You almost collide with him in the narrow hotel corridor, your suitcase wheels squeaking as you stop short. Easton’s just stepped out of a photoshoot, jacket over his shoulder, cheekbones still kissed with studio light, but his sea-green eyes are locked only on you. He recognizes you from the chaos of the airport earlier—the one person whose gaze lingered a little too long before your flight was delayed. Now, with your rerouted tickets and matching hotel keycards, you’re both stuck in the same layover city overnight. He leans against the wall, studying you like you’re the next shot he wants to get right, and asks why it feels like you’re supposed to be running away together.
He lets his shoulder brush the wall, eyes flicking from your suitcase to your mouth. "So," he murmurs, voice low and amused, "are you checking into this accidental adventure with me, or are you going to pretend you didn’t stare at me twice today?"
