I can’t deny that, so I don’t. I say to Linden, “I thought you knew that. I figured that’s why you were talking to Lachlan about hooking up with the half-dressed chicks at the festival.”

He shakes his head, looking confused. “Is that why Bram was kicking me? I didn’t know. I just wanted him to have a little fun. The guy could use a little fun in his life.”

“I agree with that,” I mumble.

We ride in silence for a little while until I see Linden glancing at me with a dumb smirk on his face.

“What now?” I ask.

“I had no idea you liked the silent type.” He wags his brows at me. “I thought you liked the loudmouths more.”

“Oh, like you? Please. And just because I’m a loudmouth doesn’t mean I like loudmouths. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Bram already told me I’m barking up the wrong tree, as if I couldn’t tell already.”

Linden seems to consider that. “I dunno. He’s definitely not a relationship kind of guy, seeing as he’s leaving in like a week. But I don’t think he’d toss you out of bed.”

“Well, he kind of tossed me out of his apartment.”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying. He’s hard to get through to and he’s not easily persuaded, as I am sure you know at this point, but he’s still a dude with a dick. I say, make your moves. Again. Let him really know.”

I sigh. “He knows.”

“Does he? Try telling him.”

“He’ll reject me.”

“And I’m sure you’ll hold it against him for years to come,” he says dryly. “But if he doesn’t reject you...isn’t that worth it?”

Steph grins at Linden and runs her hand through his hair. “Do you see this? Do you see what harmony and unity comes from you guys being nice?”

I try not to think she has a point. And I try not to think that Linden is right.

After driving around the Richmond district for twenty minutes, we finally find a parking spot and join the throngs of festival goers heading into the park. Linden grabs a few beers from a man on the street corner selling them illegally from his cooler and hands them to us.

I don’t drink beer very often, but I down that can in seconds. Maybe it’s the infectious energy in the air and the fact that I’ve been cooped up in my apartment for a week. Maybe it’s because I keep thinking about what Linden said and I need the liquid courage.

We slip in through the crowds, the VIP wristbands working just fine, and head towards the beer and wine tents. In the distance from stages unseen, muted music thumps through the eucalyptus trees, carried by the ever-present mist.

I know I should eat lunch first, but my initial instinct is to get in one of the massive lines to buy local wine in tiny plastic cups. Steph waits with me while Linden gets on his phone and tracks down Bram and the others.

By the time we’re both two-fisting glasses of red and fighting our way out of the growing mass of wine-hungry music fans, we spot Linden with Nicola and Bram, Ava sitting high on his shoulders and looking around in awe.

I don’t want the first words out of my mouth to be, “Where’s Lachlan?” but that’s exactly what I say.

Nicola, looking cute in a sundress and jean jacket, points toward the main gate. “It’s a non-smoking event. He wanted to finish his cigar.”

Cigar, huh? I’ve never been with a guy who smokes cigars. Not that I’ve been with Lachlan either, though I have to admit, Linden’s words are still floating around in my head. Should I really make a move? I mean…that’s nothing new to me. If I want a guy and he’s not coming up to me, then I’ll go up to him. I have no shame.

But with Lachlan…yeah, I do have shame. And I don’t want to do my same old song and dance (again) because he’s worth so much more than that. But what else can I say, other than, “Hey, so I think you’re really hot. Wanna screw?” That just wouldn’t cut it. It’s not enough.

“I’m hungry,” Ava complains, while I sip my wine and think it all over.

Bram pats her legs as they rest on his shoulders. “You just ate, you little munchkin. Where are you putting all that food?”

“I want tacos,” she says, pointing to a pair of dancing hippies holding tacos and beer.

I can tell Nicola is trying to stay strong, but she caves in because she wants tacos too. I mean, tacos. Who doesn’t? While everyone turns to make their way to one of the fifty million taco stands lined up around the fence, Steph nudges me gently and nods her head to the gate.

I turn around and see Lachlan sauntering toward us. Even the way he walks is distinctive and one hundred percent man, almost like a guy in a Western, all shoulders and swagger, someone who’s ready to fight at a moment’s notice. It’s intimidating and intense, and it makes me freeze right where I am. I want to play it cool and look away, but I can’t.

He’s dressed in hiking boots, green cargo pants, and a grey, long-sleeved Henley shirt that clings to his every muscle. I haven’t seen him for a week and his beard has grown in more, the same deep brown as his hair. Combined with those ever present lines on his forehead, darting eyes, and permafrown, he looks like a mountain man about to wrestle some bears.

Yeah. Whatever plan of attack I had just got thrown out the window. I’ll be lucky if I can talk to him in anything other than gibberish.

“Hey,” he says when he approaches. He says this to both of us, though when he looks at me, that crease between his eyes deepens.

“Hey,” Steph says. “Glad you came! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make sure Linden orders me extra guacamole.” She takes off running toward the taco stands, leaving the two of us alone. Real smooth, Stephanie.

But Lachlan doesn’t seem to notice. He’s staring intently at me, hands shoved in his pockets. He smells like cigar and musk.

“I saw the article,” he says.

I bite my lip for a moment and nod. “Yeah. Did you like it?”

He seems confused by that. “Of course I did,” he says in his thick brogue. “But why did it say someone else wrote it?”

I sigh and give him an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know. My editor thought it would be better if a real writer was accredited.”

“And that’s who Neil is?” His voice is oh so coarse, like he’s about to find Neil and punch his lights out.

“I work with him,” I explain, trying not to seem affected by it all. “He edited it. And I guess my name on the byline would have lowered credibility or something. I don’t know. But if that’s the case, it’s better that it happened this way. I don’t want to take away from what you guys are doing.”

He makes a noise of agreement, nodding his head quickly, though his expression doesn’t relax and his body is still tense. “I think it would have been better if it were truthful. I didn’t do the interview with some cunt named Neil.” His voice lowers. “I did it with you. You should have gotten all the credit.”

My heart is fluttering. I don’t know if it’s because he’s getting mad that I wasn’t rightfully attributed or it’s that his eyes won’t quite look away from mine. I can feel his anger, his frustration. For me.

“I know,” I say slowly. “But there’s not much I can do.”

“I could talk to your editor. He sounds like a real fuckhead. I could put some sense into him.”

Put some sense into him or knock some sense into him? His jaw is clenched, looking volatile. Against my better judgement, I reach out and touch his arm, just briefly, my fingertips resting on his wrist. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have expected anything different. I’m the ad girl. That’s my job. And it will stay my job.”

He takes a step closer, his face suddenly in mine, and he squints at me for a moment. “But I can tell,” he says, “that you’re not okay with that. Are you?”

We stare at each other for a moment, and I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so…fought for in my whole life.

I blink at him and he pulls back. “It is what it is,” he says, finally looking away. “And what it is, is what you make it.”