Liam nods. “This’ll be her famous chicken, veggie, and rice casserole. Hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

  “Umm…no. I’m not.”

  He makes a noise that sounds like a scoff, although he’s smiling. “You don’t sound sure.”

  “Well, I mostly eat a plant-based diet, but it’s more because I have zero culinary skills and I never learned how to cook meat without burning it or having it turn out dry and flavorless. If someone else is cooking it or if I’m eating out, I’ll have meat on occasion.”

  He nods as if this makes perfect sense to him. My lack of cooking skills became a source of contention with Alan about a year into our marriage. He thought I should want to learn to cook. When I pointed out he could just as easily learn, he made flippant remarks about how it was a woman’s job to be skilled in the kitchen. By that point in our relationship—when the sheen had worn off and I’d long since learned his true personality was nothing like his public persona—I didn’t bother calling him out. I’d simply hand him a takeout menu and remind him we had the luxury of being able to afford to eat out or order in whenever we wanted, which meant neither of us had any real need for culinary skills.

  “Do you cook?” I ask.

  “I do.” Liam takes another cookie, grinning at me before he bites into it. “I’m not bad, either. I had to learn out of necessity, but I actually enjoy it for the most part. Mind you, townspeople tend to feed me, so there’s not much need for me to cook all that often.”

  “They feed you?”

  He gives a low chuckle as he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. I can’t remember the last time I met a guy who was so casual and clearly comfortable in his own skin. In my line of work I meet plenty of confident men, although there’s a big difference between them—often arrogant or at least borderline cocky—and Liam’s quiet confidence. It’s sexy as hell.

  “My best friend Nathan and I own a business in town called Honeywell Handymen. It started out with each of us doing the odd job here and there, and then grew into something bigger. We decided to team up a few years ago and make it official. We still do odd jobs for townsfolk, but we get bigger contracts too like snow plowing and landscaping. The smaller jobs tend to be for the older people in town, and since some of them are lonely, they sometimes ask us to stick around. I never thought I’d be one to enjoy afternoon tea, but give me one of Mrs. Firth’s homemade crumpets with jam and clotted cream any day. Or Mrs. Murphy’s Sunday roast. Despite a standing invitation, I usually only make it once or twice a month, although Nathan is at the Murphys’ every weekend.”

  My lips have been pulled into a smile the entire time Liam has been talking, and I can’t seem to wipe it away. There’s something incredibly charming and endearing about him. It’s as if we’re old friends catching up after a long time apart. Except I don’t usually feel this level of attraction to my friends, old or otherwise. “It’s not tea and crumpets or a Sunday roast, but would you like to share Mae’s chicken casserole with me?”

  Liam straightens to his full height, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I wasn’t fishing for an invitation or anything.”

  “Oh, I know. I just…” Like your company. Think you’re interesting. Am beginning to think Nat is on to something with this whole ‘get over someone by getting under someone else’ thing and you’d make the perfect candidate. I can’t say any of that, though. “I worry I might burn the house down while heating the casserole. Ovens and I aren’t known for getting along. Plus you’d be able to keep an ear on the fridge and see if Mae was right about the weird sound.”

  I’ve tried to say all this in as casual a manner as possible—breezy and offhand, totally comfortable around incredibly hot men, that’s me!—but I’m worried I come off sounding desperate. The thing is, I am comfortable around incredibly hot men. I deal with them daily in my job, work alongside them, have on-screen relationships complete with kissing (although said kisses are usually lackluster, between the fact we’re being watched by a dozen or more crew members and my movies tend to call for ‘sweet, chaste kisses’ that last for about three seconds). Ridiculously hot actors I can deal with; they’re a known quantity in my world. I’ve met the likes of Richard Madden, Tom Hiddleston, and Henry Golding, and I didn’t break a sweat. Well, that’s not entirely true, but I didn’t have an inner meltdown the way I am now.

  Liam is an unknown, though. He’s a regular person who’s not driven by appearances and ego and money. My experience with regular, normal men is limited.

  “You know you literally just have to turn the oven on and put the casserole in, right?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “It doesn’t require actual cooking knowledge.”

  “I realize that, smartass,” I say, feeling a little zing of satisfaction when his eyebrows arch and he breaks into a grin. “Do you want to stay for dinner or not?”

  He remains where he is, unmoving except for his eyes, which sweep over me as if seeing me for the first time. Instead of answering, he opens the fridge and pulls out the casserole, checking the handwritten instructions on top and then turning on the oven to preheat. “The key is setting an alarm once you put it in,” he says. “Then you don’t have to worry about wandering away and forgetting about it. And, you know, burning the house down.”

  “Duly noted.” I rise from my stool and round the counter, opening cupboards to check their contents.

  “Plates and glasses,” Liam says, leaning past me and tapping on the cupboard door beside the one I just opened. I catch a whiff of his scent—light, musky cologne and a hint of citrus shampoo—and my mouth waters. “Mae left a bottle of wine and another of sparkling cider in the fridge. Either would go well with the casserole.”

  I pull out two plates, followed by two glasses. Liam takes the bottle of wine from the fridge and holds it up in question. When I nod, he opens it and pours a bit into each glass. He hands me one and raises his before tipping it forward to tap against mine. I smile at the musical clinking sound they make.

  “Welcome to Honeywell Hollow, Joss. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

  “I think I’m going to.” My voice comes out low, almost suggestive. I have a second to see Liam’s mouth quirk to one side before he takes a sip of wine, his eyes still on mine.

  It couldn’t be this easy, could it? Natalie suggested I go out and find a guy to sleep with, but is it possible one has literally come to me? If I still believed in romance or was remotely interested in finding love again anytime soon, I’d think this was a pretty great meet cute: spot a handsome stranger downtown, have him show up unexpectedly at my door less than an hour later, invite him for dinner and have him accept. He even fits Nat’s prerequisite of driving a pickup truck and working with his hands. It’s a classic small-town romance, the type of movie I’ve starred in countless times. Before I can think too much more about it, Liam sits on one of the stools at the kitchen counter and motions to the one I vacated a few minutes ago.

  “So, Joss. Do you mind me asking what you do that you can take this much time off work? Mae mentioned you’re renting the house until the end of the year.”

  I should have known I wouldn’t be able to avoid this subject for long. I hate lying, and yet I don’t necessarily want people knowing who I am if they don’t already. Even if they’ve never seen me in anything, once people know I’m an actress, they treat me differently. I doubt it’s ever a conscious thing, but after years of dealing with it I know to expect the subtle changes in body language or the way people talk to me once they know who I am. I didn’t bother renting the house under an assumed name or anything like that, and I’m sure at least a few of Honeywell Hollow’s residents are bound to recognize me eventually. I’m just hoping if I lie low I won’t have to worry too much about it.

  I decide to stick as close to the truth as possible. “I work for the Canadian contingent of the From the Heart Network,” I tell him, taking a sip of wine. “I’ve basically worked non-stop the last few years, so I’ve saved up a lot of holiday time.”

  “The From the Heart Network, eh?” He stares into his glass, nodding his head. Part of me expects dismissal or ridicule. I’ve encountered enough of that over the years, especially from men who think romance and anything that appeals mostly to women is somehow lesser than. It’s common in the romance genre, whether in television, movies, or books; I’ve befriended a few romance authors over the years and some of the stories they’ve told me about the sexist, condescending people they’ve encountered have made my blood boil.

  Finally, Liam raises his head and meets my eyes. “That’s the network with all the romantic movies and TV shows, right? Like all romance, all the time? My sister loves those movies. Especially the Christmas ones.”

  “That’s the one,” I say, my voice shaking slightly. Shit. There’s at least one person in town who will likely recognize me. Maybe I should adopt Natalie’s habit of wearing hats or wigs, along with large fake glasses.

  “That must be fun,” he says, shooting me a sidelong glance. His eyes, like the rest of him, are beautiful: dark, chocolaty brown with flecks of gold. “I know it’s all scripted, but to be surrounded by love like that all the time. To get to see love stories play out, even if they’re not real.”

  He’s gone back to looking into his glass, which is a good thing because I can feel my eyes widening in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I suppose you’re right. You sound like quite the romantic.”

  He shifts in his seat, chuckling quietly. “You’re not the first person to say that. Mae Murphy’s husband is an author; he writes fantasy and sci-fi with strong elements of romance. I’ve known him my whole life, and we’ve spent countless hours talking about life, love, and literature. He’s always said to me, ‘Liam, my lad, you’re a lover of love’.” He says the last bit in an impressive Irish accent that makes me grin. When he glances at me, he laughs and says, “In case you couldn’t tell by my horrible impression, he’s originally from Ireland.”

  The way his tanned cheeks pinken ever so slightly makes it hard to stop my grin from spreading. “I got that. I thought it was actually spot on.” With or without the fake accent, Liam has one of those I’d-happily-listen-to-him-read-the-phonebook voices. Deep and quiet, lulling in a way that’s almost hypnotic. The kind of voice that it doesn’t necessarily matter what he’s saying as long as he keeps talking. The kind you dream about. The kind that when you’re alone at night, you imagine what it would sound like whispering intimate words in your ear.

  I draw in a sharp breath and give my head a little shake. Damn Natalie and all her sex talk. She’s got my mind straying into the gutter as fast as hers does. I collect myself and say, “I like that. A lover of love. Seems like most people these days are too jaded and cynical to feel that way.”

  “Are you?” he asks.

  I’m caught off guard by the question. By this whole line of conversation, really. We’re talking like we’ve known each other for ages instead of having met less than an hour ago. It’s unnerving, as is the undeniable hum of attraction vibrating through my body. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this charmed by a man, and I can’t remember ever experiencing such instant attraction. But this guy with his soft voice and his bedroom eyes and his solid presence next to me…

  The oven timer goes off, saving me from having to formulate a response. Liam’s eyes remain on mine for a few beats, and then he slides off his stool, opening a drawer to show me where the oven mitts and potholders are before pulling the casserole from the oven himself. He suggests we eat at the kitchen table where the seats are more comfortable and we won’t have to sit side by side, knocking elbows. I top up our wine and take the glasses to the table as he dishes up two generous portions of casserole.

  Thankfully, once we start eating, the conversation veers from the personal to the general, with Liam telling me various things about the town and its people. My thoughts from earlier are confirmed: I could listen to him talk forever about any subject. Sometimes I find myself simply listening to his voice and missing what he’s actually saying, and I have to mentally kick myself and tune back in.

  When we finish eating, I peer down at my empty plate, shocked to discover I ate every last bite. After years of a semi-unhealthy relationship with food due to the pressures of my job, I expect to experience a surge of guilt or the urge to jump up and run around the block a few times. All I feel is full and happy, though. Liam smiles softly when I let out a small, contented sigh.

  “I’m glad you stayed,” I tell him.

  “I am too.” He stands and starts to collect our plates, but I shoo him away, telling him I’ll tidy up later. We argue back and forth for a few moments before I finally convince him to leave it to me.

  “I guess I’d better be on my way then,” he says.

  I’m half tempted to ask him to stay. To see if the lingering looks he’s been giving me all night and the flirty banter we’ve shared might turn into something else. Something that would fulfill Natalie’s idea of getting over my ex.

  As we make our way out of the kitchen, I tell myself the reason I don’t ask him to stay is because I don’t need any extra complications in my life right now. I’m newly divorced and still adjusting to this life where I’m not only single, but have a bruised heart—and ego—from being cheated on and dragged through a media circus. I came here to lie low and figure some things out. Besides, for all I know, Liam is happily married and is heading home to a spouse and half a dozen kids. He’s not wearing a ring and he didn’t mention any family, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

  We’re silent as he puts his boots and coat on. I watch him while he’s preoccupied, admiring his solid physique and the way his hair falls over his forehead. He catches me staring when he lifts his head while zipping his jacket. There’s something in his eyes I can’t quite pinpoint—a sort of curiosity mixed with heat. It makes me think he’d say yes if I asked him to stay.

  The moment passes, and he gives me that easy smile again. It shouldn’t make my heart kick into overdrive, and yet it does.

  “Would it be weird to hug you goodbye?” he asks.

  This guy, he’s just full of surprises.

  “No weirder than complete strangers having dinner together,” I say, and we both laugh. He opens his arms and I step into them. I’m sure we both intend for it to be a quick embrace, something fitting of two people who just met and don’t know each other well. We both linger, though, and I’m acutely aware of how close our faces are. If I turned my head to the side, I could easily kiss him, which twists my thoughts and hormones together into something I haven’t felt for a very long time. I simultaneously want to pull him closer and push him away, ask him to stay and beg him to leave before I say or do something stupid.

  “I had fun tonight.” He releases me slowly, straightening to his full height. “We should do it again if all the other townspeople don’t claim every moment of your time.”

  “Oh, I doubt that’ll happen,” I tell him. “I was planning to pretty much keep to myself while I’m here.”

  One side of his mouth quirks up in a way that tells me he knows something I don’t. “Hate to break it to you, Joss, but Honeywell Hollow might not have been the best choice if you wanted to hide out from the world. If you give this place half a chance, I think you’ll really like it. Once you start meeting people, I bet you’ll never want to leave.”

  It’s clear he loves Honeywell and its inhabitants, and I don’t want to offend him, so I simply smile and nod as I reach past him to open the front door. I have no intention of falling in love with this place, let alone sticking around. With my life and career being in Toronto, I couldn’t stay even if I wanted to.

  “Good night, Liam. Thanks for hanging out with me. I’ll see you around.”

  “Yes, you will.” The way he says it sounds like a promise.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I’m still thinking about my evening with Liam when the doorbell rings the next morning. I slept in for the first time in years—the bed, much to my surprise and pleasure, is a cloudlike dream with soft sheets and a fluffy comforter—and I’ve spent the last hour lounging in the living room, drinking coffee and staring at the undecorated tree. I meant to ask Liam about it last night, but didn’t get around to it. This morning I noticed a basket of decorations on the floor beside the tree, which I nudged further under the branches until it was mostly hidden.

  Rising from the comfy chair where I’ve been camping out, I peek through the front window, hoping to see Liam’s truck in the driveway. Instead, an unfamiliar red car is parked behind mine. When I open the door, I’m greeted by a smiling woman in her late fifties. She’s dressed in jeans and a stylish red coat that matches her lipstick, and she’s holding a stack of containers.

  “Oh, blast, did I get you out of bed?” she asks, her brown eyes sweeping over me and taking in my pajama-clad form.

  “No, you didn’t, don’t worry. I was just…” I trail off, giving a half shrug. “Being lazy.”

  Her smile returns. It’s so warm and welcoming, it tugs at my heart and makes me instantly like her. “You’re on holiday, you deserve to be lazy. I’m Mae Murphy. I’d shake your hand, but…” She lifts the stack of containers.

  “Oh! Let me help you with those.” I take the dishes from her and step back to let her in. She moves past me, bringing with her the scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of orange. “It’s nice to meet you. Liam told me a bit about you and your family last night. And thank you so much for the cookies and casserole and other welcome goodies. That was so generous of you.”

  Mae smiles brightly as she shucks her coat and boots. “You’re most welcome,” she says. “I talked to Liam late last night and quizzed him about you. When he said you’re not much of a cook, I thought I’d bring over a few things to make life easier for you.”