If nothing else, I was cautiously intrigued by this guy. I’d seen some of the worst of influencer culture even before I’d found myself a target like I had today, and it had left a bad taste in my mouth about influencers in general. The loudest and most entitled of them could really make the whole group look awful, and today’s encounter didn’t help.

  Something about this guy, though, just didn’t line up with the handful of people like that who I’d met and the far too many I’d been exposed to online. He could’ve been completely different on camera—most of them were, for better or worse—but he just didn’t ping me as phony or exploitative.

  And pride be damned, he was offering some food I couldn’t afford to turn down.

  “Okay. Sure.” I gathered my handful of things and rose, pushing the backpack onto my shoulder. “Thank you. For chasing her off and for the food.”

  His smile was like an unexpected bank deposit just before a major bill was due—so welcome and beautiful it almost made me sway. Extending his hand, apparently unconcerned with whether I’d bathed recently (which I had, thanks to a cheap gym membership I maintained), he said, “My name’s Marcus.”

  I shook his hand. “Blake.”

  The smile held. God, he was pretty.

  He released my hand, gestured at me, and asked, “Do you want me to carry something?”

  “Carry…” I looked down at the laptop case I was clutching. It was still clipped to my belt, too, and I didn’t want to draw attention to that for reasons I couldn’t quite articulate. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” I lifted my gaze again, and for the first time, noticed a strap over his shoulder. “Oh. Looks like you’ve got your hands full anyway.”

  He shrugged, adjusting the strap slightly. “Nah. It’s pretty light.” He nodded up the street in an unspoken Shall we?

  We started walking, my stomach growling audibly in anticipation of some decent food that would actually stick to my ribs. It was loud enough, my face heated because Marcus had to be able to hear it.

  But if he did, he didn’t say a word.

  Chapter 2

  Marcus

  This was not how I’d envisioned the day playing out. And in fact, it almost hadn’t. I’d been on my way into Lorenzo’s Pizzeria when I’d caught sight of the two women standing over the guy sitting against the wall.

  At first, I hadn’t thought much of it, but the scene had been a little too familiar. I’d watched similar moments play out from the windows of restaurants in multiple cities. The obviously staged donation—in one case, of a pair of shoes; in others, money or food—to a homeless person, brazenly filmed and undoubtedly uploaded for internet clout. By the time I’d realized what was happening those times, the idiots with the cameras had been gone.

  Today, the crass, clueless jackasses had lingered, so caught up in trying to get the perfect video that they’d given me the chance to cue up some dangerously copyrighted music and close in on them. And they’d even had the audacity to be pissed at me for ruining their video while they weren’t the least bit contrite about what they’d been doing.

  At least they’d left him the money.

  As we approached the restaurant, Blake hesitated. “They’re not open yet.”

  “It’s okay.” I tapped on the window above the Closed sign. A moment later, a bald man in a flour-dusted apron turned the lock and opened the door. Beside me, Blake backed away as if he were expecting to be chased off, but instead, the man beamed.

  “You must be Marcus!” He extended his hand. Gaze flicking to Blake, his smile faltered a little, more out of confusion than anything. “I… There’s two of you?”

  “My editor.” I gestured at Blake. “I forgot he lived in town. Is it okay? Bringing a second—”

  “Of course! Of course!” The owner—Bob—shook hands with Blake, then motioned for us to come into the otherwise empty restaurant. “Is a booth all right?” He gestured at the tables with their chairs still stacked on top.

  “Sure, no problem.” I smiled. “Booths are more comfortable anyway, and we’ll be out of the way.”

  Blake looked absolutely shocked as we slid into the only booth that had a place setting. Bob assured us he’d be back with a setting for Blake as well, and once he’d taken our order for drinks, he stepped away.

  Blake watched him go before turning his stunned look on me. “Is this like…a VIP thing?”

  “It’s…kinda?” I thumbed the edge of a weathered plastic placemat. “The thing is, I really hate getting in people’s way. So when I’m going to film in a restaurant, I’ll call ahead and see when is most convenient for them.”

  He blanched, drawing back enough to make the faux leather cushions creak. “When you film?”

  Oh. Shit. I put up my hands. “Don’t sweat it. I don’t put anyone on camera who doesn’t want to be.”

  He relaxed minutely. “What exactly do you film?”

  I stared down at the placemat, which was covered in a detailed map of Italy. “I’m a… I guess ‘food influencer’ is the going title.” I rolled my eyes. “Basically, my channel is about food. And right now, I’m touring the country, checking out pizza restaurants.”

  “You…you just go around the country, filming yourself eating pizza? For a living?”

  I nodded. It was an odd job and I knew it, but this time, a sense of shame knotted in my stomach. I was making money hand over fist by, yeah, going around the country and filming myself eating pizza. Meanwhile this guy was living on the street and so desperate that he was easy prey for soulless wannabe influencers to exploit for less money than I made in an hour.

  But Blake chuckled. “Damn. I’m in the wrong line of work.”

  I looked at him through my lashes. “Yeah? were you doing? Before, uh…”

  He gave a dry laugh. “I’m still doing it.” He tapped a knuckle on one of the bags he’d brought with him. “I do freelance web developing.”

  My lips parted. “And you’re…”

  “Homeless? Broke? Living out of my car until said car was stolen?” A single nod. “Yep.”

  My jaw went slack. “Holy shit. Your car was stolen?”

  Another nod. “Yeah. Couple of days ago. I’ve been living in it for the past few months because…” His gaze turned distant. Then he shook his head and stared down at the map of Italy laid out on his side of the table. “I make just enough to pay everyone who demands to be paid, with a little bit left to eat sometimes if I budget carefully, and…” He pushed out a breath, and exhaustion radiated off him. “It’s a long, messy story.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry to hear it.”

  Before either of us could say anything to make the conversation less awkward, Bob reappeared with a place setting for Blake and drinks for both of us.

  “Now.” He smiled down at me. “What can I get you?”

  I returned the smile. “My viewers said I need to try the green chile and chorizo.” I paused and turned to Blake. “Does that… You’re welcome to order something else if that’s not your thing.”

  He jumped, then shook his head. “No. No, it’s fine.” He laughed nervously. “I’m, uh… I’m easy when it comes to pizza.” From the way he averted his eyes, I could read between the lines: beggars couldn’t be choosers. I didn’t want to pry anything out of him, though. He’d had enough humiliation for one day.

  With the order in, Bob invited me back into the kitchen, which a lot of restaurants did. Usually, I didn’t have someone eating with me, though.

  As I got up, I said, “Hey, I just need to step into the back with him to film a few things. Shouldn’t take long.”

  Blake smiled faintly and nodded.

  With my backpack on my shoulder, I followed Bob into the back of the restaurant. There, I took out my camera and went through the usual motions. Filming them preparing a pizza. Asking a few questions about the business and their methods. Meeting the employees. It was never exactly the same, but I’d done this so many times, I could pretty much do it in my sleep.

  My channel wasn’t like one of those high-budget traveling reality shows that featured restaurants. The ones where they’d do hours and hours of filming, not to mention reshoots, in order to cobble together maybe fifteen or twenty minutes of footage. I wanted something a bit more real, so I still filmed as casually and briefly as I had when I’d started out. Maybe some retakes here and there if someone got flustered (cameras did make people nervous, and I wasn’t out to embarrass anyone) or if the lighting was really bad. Overall, it gave my videos a somewhat amateurish quality instead of the polished and professional stuff other influencers produced.

  To hear my viewers tell it, that was a feature, not a bug. It felt more real and authentic. So why change what worked? Especially when this approach tended to relax people and encourage them to be more natural, the way they would if a friend was filming while they were hanging out. That was what I aimed for, anyway.

  And usually, I was really good at being in the moment with them. This time, though, my mind had one foot out the door.

  Specifically, one foot into the dining room where I’d left Blake.

  Would he still be there when I came back? Would he take off while I was gone? He’d probably had his fill of influencers today. God knew all it took was one exceptionally obnoxious, entitled jerk to make all of us look awful; people like those two women weren’t in the majority, but they’d sure given us a collective bad name. After what happened outside, I wouldn’t have blamed Blake if he’d wanted to get as far away from any influencers as possible, to the point he might not be willing to stick around even for a free meal. Especially when he knew I had a camera.

  Sometimes I’d film the dining area on my way back to the table, just to get some nice establishing shots. This time, the chairs were still up since the place hadn’t opened yet, and I probably would’ve kept the camera down anyway. Mostly, I didn’t want to spook Blake.

  But maybe the damage was done?

  When I came out of the kitchen, my heart was beating faster than it should’ve been as I wondered if my unexpected guest would still be at the table.

  He was, and I was more relieved than I had any business being. If he left—so what? He wasn’t my hostage. He didn’t owe me a damn thing.

  I just…wanted him to be there still.

  As I crossed the restaurant, I studied him. He wasn’t looking at me. In fact, he had a smartphone in hand, and he was reading something on the screen. That was odd. A homeless guy with an iPhone?

  Though he did say he still had a job, and he had a laptop. So maybe a smartphone wasn’t that big of a stretch?

  Still, I was guarded as I approached, but I tried not to let it show. “Sorry about that.” I slid onto the opposite bench. “That’s the most time-consuming part.”

  “Yeah?” He put the phone facedown on the table. “Behind-the-scenes stuff?”

  I nodded. “My videos used to just be food recs and all that, but after word got out about this…well, tour, for lack of a better word, people started wanting me to showcase the whole restaurant.” I reached for my soda and laughed softly. “The whole thing got a little out of hand, I guess.”

  “Sounds like it.” He tilted his head. “So it’s turned into more of a Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives kind of thing?”

  I thought about it. “I guess?” With another laugh, I shook my head. “I was just supposed to be finding the best pizza in every state, but here I am.”

  Blake smiled, and though his fatigue still hung on, some of the nervousness had left, and my God…he was gorgeous. His hair was lighter than mine, brown with copper highlights, and it was a little longer, curling just above the collar of his T-shirt. In this light, I couldn’t decide if his eyes were hazel or green—maybe even a shade of blue or gray—only that they were seriously pretty. The fullness of his lips was way too interesting, and dear God, yeah, I’d been traveling alone for way too long. He was seriously hot, but this wasn’t exactly the time or place for me to be picking someone up.

  Definitely time to get back on Tinder.

  Oblivious to me getting lost in his beautiful eyes, he spoke, and by some miracle, I caught on before I had to stupidly ask him to repeat himself: “So which city has the best pizza?”

  “I mean, I’ve still got a lot of states left to go, so I can’t really say yet.”

  “Okay, but out of the ones you’ve visited so far?” That smile turned mischievous. “Or do you have to keep that a secret?”

  I laughed. “No, it’s nothing like that. The funny thing? Everyone’s convinced their city does it best—that there’s only one right way to make pizza and it’s their way. But like, it’s completely different everywhere you go. It’s… I guess apples and oranges is kind of the best way to describe it. Some people prefer pizza the original way, like they do it in Naples with the really thin crust. And other people like how they do it in Chicago. But you can’t really compare the two, you know? They’re technically pizza, but they’re completely different animals.”

  “Huh.” Blake furrowed his brow. “I guess that’s true. So…which type do you like best?”

  I chuckled, not sure why some warmth was rising in my face. “Well, my channel is called Deep Dish, if that tells you anything.”

  That laugh gave me goose bumps. It was almost like he’d forgotten about how we’d crossed paths and what his world was outside this room. In that moment, he was just a guy chatting about pizza, and… Oh, yeah, I really needed to reactivate my Tinder account, because it had been way, way too long since someone had made it hard to breathe just by smiling.

  Something pinged, and his gaze darted to his phone. The smile instantly vanished, darkening the whole room a few shades. Sighing, he said, “Sorry. Hang on.” He turned it over, scowled, then typed something back and put the phone facedown again. That easy laugh was so far gone, I almost wondered if I’d imagined it, and he looked exhausted and distant as he reached for his drink.

  Damn. Now I was really curious about his situation.

  Cautiously, I said, “I think we have the same iPhone.”

  He glanced at it before meeting my gaze. “Maybe?” He laughed halfheartedly. “It’s a couple of generations old. Ironically, I had just upgraded before my life went to shit.” With a roll of his eyes, he added, “Knowing my luck, it’s probably going to brick at any moment.”

  Oh. Huh. Okay. That made sense. Financial situations could change dramatically in not a lot of time. Didn’t I know it, even if the changes in my situation had been good.

  Which made me feel guilty all over again.

  It doesn’t make sense that I’m rolling in money while someone else is struggling.

  Before I could say anything, Blake pushed a hand through his hair and exhaled hard. “I’m sorry. Just…” He gestured at his phone. “Client making excuses about an invoice.”

  “Seriously?”

  He rolled his eyes as he nodded. “Yeah. Happens all the time. And it isn’t like there’s a professional way to say, hey, while you’re busy fucking around, I’m trying to find an overpass to sleep under.”

  My heart dropped. “An overpass?”

  Blake shrugged, staring into his soda as he idly rotated the cup between his hands. “Motels require credit cards. I maxed mine out trying to keep my old place, and if I try to use my debit card to get a room, they’ll freeze the entire account if they accept it at all. There are shelters in the city, but those are a nightmare to get into because the demand is so high.” He laughed, but it was near-silent and humorless—nothing like a few minutes ago. “I met a guy who once faked a psychotic break just to get committed for seventy-two hours.”

  “He…” My jaw fell open. “Seriously?”

  Blake met my eyes across the table, his forehead creased and his lips pulled into a slight grimace. With a faint shrug, he said, “He was homeless during a cold snap, and being committed at least meant a bed and meals for three days.”

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. “I can’t even imagine…”

  “Neither could I at the time. But now that my car’s gone and winter’s not too far off…” His face fell as if his own words had driven home a point he’d been trying not to think about. I had no idea what to say, but before I could think of something, Blake sighed and said, “What I really need is to get to Chicago.” He pushed a hand through his reddish-brown hair again. “My mom lives there. It’s, um… The situation there isn’t what I would call a long-term solution, but it’s way better than sleeping in my car. Or under a bridge.” With another bitter laugh, he added, “So of course, about the time I have a place to go, my only transportation gets stolen before I can get there.”

  I sipped my soda. In researching the trip I was on, I’d looked into every means of transportation imaginable. Trains, buses, planes—I could probably guess how much it would cost for him to take any one of those from here to Chicago. A ticket would be pocket change for me. Hell, a first-class ticket was nothing these days.

  But what came out of my mouth was, “I’m heading that way if you want to join me.”

  Blake’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “What?”

  Well. Fuck. It was out. I couldn’t claw it back. And holding his gaze across the table, I didn’t want to. I moistened my lips. “I’ve got some stops between there and here. Some cities where I need to…” I waved a hand. “But if you’re not in a hurry, you could ride with me.”

  He stared at me like I’d spoken in another language. Or like he was waiting for the punchline to drop.

  My heart pounded. It wasn’t at all like me to take a risk like this. Then again, this whole trip was out of character for me. Nothing I’d done in recent months lined up with who I’d been for thirty-three years. Why not this, too?

  Because he’s a stranger.

  Because he could be a scam artist.

  Because he could be dangerous.