“So. What’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asked her.

“Something super wholesome, I thought. Well, Simon and I thought. The farmers market.”

He ignored the “Simon” part of that sentence. That fucking guy. If it hadn’t been for Anna, he would have refused to have anything more to do with this whole thing, once Simon talked to him like that. He’d also been annoyed at Anna for blindsiding him with Simon in the limo when he’d thought he’d have her to himself. But he pushed that away.

“The farmers market! The perfect place for me—I just love to cook so much! You know how I feel about fresh fruit and vegetables, can’t get enough of them!”

She pointed at him.

“You kid, but I want you to keep that energy for tomorrow. I want oohing and aahing over avocados and the most beautiful stone fruits of the season, you hear me?”

He saluted her.

“Aye, aye, Captain. Just tell me what a stone fruit is, and we’re good.”

So the next day, they got out of Anna’s car near the Silver Lake Farmers Market. Ben had to laugh—though only internally, since he didn’t want Anna to think, like Simon did, that he was making light of all of this—at how far they’d driven to get there, and how very long it had taken to find parking. What if all of the stone fruit was gone by the time they got there?

They got out of the car, and Anna looked him up and down.

“Thank Maddie for me, will you?” she asked. He felt a ridiculous glow of pride.

“Will do,” he said. He slid his hand into hers. “Shall we?”

They walked toward the farmers market, hand in hand. Ben turned to Anna to ask her something, but before he could say anything, she jumped in.

“Remember, you’re supposed to look besotted with me,” she said, gazing up at him adoringly. It was wild how much her bossy, commanding tone didn’t match the glowing smile on her face.

Ben didn’t know why she felt the need to say that to him—besotted was the only possible way to look at Anna right now. She had on this light, flowing sundress that clung to her breasts, her hair was in soft curls past her shoulders, and he didn’t know if it was just because he was here in L.A. or if she’d gotten more sun in the past week or what, but there was this . . . glow about her. He couldn’t believe everyone around them didn’t stop to stare.

“What if I just think about the way you woke me up this morning when I look at you?” he asked.

She lowered her lashes and then fluttered them—actually fluttered them!—at him, and he had to laugh.

“Excellent idea,” she said. “Aren’t you glad you’re staying until tomorrow, when there can be a repeat performance of that?”

He rubbed his thumb back and forth inside her palm.

“Mmm, tomorrow might be my turn to do that for you,” he said. “It’s only fair, you know.”

By that time, they’d made their way into the market. Ben didn’t know if any photographers had been around yet—he probably should have been looking out for them, but he’d been focused on Anna. He supposed it was probably better that he didn’t know, if the goal was for him to seem like he had no idea anyone was taking his picture. He obediently squeezed avocados and exclaimed over nectarines and examined herbs, as Anna beamed at him. By that time, he’d seen a few photographers around, trying to hide. Just to put his own spin on this thing, he stopped at the flower vendor and presented Anna with a bouquet of peonies.

“Oh, you’re very good,” she said, looking up at him from under her lashes.

He thought so, too.

After about twenty minutes, Anna turned around.

“I think we’re all set to cook dinner tonight—is there anything else we need?”

He knew that was the signal that they’d gotten what they’d come here for. He wondered what would happen if he said, “Oh no, I want to stay longer—maybe check out those stands way down at the other end to see if they have any french fries.” He let himself grin at the thought, and then took her hand and walked back with her to the car.

They stopped at a cupcake store nearby and got a few for later—spicy chocolate, lemon meringue, and s’more. Once they were on their way back to Anna’s house, Ben turned to her.

“So that went well, I imagine, from that smug look on your face?”

Anna grinned over at him.

“Very. Especially that moment with the flowers—that was perfect.” It had been, hadn’t it? “Granted, you never know what photos turn out like; some people definitely try for unflattering angles where I’m in the middle of saying something and my eyes are closed and my face looks all smushed up. But we did as well as—honestly, even better than—I’d hoped.”

He asked the question he’d been wondering all day.

“How did you know that photographers would be there? Are they always at that farmers market, or . . . ?”

Anna laughed and shook her head.

“Oh, you sweet summer child, no. We made sure they’d be there.”

Ben narrowed his eyes at her.

“Made sure— What do you mean?”

Anna’s smile grew wider.

“Well, usually it means that someone on our side calls them, but we’ve already done that once, and we don’t want to push our luck here—that can get messy. So this time Simon convinced one of his other clients—much more of a fame whore than me, no offense to him, we all have to do what we have to do in this business—to go there today, too. So they called them. We just reaped the benefit.”

His mind was blown.

“You call them. Wow. I’d always just assumed . . .”

Anna patted his arm.

“That all of this was organic? Yeah, no.”

He couldn’t believe how naive he’d been.

“I had no idea. Is it always like that?”

He felt like he was in a play within a play. They were pretending to be dating in front of people who pretended they’d just happened to come upon them when every part of it was a lie. What a weird, fucked up, fascinating world this was.

“It’s not always like that—sometimes it really is organic: they happen to be in just the right place, or the wrong place, from my point of view, in situations like that.” Oh God, he felt like an ass now, given what she’d told him before. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she kept talking. “There are some places they just hang out, but after a while you grow to know where those places are, so you can avoid or flock to them, as your attention needs take you. And sometimes people get caught in the attention to someone else—if they’re following someone super famous, or if someone else has called them and they see you, they’ll get you, too. But a lot of the stuff you see in tabloids or whatever, they look like candids, but they’re not, trust me.”