Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

surprised me. Wyatt raked his fingers through his unruly locks before sliding his beanie hat back on.

“So...what do you wanna do for two hours?”

“Is slapping you an option?”

“I said I was sorry.” He paced back and forth, cursing under his breath. Then he pointed at his cheek. “Okay. Right here. Hit me with your best shot.”

He held that position while I pretended to take him up on it. I wasn’t about to slap him, for crying out loud, but letting him sweat it out wasn’t beyond me.

I lifted my hand and tapped him on the cheek. “I’ll take a rain check on that.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “That’s not very encouraging.”

“How were you supposed to know the difference between a bus to Avery, Nebraska and Avery, Missouri? It was too confusing.”

“Yeah,” he rallied. “And if they’d checked our tickets when we boarded, we could have caught the right one.”

Reeses barked in solidarity. I bent down to scratch his little head. “You didn’t like that chicken bus, anyhow, did you Reeses?”

His tongue hung out. I took that as a no.

Wyatt squinted in the distance. There was nothing for miles in either direction. We weren’t even standing at a bus stop. But we were assured a bus would come along in a couple of hours, and that this was a regular stop on the route. A cluster of buildings, which we guessed, was a rural community sat about a quarter of a mile away from the highway.

Wyatt pointed that way. “Let’s see if there’s a cafe or something.”

“You’re not seriously hungry after that huge burrito.”

He shrugged. “I could eat.”

Unbelievable.

So we schlepped our luggage into town and ended up at a place called Burgers and Pies. At least that’s what the sign outside said. Wyatt had his camera out and clicked at everything he found interesting along the way. Although not what I’d call picturesque, the town did have a certain rustic appeal one can’t find in the coastal cities.

“My battery’s almost gone,” Wyatt said as we entered the diner. “I’m just going to ask if I can plug in my camera somewhere.”

“What about your phone?”

He slipped it out of his jeans pocket. “Nah, I’m good.”

We found a booth big enough for our bags, including Reeses’ carrier, which we snuck in under Wyatt’s coat. The poor dog was probably hungry by now even though he got some of our kielbasa scraps earlier.

Wyatt ordered a tall stack of pancakes and a side of chicken for Reeses. I had a glass of orange juice. As Wyatt devoured his second breakfast, sneaking bits of chicken to Reeses, he chatted merrily about what he wanted to see in California. He’d never been. He had idyllic visions of palm trees and sunny beaches and had plans to visit the Walk of Fame and the Hollywood sign. I just listened while he went on about it, not wanting to burst his bubble. Los Angeles wasn’t so exciting in real life. He talked with childlike wonder of his hope to randomly bump into famous actors in restaurants, and just rub elbows with Hollywood elite at coffee shops or something. I tried to hold back a laugh at that.

“What?” he said. “Are you telling me you’ve never met a celebrity in all your years of living in LA?”

Had I met a celebrity? Hilarious.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you laughed.” He took a big gulp of his water.

“I just don’t think Julia Roberts gets her lattes at the corner Starbucks, that’s all.”

Wyatt sat back and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “I’m sure there are hot spots. Actors are people just like you and me. They don’t live like recluses. They go out.”

I smiled, thinking of that interesting restaurant where my future sister-in-law used to work. Lucas Lodge. How my brother would frequent that place just to be close to her. How she’d bring him the type of beer he specifically didn’t like just to mess with him.

How they fell in love without even realizing it.

I sighed with joy. “I suppose they do have to go out sometime.”

Wyatt fed some more chicken to Reeses before returning to his pancakes.

“You know what this needs?” He dipped into his backpack and came up with a jar of gooseberry jam from the auto shop.

“Oh my gosh, Wyatt. Did you sneak that in your bag?”

“No. Al gave it to us, remember?” He smeared a generous glob on his pancakes and took a bite. “Mmmm. Oh wow. You gotta try this.”

I swished a bit onto my finger and tasted the jam, licking the residue from my bottom lip. “Yummy.”

Wyatt focused on my mouth for a long moment, a drop of jam dangling from his own.

“You’ve got a little...” I pointed at my mouth.

“Oh, thanks.” He ran a napkin over his lips, and dug back into his meal trying to hide the soft blush blooming across his cheeks.

After a minute he cleared his throat. “So, if you could have lunch with any celebrity, who would it be?”

What a weird question. I shook my head. “Nobody.”

“Oh come on. Who’s your celebrity crush?”

“I don’t have one.”

He chuckled. “Sure you do. How about Chris Pine?”

I spurted a half-laugh. “Ewww. He’s like a brother to me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Uh,” I sputtered. “I mean, he seems like the type of guy who’d be like, ya know, like a family friend. Like the friend of your brother or something. I don’t know.”

“I guess I can see what you mean. Natalie Portman is super pretty and all but she kinda looks like my sister. So crushing on her would be really gross.”

“Yeah. Like that.” I nodded.

“Emma Woods, on the other hand...” He whistled to complete his thought. “I don’t have a sister that looks like that!”

Alrighty then. I won’t be bringing that up to Emma when I see her at my brother’s wedding.

Wyatt wagged his brows. “So now that I’ve made my confession, it’s your turn. Every girl I know has the hots for some movie star or singer.”

“I’m not every girl.”

His breath hitched, the rise