“Can we talk about something else?” she asked. “You know a lot about me, but I know almost nothing about you, except that you’re an artist.” She took another bite of pasta. “You’re here by yourself, so...I take it you’re not married?”

He decided not to mention that he had been married. Shiloh had died so soon after the wedding it hardly counted. And losing her was still too difficult to talk about. “No.”

“Were you born here in Silver Springs?”

He washed his food down with a swallow of wine. “You haven’t looked me up online?”

“Like you did me? No. I’m currently unplugged. So all I’ll know about you is what you tell me.”

“That’s unusual in today’s world.” And sort of pleasant for someone who valued their privacy as much as Seth did. “Are you steering clear because you’re afraid of what you might find about yourself?”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Yes.” She was famous enough that total strangers would be speculating on what’d caused her to run that red light and whether she’d ever return to acting.

He guessed she wasn’t very interested in watching TV, either—except maybe the streamed stuff—since the various entertainment news programs would be talking about Expect the Worst and whether it should be nominated for an Academy Award. Feeling as though she couldn’t participate even if she or the movie was to be nominated would be difficult.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing there,” he said.

She picked up her wineglass. “You’ve seen what everyone’s saying about me online? How bad is it?”

He chose his words carefully. The last thing he wanted was to thrust her any deeper into depression. “Your fans are concerned about you. That’s all. They want to see you in another movie, so you need to heal as quickly as possible.”

She blinked at him. “If you think I’ll ever be able to land another decent part, you’re crazy. I won’t even be able to do commercials, not looking like this.”

“You don’t know what the future holds.”

Her jaw clenched. “It doesn’t hold more acting. I know that much.”

He felt stupid for even suggesting it. He was out of his element, didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. But there was no way to minimize what she’d lost, so he’d only looked foolish trying. “Maybe you’ll find something else you enjoy.”

When her eyes met his, he saw the pain inside them and couldn’t help feeling some empathy. “What would you do if you couldn’t paint or sculpt anymore?” she asked. “Would you be able to find something else?”