“How was your night?” Shelby asked when she reached me. She sat in another folding chair behind me, forcing me to turn around in order to see her. “I was seated next to George Wilcox. You know, the composer? He did all of the music for Duel of the Fae. He didn’t win, though. I felt bad for him. But he was so nice to me. It was kind of surreal.”

Ha. She had no idea how surreal I was about to make her night when I told her what I’d been up to. “Speaking of, you’ll never guess who I was sitting with.”

“Noah Douglas.”

“What?” I asked with a laugh. “How could you possibly know that? Did you see me with him?”

Her eyes went wide and she repeated, “Noah Douglas.”

“Yes, I know, we’ve established that I was sitting next to Noah Douglas. And I think I might have completely freaked him out. Like a sewer clown with a red balloon.”

“No, um, Noah Douglas.”

This time she pointed, and I turned to see what was going on. It took me a second to process that Noah Douglas was standing there, holding my clutch, which looked comically small in his hands.

The same clutch that I had completely forgotten on the floor in an effort to escape.

I stood up, stunned. My heart leaped into my throat, almost making it impossible for me to breathe. I wondered if my mouth was hanging open like Shelby’s.

“Here. You left this.” He held out my clutch to me, and I felt both totally weirded out and profoundly grateful. My phone was in there.

“Uh . . . thank you.”

I took it back and just gaped at him, unsure of what to do next. Especially since the logical thing would be for him to turn around and leave. Why was he still here? Did . . . did he want to talk to me? Why? What was happening? This was like something out of a fanfic or a fantasy, and things like that did not happen to people like me.

“Hi!” Shelby stepped around me and held out her hand. “I’m Shelby Farmingham. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” He shook her hand, sounding oh so polite. “As you’ve already pointed out, I’m Noah Douglas.”

That made Shelby laugh, and it was a laugh I’d never heard before. High-pitched and shrill. Like she felt just as hysterical and unnerved as I did.

“So . . . ,” he said, once Shelby had calmed down, “I’m going to this after-party. I don’t know how much fun it will be, but maybe—”

“Oh, good luck with that. Personally, I hate parties. They’re not really my scene,” I told him. I was much more of a crash-on-my-couch-and-eat-my-body-weight-in-chocolate kind of girl. And why was he bragging about going to a party? We already knew he was famous. He didn’t need to remind us.