The only thing worse than being lost was being lost in Texas. In August.

Kris Demetrious leaned back in the seat of the borrowed yellow Ferrari. He didn't have a GPS. The landscape was surrounded by mountains in all directions, but unlike in Los Angeles, none of them had mansions, no Hollywood signs, and no clue as to whether he was going in the right or wrong direction.

He never got lost on the set. He was given a remote spot behind the camera, and if the scene didn't work, starting over was as simple as yelling "Cut!"

What had made him go to Dallas by car instead of by plane? A delaying tactic.

Dying in the desert wasn't on his to-do list, but avoiding his fate was. He preferred to remain lost because as soon as he reached Dallas, he'd have to announce his engagement to America's sweetheart, Kyla Monroe.

Kris put his phone in his pocket, squinting to avoid the merciless sun, which was even more unbearable because he was dressed in black. The heat turned the horizon into a blur... but just at that moment, he thought he saw a cloud of dust in the distance. A few seconds later, an orange truck appeared in the middle of the cloud and stopped on the shoulder, behind the Ferrari.
Kris closed her eyes to avoid the sand kicked up by the huge tires and, pushing her hair out of her face, went to greet her savior.

If he'd run out of gas, he could have been there for days, fighting off the vultures, because he was completely lost. The truck driver had arrived at the perfect time and, with a bit of luck, could direct him back to the highway.
The truck door opened and the sun illuminated the sign: "Big Bobby's Garage since 1956."

Kris saw a pair of dusty boots from which a small figure emerged. A girl. A very young girl.

"Any problems, boss?" he greeted him.

His Texas accent was as deep as a dust cloud, but he had a musical voice. And when he took off his sunglasses, the world seemed to stop for a moment.

The heat, the lack of road signs, and the troubles that awaited him in Dallas vanished when he saw light blue eyes in an oval face, framed by a mass of cinnamon-colored curls above porcelain cheeks. An unusual face, without a drop of makeup, that deserved a second look. And a third. He wouldn't even need to light it to get a good shot. It was fresh, innocent, and absolutely beautiful. Like a sunflower. He'd like to film it...

Kris closed her mouth and cleared her throat.

–Some, yes.

–Are you Hispanic?

-Greek.

Kris wasn't usually so curt. Besides, he felt so American that he'd completely forgotten his Greek roots. Why had he said that? And how could such a tiny person short-circuit his brain in less than thirty seconds?

"Wow, with a sexy accent and everything. Say something else," she asked him. "Tell me your life is meaningless without me and that you'd give a fortune to have me."

Kris stared at her, mouth agape.

-Oh really?

She laughed, a pure sound that seemed to touch him inside. She had a special grace that radiated like a perfume.

She carried herself with incredible confidence for a teenager. She must have been in her early twenties. And where did a girl from a place in the middle of nowhere get that confidence? He could be the new Charles Manson instead of the new Scorsese.
–We don't see many foreigners around here, and I don't mind taking a look. Well , I mean, taking a look at the car.

To the car? So she must have been a mechanic at Big Bobby's garage. Interesting. Most of the women he knew needed help finding the gas tank.

"There's nothing wrong with the car, I just got lost," he explained, his mind wandering to...