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Greek? Scottish and African American?
    Oh hell.
    Not white, and not fucking bad.
    The smile he leveled at Jillian and me was blinding. “Mr. Montgomery? Really? So awesome to meet you. Anna Maxwell sent me to greet you. I’m supposed to be your driver for the next few months, so I’ll set you up with my contact info and stuff when I drop you off.”
    I looked at Jillian, feeling a little embarrassed. “Jilly . . .”
    She shrugged. “They were sort of hot for you, Con—and you need a driver. I can only stay here a week, and . . . you know . . .”
    Lost at Nordstrom’s. Awesome. I smiled at the kid, rather embarrassed and still trying to juggle our luggage. “Lead on, brave soldier. You have no idea what you’re in for.”
    The kid flashed another supernova at us, and I almost covered my eyes and groaned. Jeez, kid, it was only one in the afternoon!
    “Noah,” he said, extending his hand. “Noah Dakers. Nice to meet you.”
    I took his hand and squeezed, liking what he gave back in return. Nice kid , I thought as we gathered baggage and hauled it out to the waiting town car. Maybe he’d be company in this unfamiliar place.
    I could always use a friendly face, and as Vinnie used to say, a pretty face could make everything feel friendly. Not that I wanted to hit on him, no—but it was sure nice to remember I could look.
    “So,” he asked, after we’d stashed our luggage and slid into the town car (leather seats—I loved that in a car, I really did), “we’re going to your cabin—it’s out by the new development for the TV people. Nice place, you’ll like it. But are you hungry? In need of coffee? Is there anyplace I can take you first?”
    “Coffee,” I said, my voice shaking with need, but I said it right at the same time Jillian said, “ Food !” and she was louder and meaner.
    Noah laughed. “Okay, food—do you want quaint and local, or fast produced and comforting? It’s up to you.”
    I said, “Local!” because Vinnie and I had always liked trying to find the perfect hole-in-the-wall that only the locals knew about.
    Jillian said, “ Anything !” so guess what? I won!
    Actually I won twice. Noah told us that he had the exact spot right outside of Bluewater Bay, but it meant we had to wait a bit—and since I was obviously jonesing for coffee, he took us through a drive-thru Starbucks on the way out of town.
    “When we get to Bluewater, I’ll take you to the Stomping Grounds—that’s our local coffeehouse. Best stuff on earth. But let’s get you coffee and a snack to hold you over until we get there, ’kay?”
    “I like this kid,” Jillian said with meaning, and I ignored her. But I let Noah order a spinach feta wrap to go with my Caffé Americano venti, so she got to win too.
    I’d assumed Jilly and I would just sort of hunker down in the back of the town car and have muted conversations. The closest thing to conversation I’d ever gotten from a driver was the time one of them had been trying to get me to JFK at record speed. As my face had been plastered against the back window by the centrifugal force of taking a curve at ninety, the guy had muttered, “Time adjustment,” in apology.
    This guy was not the car driver in New York.
    “You ever been out here before?” he asked after we’d cleared the Starbucks. He headed for 101, and the city—indistinguishable in the back of the car—faded to concrete, and rolling suburbs beyond.
    “Yes,” I said, enjoying the memory. “My first big break— Warlock Tea— that was filmed in Vancouver.”
    Noah let out an unabashedly fanboi sigh. “God, I loved that show. I’d forgotten that, you know? I was in high school, and Vancouver felt like a continent away. But you I remember.”
    I put myself in “TV star” mode. It was hard—people would gush over the stuff I was least proud of, but you don’t want to crap on people’s dreams. I mean, someone cared enough to tell you that your work meant something to them, right? So you