“I’m not usually this clumsy. Really. But I was taking these papers to Tommy’s trailer and I tripped over this wire and . . . seriously. What is this wire doing here? It’s a hazard. There are, dare I say it, too many wires in the world generally, but specifically right here, in front of me. Who put this here, right in the path of everyone walking?”
The handsome blue-eyed stranger raises his hand. “That would be me.”
“That would be you?” I say, my voice trailing off so that the last word is barely audible.
“Yep.” He nods, then gestures around us. “I’m a gaffer. Responsible for many things, wires among them.”
“Cool,” I say. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go shut myself in Tommy’s trailer and never return. Bye.”
Before I can turn and flee, the handsome blue-eyed stranger with slightly curly hair reaches out to grab my arm. “Hey,” he says, that throaty laugh appearing again. “It’s okay. Really. I’m Carter Reid, by the way.”
I push my hair behind my ear, then hold out my hand. “Annie Cassidy. Tommy’s assistant.”
He nods. “Yeah, I’ve . . . seen you around.”
There’s something about the way he says those few words, like he’s been not only seeing me but liking what he’s seeing, that makes my whole body flash hot and cold. It’s nice to be seen by someone who likes what they’re seeing, unlike some people who make it all too clear that they see you but want to simply make fun of what they’re seeing and call you derogatory nicknames based on your job duties.
But there’s a very attractive man in front of me, so I don’t need to think about Drew Danforth right now.
Carter looks older than me—not by a lot, but maybe he’s in his mid-thirties. There’s just something about him that looks like he’s been around the metaphorical block, like he’s seen some stuff and lived to tell the tale. That makes him sound grizzled, which he emphatically is not, but I guess what I’m saying is that you know how some celebrities age really well? Like, how George Clooney looked so much better by the time he married Amal than he did when he was doing sitcom work in the ’80s? It’s kind of like that. This guy looks like he’ll age well, like a wine or a cheese or a Clooney.
“Okay. Well,” I say once I realize that I’ve been staring at his face for far too long. “Gotta get to Tommy’s trailer.”
“See you around, Annie,” Carter says with a wave. I watch him walk away for just a second, long enough to really notice that he’s wearing a thick and durable work jacket that looks, just a little, like something that Bill Pullman would wear in While You Were Sleeping.
* * *
• • •
I once read that Nora Ephron was obsessed with details. She knew her characters inside and out—how they dressed and spoke and decorated their homes.
And while I’m not saying Tommy is anything like Nora Ephron—for starters, I’m fairly certain she didn’t sloppily eat Italian subs almost every day for lunch—he does share her attention to detail. In some regards, anyway.
Tommy’s obsessed with some book, which he swears he needs in a scene, and his demand that I find it wipes my embarrassing wire-related incident with Carter Reid out of my mind. “It has a blue cover,” he says.
“And what’s the title?” I ask, getting out my phone so I can take notes.
“I don’t know,” Tommy says, rubbing his hands together as his breath puffs into the cold air. “I think I saw it on the Today show. Or maybe Good Morning America. But it had a blue cover.”
“Do you know who wrote it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “A man, I think. Or maybe it was a woman.”
Well. That certainly narrows it down.
“Oh!” he says, eyes wide. “There was a wolf on the cover.”
He smiles, like this should give me enough to go on.
“So,” I say slowly. “You want me to go find a book with a blue cover that has a wolf on it, that’s by a man or a woman and was featured on Today or Good Morning America.”
He nods and claps me on the back. “Thanks, Annie.”
And then he turns around, barking at some crewmember about something. I sigh and head toward the bookstore.
One of the most charming parts of living in Columbus in general, and German Village specifically, is our bookstore, the Book Loft. It has thirty-two