Read an Excerpt
"What will I do on a beach all by myself?" I pouted.
"Put your toes in the ocean," he said and laughed. "How many little Iowa girls get to do that?"
"Minnesota," I said.
"You know I'm from Minnesota."
"No one is from Minnesota. There is no such place. You made it up," he teased.
"Oh, you're so mean!" I laughed and ran my fingers into his ribs, tickling him.
Catching my hands, he spun me around and held me against himself, my back to him, his arm tight around my waist. I wriggled without really wanting to be free.
"I am not mean," he said, his mouth against my ear. "Read my reviews. I am winning, versatile and slick, but never mean."
He had been reviewed once for his role in the photoplay Her Gypsy Lover. Although he hadn't played the lover, he'd been in several scenes. I hadn't missed a showing when it played at the nearest moving picture theater. I'd sat in the dark and memorized every line of his face, every tilt of his eyebrow, and I nearly burst into tears when he looked straight into the camera and smiled that smile.