Spencer grinned at her, placing his arm around her shoulders in what she assumed to be comfort but felt . . . well, it felt kind of good. For a few minutes of whooshing through the Northern California dusk, Olivia was able to actually enjoy her stomach separating from her insides every time they rose and fell. The car rocked, but she’d stopped being concerned about that since Spencer had his arm around her, holding her tight.

Finally, the wheel eased to a halt, making their cart swing a little. They were close to being let off the ride.

Spencer called down to the operator. “Hey, if you’ll move us around and let us off last, I’ll give you a twenty.”

“Sorry, buddy, I have rules—”

“Make it a hundo?”

She didn’t hear a protest. The cart dropped again, and the operator allowed them to go past the departure ramp. Obviously a hundred-dollar bill talked.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, loosening her grip on the bar in front of her.

“Because we couldn’t finish our conversation when the ride was going, and you might take off and not talk to me once the ride is over,” Spencer said matter-of-factly.

True.

“What do we need to say?” she asked, looking over at him.

He was so handsome framed against the night sky, even with the odd beard covering the expanse of granite jaw. Spencer stroked the beard again like he couldn’t keep his hands off it. “That we’re attracted to one another.”

“Okay, so we’re two adults who are single and are—wait, are you single?” she asked.

The cart climbed again as the operator let off another set of riders, once again putting Spencer and Olivia at the very top.

“I’m single.”

“But why me? You have a lot of women who are . . . I mean, I’m pretty normal. Sort of passably attractive, but nothing like Chase or the other women you must work with in the industry. I can’t be your type.”

“How do you know my type?” he asked.

“I don’t. I’m just saying that we don’t go together in any conceivable way. This is such a strange conversation to be having. You’re a hot movie star, and I’m a repressed—at least from the sound of it—therapist. Why would you want me?”

“I’m a guy. And let’s try for inconceivable.”

“What?”

“You said conceivable way. I said—”

“I get it, but, Spencer, this isn’t a movie. This isn’t Notting Hill where you say you’re just a guy looking for a girl to love him.”

Spencer made a face. “Who said anything about love? Dude.”

Olivia opened her mouth a time or two, trying to think of something to say to that. “I mean, I know. But still.”