a hook.” I quiver and he laughs quietly.
“We don’t use worms, we use flies.”
My face drops. “Like a house fly? How on earth do you put a hook through a fly? And yuck, that is disgusting.”
This time he laughs out loud. I sit there staring at him. What the hell did I say that was so amusing? He presses his forehead to mine, and says, “Babe, you’re killing me. Not real flies, fake flies. I can even show you how to make them if you want.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a little dense. “I can’t believe I’m twenty-seven years old and thought you used real flies. Good God.” I bury my face in my hands to hide my embarrassment.
“Don’t,” he says, taking my hands in his. “You didn’t know. There is a lot I don’t know. I remember when I was a kid, and Dad said he was going fly fishing, I thought he was trying to catch flies.” I laugh hard at that. “Like I pictured him casting, trying to snatch a fly right out of midair.” He puts his hand on his forehead and shakes his head.
I pull his hand away and his fingers tangle with mine. I try hard not to think about how much I love his touch, especially the tender ones like this. “Tyler, that is hilarious.”
“Yeah, it is now.” He makes a face like he’s in agony. “Back then my brothers teased the shit out of me. Make one mistake, say one thing wrong, and you never live it down with my family.” His big smile lets me know how much he loves that. “The point is, you’ve never been fishing, so why should you know? Put me on a movie set and I wouldn’t know the first thing. You’re simply out of your comfort zone.”
I smile at him, loving the way he always tries to make things a little easier for me. “Thank you, but if I’m supposed to be a part of your family while I’m here, maybe you should have made fun.” I smile as my insides tighten, a reminder that while he offered me himself and his family, I’m not and never will be a real part of the Owens clan. This is all for show. I’m fine with that. Or not. God, I am so pathetic.
“Tell me something, Haven. What is it you like to do for fun?” I laugh to cover the sudden uncomfortableness inside me, but he’s dead serious when he says, “You really don’t know, do you?”
I give up the pretense with him. What’s the point? I told him straight up I didn’t know who I was, and besides, he can see through me anyway. While I’m here with him, maybe I can discover a few things about myself. “This is all I know, Ty.” I shrug and glance around my trailer, one of many over the years. “I don’t know what I like.”
“Maybe we need to fix that. Maybe while you’re here, we do a shit ton of stuff and see what you like. Just don’t ask me to put on a tux and hit a Broadway show in New York. I mean, I will if you want, but I can already tell you I won’t like it.”
I cup his face, my heart swelling at his thoughtfulness. I work hard not to ask why, to consider his motives. It’s just so in my nature to consider someone’s motive, to look for their angle, figure out why they’re working with me. God, this business has messed me up, and left me broken. Tyler isn’t in the business, though. He told me he was trustworthy, and despite everything, I do trust him. What angle could he possibly have anyway? With this guy what you see is what you get.
“I’ve been to numerous Broadway shows,” I tell him. “And while I’d like to see you in a tux—”
“You would?”
“Maybe just once. In the romantic fantasy world where I go to lose myself, all heroes where tuxes. You’d only be in it for a minute though if you know what I mean.”
He laughs at that. “A minute I might be able to handle.”
“But don’t worry, no Broadway and I will never ask you to put on a tux for me.” I might fantasize a lot, but happily-ever-after doesn’t exist in real life.
Don’t start thinking it does.
As that inner voice warns me, a shiver races down my spine.
Tyler runs his hands up and down my arms to smooth out my goosebumps.