Page 46 of Claim to Fame

“What are you talking about? They filmed a whole reality show here,” Ethan said.

Tisha rolled her eyes. “WithGavin. That hardly counts.” She leaned around Ethan to get a better look at Hannah. “You are so much prettier than your picture.”

“Thank you?” Was that a compliment? Hannah wasn’t sure.

Tisha barreled ahead, pushing past Ethan and approaching the table. Hannah recoiled against the wall of the building behind her, but Tisha didn’t seem to notice. “What was it like to date a member of Midnight Storm? You have to tell me everything!”

“She doesn’t actually,” Ethan said, catching Tisha by the upper arm and turning her around, using her own momentum to lead her off the covered patio and back out to the sidewalk, out of earshot.

Hannah watched as Ethan delivered what appeared to be a very stern lecture, at least from what she could tell without being able to hear him. Tisha, pouting and rolling her eyes the whole time, tapped busily at her phone before flipping the screen around to show Ethan and stomping off down the street with one last hopeful glance over her shoulder at Hannah.

When Ethan returned to the table, he looked like he might crack a tooth from how hard he was clenching his teeth. “Sorry about that. She won’t bother you again.”

Hannah nodded, the adrenaline coursing through her system making her feel nauseous and suddenly lightheaded. She focused on the zebra, sliding it back towards the ketchup and letting her fingers play with its tiny plastic legs.

“She deleted the pictures,” he continued. “All of them.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Ethan reached for her hand, but she pulled away, dropping her hand in her lap and looking around, like another would-be paparazzo might pop out of the bushes at the edge of the patio at any second. His nostrils flared again, but he let his hand fall to the tabletop, his fingers drumming restlessly on the metal.

A server appeared, some teenager with a stained apron tied around their waist below a faded t-shirt for a band they had probably never actually listened to. They set bowls of steaming soup in front of Hannah and Ethan, placed a plate with two magic bars on the table, and whisked away the plastic zebra.

Ethan sighed, scrubbing a hand over his mouth, and reached for his spoon. “Eat, before it gets cold.”

She hardly tasted a bite.

Chapter Twelve

Hannah retreated to the guest room as soon as they’d gotten home, but she’d started pulling away from Ethan the second Tisha had shown up, taking pictures of Hannah like it was a totally normal thing to do to a stranger. It didn’t matter that he’d gotten Tisha to delete them. The damage had already been done. Hannah hardly spoke a word through the rest of their lunch, and on the drive home, she couldn’t have gotten any further from him if she tried, curling herself up against the passenger side door of his truck, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared out the window.

He knew it wasn’t about him—it was about that asshole, Jackson Hayes, and the fucking photographers, and even Tisha White with her lack of personal boundaries. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier. Earlier, in the Museum, and again in Plot Twist, it had felt like they were turning a corner. Like they were actually understanding each other. Like maybe they could be more to each other than the occasional weekend hookup.

Ethan finished unloading the dishwasher, closing the lid a little harder than necessary, and braced his hands on the counter, hanging his head. He’d told her things—about himself, about his past—and it has beennice, goddammit. He’d wanted to tell her more, and have her tell him things in return.

But she didn’t.

Well, she sort of did.

She told you she’s afraid of clowns and she doesn’t like to be alone with her thoughts. Nothing substantial. Nothing real.

The muffled sound of her moving around in her bedroom floated down the hall and he fought the urge to go to her, to demand she tell him something—anything—that might prove she was as mixed up about him as he was about her. But he couldn’t do that, at least, not when she’d just had her privacy invaded in such spectacular fashion.

He also couldn’t stay in the house, straining to hear any sound coming through her closed door and waiting for her to come out. If she wanted space, he could give her space. A little space would do him good, as well.

Ethan rapped his knuckles against the door to Hannah’s bedroom. “Hey, Han, I’m going to work for a bit. Text if you need anything.”

“Okay. I’ll be fine,” she called back through the door.

He hesitated for a moment, then turned on his heel and left.

The shed on the property line between the vineyard and Ethan’s yard once housed rakes and weed whackers and other tools the grounds crew used to keep the Nuthatch property looking its best. But as the vineyard acquired more riding lawn mowers and giant snow blowers, their needs had outgrown the shed and Ethan had a new, modern barn built closer to the vineyard’s main building to house the equipment they needed. Ethan dug out the key to the padlock holding the old shed closed and quickly undid the lock, slipping inside.

From the outside, the small outbuilding looked abandoned, the windows covered and the paint fading. But inside it was an audiobook narrator’s dream. All four walls were covered with heavy soundproofing panels to keep the ambient noise of the vineyard and nearby street from bleeding in while also keeping his narration from seeping out. A high-backed, leather desk chair and simple farmhouse table took up most of the floor space. His custom-built desktop computer with the extra-large monitor that allowed him to have multiple windows open at once occupied the desk. His microphone was mounted on the wall, and a pair of over-the-ear headphones hung from the metal arm of the microphone stand. He barely knew how to use the pricey equipment; another narrator friend of Angie’s had helped him pick it out and taught him the basics. After he recorded the files, he sent them off to the production team that edited everything together.

Ethan sank into the chair and cued up the audio for the scene he’d been recording before Hannah arrived.The Dragon Dukewas a departure from his typical projects, but he loved all of AK Wild’s—Angie’s—books. More than that, he liked narrating for her. He liked becoming Slade Hardcastle, a man with a smooth British accent who spoke aloud the dirtiest fantasies he’d ever seen written in black and white.

Hannah listens to your books.

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