Page 15 of When You Were Mine

Jessica: What’s the urgency? Can it wait until spring when I’m clear of this opening?

Chris: If I were a normal sort of man, then, yes. By all means, it could wait. But there’s so much to do, and I want to honor the legacy of this place?—

Ping.He’d just roused the part of her soul that yearned for meaningful jobs like this. She loved history, loved family traditions… Yeah, he got her with that one.

Chris: Also, you should know, pretty much everyone in my family works in construction. We’ve got plumbers, electricians, architects, contractors…you name it. And they’re all on standby, ready to go. So, what do you say? Are you up for an adventure?

Jessica: I am. But to be clear, I’m not committing to the project just yet. At the very least, I can write up a report that will guide you through every step.

Chris: Yes! I’m sending you a round-trip ticket right now.

Huh. Guess I’m going to Iceland.

Chapter Two

Trevor Montgomery never liked goodbyes.

Mostly, because he didn’t get nearly as attached as the people he hung out with. That made it awkward.

He supposed something inside him was broken.

But Darby was cool. They were on the same page.

Together, they stood on the sidewalk of Concourse D waiting for the driver to pull the luggage from the town car. They’d met a month ago at a gala, and they hadn’t been apart since. But their time was up, and now, she was flying to Iceland to spend Christmas with her family while he returned to Wyoming to spend it with his.

“You know, this doesn’t have to end.” She wagged a finger between them.

Oh, shit. Maybe not on the same page after all.He hoped he hadn’t done or said anything to mislead her. He was pretty sure he hadn’t. He tried hard to be transparent.

“All you have to do is sign the contract.” She brushed her free hand down his chest. “And we can spend a whole year together.”

Subtly, he took a step back. He didn’t do public displays of affection. He’d learned early on if he wanted to preserve his privacy, he couldn’t feed the media machine. “I’m not sure I can keep up with you.” He grinned, resorting to humor. But it was true. They might be the same age, but they lived at different speeds.

The driver set Darby’s suitcase down, and Trevor held up a finger. “I’m going to walk her in. I’ll just be a minute.”

But before they headed off, she pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of her pocket and handed it to the man. “Happy holidays.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” the driver said. “The tip’s included.”

“It’s Christmas.” She pressed the money into his palm. “Surprise your partner with a bottle of champagne.”

Her brilliant smile had the older man blushing. “Thank you.”

As Trevor wheeled her luggage inside, she asked, “So, what, you’re just going to sit on the porch wrapped in an old blanket when you could be watching NASCAR with me?” She bumped into him playfully. “Hey, I’ll even let you behind the wheel sometimes.”

A familiar burn at the back of his neck gave him a split-second warning of what was to come. After all this time, he’d become hyperaware of a fan’s proximity. His intuition was confirmed when the cold metal of the selfie stick tapped his inner thigh.

When he spun around, the fan cried, “Boxers? Briefs? Or commando?” Her group of friends burst out laughing, and the woman said, “We love you, Trevor Montgomery. We’re your biggest fans.”

Even after three decades of the same movie franchise, people never grew tired of this game. Everywhere he went—no matter the country—people tried to find out what he wore underneath his kilt. Mostly, they were respectful.

“Thank you.” He smiled, signed their autographs, and then turned his attention back to Darby.

“And that’s why I want your signature on that contract,” she said. “You’ve been retired for three years, and you’re still the most beloved movie star in the world.”

“I should probably stop wearing the kilts.” But of course, he couldn’t do that yet. When he’d passed the franchise onto the next generation, he’d committed to a small role in the first two films to ease the transition. His contract required him to wear the kilt in public until one month after the last movie’s release.

“Oh, where’s the fun in that?” Darby waited for the next available kiosk. “At least, I hope it’s fun. Because if you do sign the contract, you’ll have to wear that outfit for another year.”

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