Garrett:  They’re fine. We just have a lot to talk about.

Me:  Okay.

I sign myself out of school, pretending to have a dentist appointment, and drive to the diner.

Garrett meets me outside my car. The first thing he does is pull me into a hug.

“I swear, you’re going to give me gray hair. I’m glad you’re okay.”

I pull away, pleasantly surprised by his hug.

“Are we going to talk about Tiny? Did you find some clues to connect him with Vincent? Is he going to jail for a very long time? Can I go back home?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Afraid not. The guy’s like teflon. I can’t get anything to stick.”

“What if we set him up?”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Set him up?”

“Yeah, planted some evidence. Made it look like he killed Tiny. Tip off the cops.”

“I believe in justice, Keatyn. But I won’t discard my morals.”

“So, I guess that means hiring a hit man to take him out isn’t an option?”

Garrett laughs and shakes his head at me. “Very funny,” he says, but then his face gets serious. “There are a few things going on that I want you to know about.”

“I’m about to get the bad news now, right?”

He hands me a tabloid magazine. Sprawled across the front page is a large headline. Tommy’s Affair With Abby’s Best Friend. Below is a photo of Tommy hugging Millie. The photo looks damaging. Millie is getting into a car and it does look like he’s saying goodbye to his lover. He’s hugging her tighter than usual.

“This can’t be true.”

“It’s not. Tommy, Millie, and a producer had dinner together in LA a few nights ago. They’re trying to convince Tommy to guest star in a few episodes of Millie’s prime time soap opera. She was tired, so she asked Tommy to walk her out to the car. The reason he’s hugging her so tightly is she just told him the reason for her being tired.”

My eyes get big. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she? Oh, my gosh! I’m so excited for her and Deron!”

“She is pregnant. But the press is going crazy. Pulling out any old photos of them together without Abby. Or cropping Abby out of the picture. Their publicists expect this to get worse before it gets better. I just wanted to make sure you don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks, Garrett, I appreciate it.”

“Now, for something a little more disturbing.” He hands me another paper. This one has the words Press Release across the top of it.

Vincent Sharpe of A Breath Behind You Films is pleased to announce casting has commenced for the green-lit film, Another Day at the Lake, a remake of the Abby Johnston cult classic. Mr. Sharpe says, “While some roles have been cast, we’re looking for an unknown to play the role Abby Johnston originated. We’ll be doing nationwide open casting calls in many major cities. If you know someone who looks like the main character in the early version of the film, please message us. And be sure to check our website for details, but get ready Miami and New York, we’re coming to you first.”

The paper slips out of my hand and my knees start to give out. “This is brilliant.”

“And scary,” Garrett says quietly, grabbing my elbow so I don’t buckle to the ground. “Basically, he’s doing tryouts all over the country, but what he wants is someone to turn in your picture and tell him where to find you. On the website, it mentions they will do some surprise casting calls. As in, you can nominate someone without their knowing and he will show up, surprise them, and let them audition.”

“The good news is, I don’t really look that much like my mom.”

Garrett shakes his head and holds out a picture of my mom from the movie. She’s in a swimsuit. Her hair is in soft waves. She has a sweetness to her face that I never used to have. But coming here has changed me. Softened me, somehow.

“You do, Keatyn. Has anyone at school mentioned that?”

“My friends went to see one of Mom’s movies. When they came back, they said I remind them of her. Mostly that my voice and gestures are identical.” I start to panic. “What would I do if someone from school sent in my picture without me knowing and he showed up?”

“It’s my job to prepare for that possibility. Let’s go inside and order some breakfast. I have someone I want you to meet.”

I follow Garrett into the diner, my mind still spinning at the lengths Vincent’s going to in order to find me.

Garrett stops at a table, moves out of my line of sight, and says, “Meet your new babysitter, Cooper Steele.”

Cooper Steele stands up to shake my hand.

Holy hell.

Please tell me that babysitting involves him spending every single night in my room.

In my bed.

This guy is the definition of rugged hotness. Muscles on top of muscles, short buzzed hair, tattoos. He’s not quite six feet, but a woman could learn to love flats if her reward was that body.

He's wearing tailored black cargo pants and a tight white thermal shirt that allows me to see the outline of a buff chest and muscular shoulders.

Women in the diner are staring.

I look around. No, they're drooling. Imagining what's bulging where we can't see.

I lean around Garrett, shake his hand, and smile. “Hey, I’m Keatyn.”

He gestures to the seats across from him in the booth, so Garrett and I slide in.

A waitress comes over, filling our cups with steamy coffee and flirting with both Cooper and Garrett.

But the coffee is lukewarm compared to the man staring at me with intensity.

She takes our orders and then Garrett says, “Cooper is your new interim soccer coach and will be teaching Health class.”

Clearly, I’m going to be needing private lessons on drilling the ball into the net.

“We already have a soccer coach.”

“She just got an amazing offer. Seems it’s always been her dream to teach soccer to underprivileged children. A charitable foundation, conveniently, just offered her that dream. Six months of handing out soccer balls in third world countries. The catch was that she has to leave tomorrow. When she hesitated about leaving her girls with no coach, Cooper was recommended. His soccer experience, combined with the urgency of the offer and outstanding references, allowed for a quick hire.”

“You don’t really look like a soccer player,” I say to Cooper Steele.

Cooper gives me a barely perceptible squint of his eyes, but doesn’t respond.

Garrett continues. “He played on the United States Under-20 Men’s National Team, which qualified for the World Cup. Graduated with honors from Brown University, and is an accomplished MMA fighter.”

I look at Cooper. He gives me a teeny smirk. One that is supposed to irritate me, but I’m not sure how it could. The smirk brings out the beginnings of a sexy set of dimples.

“So, I don’t get it.”

“You told me she was smart,” Cooper scoffs.

Garrett turns to me. “With the letter I just showed you, the possibility of Vincent showing up randomly at Eastbrooke has increased exponentially. I want someone on site to help protect you.”

The waitress interrupts us by delivering our food. After she leaves, I say, “So you’re basically my bodyguard? Just how old are you, anyway?”

“He’s twenty-three,” Garrett says. “He’s also the son of a decorated military man and is an expert marksman.”

“So he’ll have a gun with him at all times?”

“Obviously, he can’t.”

“Garrett, if you hired him to protect me, that means I’m paying him to protect me. I’d love to know what I’m getting for my money. A soccer player who knows how to throw a punch and kick the shit out of guy in a ring, and would be a good shot if he had a gun, doesn’t really make me feel all that safe.”

“Fine. I pulled him out of the Farm.”

“The Farm?”

“Yes, he was currently at the top of his class, training to be a CIA agent.”

Damn.

“That makes me feel better.”