“It’s not my first script.” John blew out a breath. He really should be doing a lot of things, but mostly, he wanted to hear more of Anna Kovács’s opinions. On anything, really. “You want another beer?”

She pulled on her ponytail again and glanced at her bag, where he knew the TV script and her phone waited.

“Come on,” John said, standing up from the booth. “We haven’t talked about your favorite Hitchcock movie yet.”

Anna smothered a grin, handing him her empty bottle. “If you say Psycho, we can’t be friends anymore.”

“So, you admit we’re friends now?”

“That depends on your favorite Hitchcock movie.” John slowly walked backward to the bar with a lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in a long time. “You seem like a Shadow of a Doubt or Notorious kind of person.”

Anna mouthed a curse word, but she couldn’t hide the delighted smile on her face at his correct guess.

John laughed. He turned around to get another beer from Linda. Talking about movies and drinking a beer with Anna Kovács was the best afternoon he’d had in a while. He decided to see how long he could make it last.

Chapter Three

Anna knew she shouldn’t have had that first beer with John. There was no excuse for the second one. But she couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked for her opinion and been interested in the answer.

It was nice, sitting in the darkened booth with him, watching the way his face lit up when he talked about movies. John gestured with his hands when he was extolling the virtues of Miller’s Crossing. On that, she could agree. But what is it with men and Scarface? You can’t have everything, she supposed. John had to have a flaw to make up for the way his forearms made her lose her breath when they flexed. His thighs might bust out of those straining jeans and finally put the material out of its misery.

Anna’s body responded to his stray glances and accidental touches as if she were a teenager in the back of a car. How long had it been since she’d felt such an anticipation or the excitement of sharing stories back and forth? After eating dinner in the small booth, they didn’t want the conversation to end. When the place got crowded again, they moved to the alley behind the bar.

He’s into me, right? That’s what this means? She hadn’t done this in a while, but she wasn’t a complete idiot. The way his shoulder had brushed hers. The way his gaze had lingered on her lips. The way he’d stood close to her, closer than necessary, as he recounted the story of a terrible location shoot that made her laugh until her sides ached. It’s all a sign, right?