Perfectly Imperfect(47)

His eyes crinkle, and his smile widens. “Oh, Willow, I think you’ll find that I can be flexible when needed, but if I remember correctly, you enjoy when I call the shots.”

To anyone walking by, one would think we were just discussing the day's filming, but I know exactly to what he’s eluding. I give him a small smile even though I can feel my cheeks heat as a blush warms my skin. “Perhaps.”

He laughs, the low and gritty rumble vibrating from his chest. “We’re almost done today,” he states.

“That we are. It’s been a long day. I’m sure you’re tired.”

He steps closer, up one step so our bodies almost touch. One hand comes up to whisper against my cheek. “Have dinner with me?”

“Dinner? It’s almost nine o’clock at night, Kane.”

“Okay. Look, I’ll be honest here, the meal is an excuse, but I would love to show you around the rest of the filming locations we have set up for the week. I asked catering to have something light prepared for us, and I figured we could enjoy a glass of wine and some conversation before you head back to the house for the night.”

“We have an early day tomorrow, Kane.”

He leans in, smile widening. “I know—I believe I was the one who handed you tomorrow's call sheet requests to hand out.”

“Wine and conversation?”

He nods. “I just want to get to know you better, Willow. Today was a heavy day of emotional filming, and I can tell it affected you. It will be nice to relax and have someone to talk about the film with who seems to get how important this is to me.”

“All right, Mr. Director. You call the shots.” I laugh. “Wine and conversation sounds good to me.” It actually sounds terrifying considering my earlier promise to Kirby to let him in, but I can’t deny the buzz of excitement I feel at the thought of spending some time with him one on one.

“It’s a date,” he utters, leaning down and placing a light caress against my lips with his own.

When he turns and walks back toward the building, my hand comes up to press against my lips. “A date,” I whisper against my fingers. “Holy crap.”




The rest of filming went by in a blur. I could hardly focus on the actors, Alessandra and Logan—Allison and Mark—as they filmed one of the final scenes of the whole movie. It was weird, seeing things filmed in weird orders, but Kane had told me earlier in the day that it was just the way things were done in order to best utilize the time they had. Because the school was only available to them for the week, they had to break things up and film all the scenes that would take place at the school location in one sweep of well-planned filming.

You would never know that what we were witnessing wasn’t real life. Alessandra and Logan were brilliantly talented, their chemistry off the charts, but bottom line—their performances were breathtakingly beautiful.

Kirby left shortly after Kane had wrapped filming for the day. She gave me a wink across the room as her and Grant packed up their gear and headed to the trailer to clean up and prepare for the morning. I had told her when I returned from grabbing her stuff earlier that Kane would be taking me home later. She didn’t ask questions, just gave me a smile and continued to powder the nose of one of the extras.

Now, I’m waiting in Kane’s trailer for him to make sure the rest of the crew closes the set before heading off. I take a hearty gulp from the glass of wine Kane poured me before walking out the door ten minutes earlier with the promise of returning quickly.

Fortitude of strength in the form of liquid courage.

I reach out to the bottle of wine chilling on the table and refill my already empty glass. Looking around, I notice how homey it looks for being his temporary home away from home.

It’s not large, but it’s inviting. There’s a small kitchen area; however, after peeking in the fridge, it’s clear he’s never used it. Behind the kitchen is a doorway that leads into a bedroom. I looked, but quickly closed the door when I saw some of his shoes neatly lined in the corner. All of Kirby’s earlier comments came rushing back. I slammed the door so hard that I startled myself when the noise rang out around me. The other side is a worn couch and television set up. And the middle of the room, where I’ve determined is the safest spot to be, holds a small four-person table and chairs.

Middle ground. Away from the bed … and those shoes. Not on the couch where things would feel a little too intimate for me. Safe.

Ugh. There’s that word again. I’m starting to hate that word.

I look over at the couch again. It would be safer than the bed, but not something I would have picked because it wasn’t the stupid safe choice.