“Why weren’t we always like this?” he asks, studying my face with genuine curiosity. “Why weren’t we trying to make each other laugh?”

“Because we were too busy trying to kill each other.”

“Time wasted on your part. Clearly, I’m indestructible.” He seems pleased with the idea.

The sun is shining, and the air holds a hint of the sea. He still has his arm around my shoulders, his torso pressed against mine. It feels good, this half embrace. Too good. It creates the unwanted illusion that I could rest against him, and he’d hold me up for as long as I needed it. I can’t understand this feeling. By all accounts, a half hug from Macon should put me on full alarm. In truth, I don’t think we’ve ever willingly touched.

I try to think back to a time when we had any prolonged physical contact as kids and draw a blank. Rattled, I step away from the warmth of his arm. He lets me go easily as if this isn’t a momentous occasion, and instantly I feel foolish.

Of course it isn’t a big deal. People tease and hug each other all the time without any weird ulterior motives. Inwardly, I shake my head at myself and move on.

We stop under the shade of a eucalyptus tree. Macon takes a bite of mango, licking his lip when juice threatens to roll down to his chin. I’m momentarily distracted by the sight.

“Have you watched Dark Castle yet?” he asks, oblivious to my rapt attention on his mouth.

“Ah . . . not as of yet.”

“Not as of yet?” Wry amusement laces his voice. “Is it the sex scenes I’m in or just my nudity in general you’re avoiding, Grandma?”

My eyes narrow in a warning that does nothing but make the corners of his eyes crinkle with sly humor.

“Neither.” It’s both, actually. “I just haven’t had time to trudge through two seasons’ worth of beheadings, disembowelings, and brothel visits.”

I’m clearly not fooling him a bit. “How about I have the studio send over a highlight reel instead?”

“It’s almost as though you want me to see your bare ass.”

“More like I want to see your reaction to my bare ass,” he says with a quick wink.

I huff out a breath. “Juvenile.”

“With you? Guilty.”

We share a quick grin, but his fades.

“It’s why I went into acting, you know.”

I’m about to unwrap my mango half but stop at his words. “You want to explain that non sequitur?”

“The bullshitting. I spent my entire life pretending to be someone else; I thought, why not try it professionally?”

“Pretending?” I repeat stupidly.

Color floods the crests of his cheeks, and he clears his throat. “I was never fully myself with anyone.”

My voice comes out as a whisper of sound. “Why couldn’t you be yourself?”