint,” the hostess says.

My head snaps around toward her voice. Neevah carefully makes her way down the steps into the clearing, heading for the neighboring gazebo.

I’m gonna kill Jill, and I may not wait ’til Monday.

“Canon?” Neevah pulls up short, the genuine shock on her face convincing me she had nothing to do with this. I have only my matchmaking cinematographer to blame. “What are you . . .”

In addition to looking shell-shocked, she looks gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous people do everything in their power to achieve, but you can’t make it. It’s from the inside. The rich coppery hue of her skin glows in the waning sunlight. She’s scooped her cloud of textured curls into an updo, a huge flower pinned behind her ear. An emerald-green dress hugs the toned ripeness of her body, paying special attention to the full, uptilted breasts and the glory of her ass. She’s lost weight since the movie started. Lucia demanded it for the choreography. Linh prefers it for the costuming, and the studio likes it because they always think thinner is better, but I’ve been secretly hoping she wouldn’t lose that ass.

And look at God. She hasn’t.

Neevah glances back over her shoulder, up the steps, obviously as nonplussed as I am, but not as adept at hiding it. “There must be some mistake.”

“No.” The hostess frowns and nods to the gazebo beside mine. “Here’s your table. If it’s not to your liking I can shuffle a few things. Put you up in one of the tents?”

Neevah and I stare at each other, a luxury I don’t often allow. She gulps in the extended silence, tearing her eyes away from mine and nodding.

“I think that might be best,” she tells the hostess. “I don’t want to impose. This is a crazy coincidence, Canon. I’m sorry. I’m sure you wanted to be alone and the last person you want to see is . . .”

She’s rambling. It’s cute.

“Well, I’m sorry,” she finishes on a rush, turning to mount the steps. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Stay.”

That damn word will be the ruin of me. I said it on the balcony at the Halloween party and could barely concentrate for a week after our conversation.

She pauses, one high-heeled foot on the stone step, the other on the ground, and looks back at me. She really is breathtaking. It kind of sneaks up on you. You think at first she’s merely pretty, but up close, midnight lurks in her velvety brown eyes and someone thought it was okay to dust a few freckles into the rich caramel of her skin.

That was not okay.

Those freckles pose a threat to my sanity and make me want to lick them, find out if they taste like cinnamon. Find out once and for damn all how she tastes.

“Are you sure?” she asks, her expression as uncertain as her words.

“Yeah.” I shrug, like this isn’t exactly the kind of situation I’ve avoided with her. “Why not?”

The hostess leads her to the neighboring gazebo.

“Look, that’s ridiculous,” I say. “What? We gonna sit five feet apart and eat separately?”

I’m playing right into Jill’s schemes, but even I know that would be crazy.

“Canon, I don’t want to—”

“It’s dinner. It’s an hour. I have the rest of the night, hell, the rest of the week to be by myself.” I nod to the empty seat across from me. “Join me if you want.”

The hostess grins like this is the best idea she’s ever heard, and I bet she wrote that damn sign outside. Most romantic restaurant, my ass. After a brief hesitation, Neevah takes the few steps up into my gazebo and settles into the seat across from me, a look of discomfort on her face despite my assurances. The hostess says she’ll give us a few minutes to look over the menus.

And then she leaves us alone.

28

Neevah

“Is this your first time?” I ask in the silence the hostess leaves behind.

This is as awkward as a Real Housewives reunion special.

“I just meant . . .” My laugh tinkles nervously like a