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That’s why I leave my empty glass on the bar, turn for the hall.

Her voice reaches me before I see her.

“...I’m not trying to be dramatic Erin, but that’s not going to work for me.”

I frown, move a little closer, drifting through the corridor and toward the woman standing near to the door to the parking lot, phone to her ear, chin to her chest, tension wound tightly through every inch of her frame.

My frown deepens.

Because this isn’t the Lily I’ve come to know over the last months.

She’s light and joy, mirth and mischief…not this picture of frustration with a hint of gloominess.

As if the weight she’s carrying is heavy.

Too heavy.

When every interaction I’ve had with her before now makes it seem as if worldwide stardom has barely touched her.

I step closer and she starts, head jerking up, eyes going wide for a heartbeat before I see it.

A mask slipping back into place.

She smiles at me, tosses her hair—bright and bubbly slipping back into place. “Just take care of it Erin, yeah? Within the next couple of hours.”

Then she’s tapping at her phone’s screen, letting her hand with it held tight in its grasp fall to her side. “Easy on the scowling, big guy,” she says lightly, her smile widening. “Otherwise your face may stay like that.”

“I—”

That’s so far from what I was expecting her to say that I fumble for a second.

Hell, who am I kidding?

I’m always fumbling over myself with this woman.

Stammering. Dropping shit. Running into things.

It’s so beyond fucking pathetic that I almost let her slip by me. Except…she has a problem.

And if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s fixing things.

I catch her arm as she starts to brush by me. “What’s wrong?”

A tug, trying to free herself from my grip. But I can’t seem to let her go.

“What does Erin need to fix?”

Her brows drag together and I want to kiss the befuddlement off her face.

But…something to fix, some way for me to stop feeling like an idiot with this woman.

“Lily,” I warn.

She jerks slightly, her startling blue eyes locking on mine, and she doesn’t fight me for once, just says, “My charter to Denver fell through. I’m supposed to leave tonight for the next leg of my tour, and my assistant has supposedly looked into every option…and landed with me taking a commercial flight.”

My eyebrows fly up.

“I’m not trying to be a diva,” she says quietly.