“You remind me of a toddler stuffed into a snowsuit.”
She laughs. “Good. It’ll keep me warm.”
“Excuse me, are you Nathan Donovan?” asks a young woman neither of them had seen approach. Two friends flank her. All three are decked in knit snow caps and snowboard pants that bunch at their ankles. Sun-kissed cheeks and windburned noses with a defined outline in the shape of their ski goggles adorn their ChapStick-commercial perfect faces.
Nathan looks to Ella. She can tell he wants to say no, but he pastes on a smile and forces out an “I am.”
“I loved your show,” she gushes. “May we take a selfie with you?”
She has her phone out with the camera app open before she finishes her question.
“I’m going to pay for these.” Ella points at her basket. “Meet you up front.”
Nathan barely acknowledges her. The woman already has her arm around him, and the other two women are pulling out their phones.
By the time the salesclerk rings up and bags Ella’s items, a small gathering has formed around Nathan. They demand autographs and selfies. They want to know when his next series starts. Where does he live? Is he vacationing in Truckee? Who’s the woman he’s with? Does that mean he and Stephanie aren’t getting back together? Are they going to have another kid since Carson died?
Nathan’s face pales and Ella’s stomach lurches. The nerve of some people. A staff member tries dispersing the crowd, but they are all over him. Nathan has been off the grid for too long. Everyone is too caught up in getting his attention and the scoop on his next move.
His gaze meets hers over their heads. A sheen of sweat shines his forehead. Ella would expect that a celebrity with his degree of popularity would be used to this level of exposure and have the charisma to step away from the crowd graciously. She’d seen Steve Young do it on numerous occasions while shopping at Stanford Shopping Center when she was growing up. But Nathan is backed into a corner, trapped between the coatrack and sock bin. He looks like he’s about to panic.
“Excuse me.” Ella pushes between a heavyset woman and an adolescent boy and wraps an arm around Nathan’s waist. “Nathan, darling. We’re going to be late.”
“Sorry, peeps. Gotta bounce.” Nathan’s arm drops around her shoulders. Phones click in their faces. He looks at her with relief.
Threading her fingers through his and keeping his arm tight around her, she maneuvers them through racks of clothes and out the emergency exit in back. An alarm blares when Nathan shoves open the door. They don’t stop until they reach her car in the parking lot. Releasing his hand and her breath, she searches for her keys.
“That was so bizarre,” she says on a laugh, and the laugh builds. She can’t stop herself and sags against the car.
Nathan just smiles, waiting for the moment to pass.
“All right, you’ve had your fun,” he says when Ella settles down.
“Whew, I needed that.” She exhales, holding her ribs, then grins up at him. “Admit it, I was totally your bodyguard.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Cutest bodyguard ever.” They share a smile, then Ella sobers.
“Is it always like that for you?” His fans had even made her feel claustrophobic.
“When I get caught out in public, yes,” he says, his pale face slowly returning to its normal shade of winter tan. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome. Why didn’t you tell them you had to leave or something?”
“I tried following you to the checkout counter, but . . . Confession?” Nathan lifts his cap and tunnels his fingers into his hair. His hand shakes. “I get anxious in a crowd. It’s why I left New York.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She shouldn’t have left him. “Did I know that about you?” He might have told her before. She might have witnessed it before.
He shakes his head. “I’ve never mentioned it to anyone. It’s only bad when people get into my space and I don’t have a way out.”
Nathan’s expression is strained. He sounds perturbed, and for the first time, Ella catches a glimpse of what his life has been like. No wonder he plays the part of a hermit and grew a beard so that he could move about town incognito.
“I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry it got out of control in there.”
“It wasn’t too bad. I should be used to it by now, but . . .” He shrugs. “The outdoors, that’s my game. Best forewarn you, though: don’t be surprised if those shots show up on social media.”
Ella swears, thinking of how they must have looked leaving, arms wrapped around each other, and the way Nathan had looked at her when she came to his rescue. The photos his fans took will go viral.
Nathan slides on his Oakleys. He glances back at the store’s entrance. “I’ll come back later when it’s less crowded.” Only then does she realize he dropped his basket of items somewhere in the store.
“Where are you headed now?” she asks.
“The kennel. You?”
“I got what I needed. I guess I’ll find a coffee shop somewhere and organize my notes from yesterday until you’re ready to head back to your place.”
Nathan removes a key from his key chain. “Here. You can work at the house.”
“Thanks.” She takes the key.
“The guest room is on the main level, across from the bathroom. It’s ready for you. Towels are out. I’ll pick up something for dinner and meet you at home later.”
He briefly touches her shoulder, then heads for his truck. As she settles into the driver’s seat, it dawns on Ella that he doesn’t seem at all fazed that their faces could be plastered across social media, where the photos can be picked up by Access Hollywood and ETonline. Gah! Or TMZ, the worst of the bunch. Grocery store tabloid on television.
Hugging the steering wheel, Ella drops her head and groans. Why did she call him “darling”? Nathan was panicking. She acted on impulse. She can imagine TMZ’s headline: Grieving Celebrity Adventurer Dumps Mother of His Deceased Son for Lifestyle Journalist.
She’s such a moron. But in her defense, she did for him what anyone with a conscience would have done to get him out of an alarming situation. She did what she would have done for her husband.
Damien.
Fuck.
He has no patience for entertainment news and social media, so he doesn’t read it. But any of his employees would recognize her and forward the link to the photos. She needs to call him so that he can get his PR department on this fast. She needs to tell him that her relationship with Nathan is, well . . . It’s not what he thinks.
But her call goes straight to voice mail. It’s early evening in London and he’s likely in meetings. Unless . . . he’s still upset with her after yesterday’s call and ignoring her, which is a real possibility. She leaves a brief message, then drives to Nathan’s.
Ella’s on the deck taking photos when Nathan joins her that evening. At the sound of the door, she turns and snaps a photo, startling him. He’d shucked his jacket and cap inside and made a visit to the fridge. He shows her two open beers, closing the door behind him. She snaps another photo.
“Stop,” he says, coming to stand by her at the rail. A faint smile shows her he doesn’t actually mind.
“Just a few more. My editor needs them for the article. It’s either me or she sends a photographer with us to Alaska.”
He puts down the beers. “Snap away, Skye.”
She goes to work, posing him one way, directing him to tilt his head another way. Of course, he’s a natural in front of the camera. About fifteen minutes into the session, Ella lifts the camera and catches movement behind Nathan. “Look,” she whispers, pointing.
Nathan turns around. A doe and her fawn traverse the yard.
“They’re a couple of my regulars.” He glances back at Ella and motions for her to come stand beside him. “They cut through my property this time most evenings. I think they rest over there.” He points beyond the tree line.
“She’s beautiful.”
They watch the deer nibble leaves. Above them, the bright blue of the sky has darkened to deep shades of pink and lavender. Gray clouds and jet streams are chalk streaks, interweaving. Smoke clings to the air. Nathan must have started a fire. The woods surrounding them are surprisingly quiet. Ella feels at peace, which is probably why she doesn’t move away when Nathan puts his arm around her. She leans into him.
When the doe disappears into the thicket, her fawn follows. A touch of sadness falls over Ella. Her hand trails to her pelvis and hovers over her C-section scar.
“What do you remember most about your son?” she asks softly.
Nathan releases a long sigh. His arm falls from her shoulders. He grabs a beer and takes a swig.
“He was always doing something. Building, crafting, calculating.”
“Did he want to be an engineer?”
“And an astronaut, and a lawyer, and the president of the United States. But don’t all kids when they’re young?”
She shrugs. She wouldn’t know. Would Simon have wanted to travel to space? Or would he have been a programmer like his father? A writer like her? She’ll wonder about the answers for the rest of her life.
“The thing about Carson is that he could demolish whatever he was working on ten times faster than he’d built it. It was like a switch flipped. Totally engrossed in his project one moment and kicking boards and throwing bolts the next.
“Once we built a tree house together, just a small fort about fifteen feet or so above the ground. It had a platform with rails and one-by-fours we’d nailed into the trunk to use as a ladder. Very old school.”
“It sounds perfect.”
“It was, once we finished. But while we were building, I had Carson work on the bottom three rungs. I showed him how to nail the boards into the trunk so we wouldn’t damage the tree. Well, he couldn’t get the nail in the way he wanted to, and rather than asking for my help, he started swinging the hammer around like Thor. Before I could climb down from the platform, he climbed up the metal ladder I’d been using and destroyed half the rungs I’d nailed into the tree above him. His temper flared so quickly and I used to hate that. It drove me mad when he got that frustrated and irrational. But it’s one of the things I miss most about him. He would have learned to channel that energy into testing his own limits. I did. I’ll never . . .” Nathan falters. He swallows and tries again. “I’ll never get to witness that.”
He brushes the back of his hand against Ella’s lower belly. The gesture is tender and endearing but sudden and unexpected. She recoils.
“I’m sorry.” He lowers his hand and looks at her, his eyes full of grief, compassion, and sympathy. “I can’t imagine not remembering Carson, the good times and those frustrating moments. I can’t fathom what you’re going through.”
Ella looks away, and all the emotions she read about other women experiencing with late-term miscarriages, all the emotions she’s sought to feel, all the ones she envied Damien going through, are suddenly there. Real. Intense. And in her face. She can barely breathe.
“Ella,” Nathan whispers, touching her cheek.
“Don’t.” She jerks her head away. It’s all too much. Confused about her growing attraction toward Nathan, devastated she can’t remember carrying Simon, and disappointed her husband wouldn’t share his grief with her the way Nathan has been, Ella feels overwhelmed. She needs a moment alone.
Grabbing her camera, she says, “I’m going to get ready for dinner.”
“Ella.”
The way Nathan speaks her name stops her.
“You asked me yesterday why I canceled my series. I didn’t give you an answer.”
“No, you didn’t.” She senses he wants to get this off his chest, but she can’t handle any more heartbreak, not when she’s about to fall apart. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? If you don’t mind.”
He takes a beat. “Yeah, sure. We can talk tomorrow.”
She nods and retreats inside.
CHAPTER 22
“I updated Scott about our flight change. He’ll pick us up at the airport tomorrow,” Nathan explains when he gets off the phone with the owner of Backcountry Descents, the heli-skiing adventure company Nathan had hoped to meet with over dinner. But their connection in Seattle to Anchorage was delayed due to weather and they missed their last connection, a forty-five-minute flight to Cordova.
“Let’s find a couple rooms for the night,” Ella suggests.
“Good idea. I’ll take care of it.”
They take a cab to a nearby hotel where Nathan had called and reserved two rooms. They agree to meet in the lobby restaurant after they check in and shower. Ella’s determined to finish Nathan’s interview tonight, because once it’s out of the way, she can focus on them. One way or another, she intends to find out what happened last summer.
In her room, Ella checks her phone. Damien still hasn’t returned the call she placed last evening. After her talk with Nathan on the deck, she didn’t care that she ended their call the other day on absolutely the wrong foot. Still, overwhelmed with emotions about the miscarriage, she needed to hear her husband’s voice.
She’s about to try him again when a text with an image buzzes in from Davie:
Nice arm candy. Damien know?
Gawd. Here they go.
Ella sinks onto the bed and studies the photo: Nathan and her, arm in arm, eyes hooked on one another. To Ella, he looks relieved. To everyone else? His expression can easily be misinterpreted as someone in love, which is exactly how the tabloids will spin their articles.
Ella fires back a text. It’s not what you think.
Davie’s reply is immediate. I know it’s not. But it’s gone viral. TMZ identified you.
Crap.
Davie texts a link. Ella would rather hurl her phone into the trash than open the website, but she needs to know what she’s up against. She clicks the link and reads: Nathan Donovan Is Back on the Grid—Caught Shopping with New Girlfriend.
The article goes on to explain how Nathan Donovan was spotted shopping with someone whom witnesses described as a possible girlfriend. TMZ identified her as staff writer Ella Skye with Luxe Avenue, who happens to be married to Damien Russell, CEO of Phantom Defense Networks. The article includes a photo of the Inc. magazine issue that featured Damien on the cover. Nathan and Ella seemed quite cozy according to those who observed their interaction. The article speculates what this means for Nathan’s marriage and if his appearance in public is a sign that he has another survivalist series in the works.
This is bad. So bad. Worse than Ella anticipated. While Rebecca will probably see this as free press leading up to the exclusive, Damien won’t.
Davie texts. Where are you?
Alaska with Nathan, Ella replies. Finishing up the assignment.
A text buzzes in from Nathan. He’s on his way downstairs.
Ella looks skyward, praying for a moment to breathe. Everything’s happening at once.
Gotta run. Chat later, she texts Davie. She then texts Damien—Call me!—and slides her phone into her back pocket.
Downstairs, Nathan has tucked himself against the wall near the hostess desk. He wears a beat-up cap. Chin down, face shadowed, he tries to be nondescript as he surfs his phone. The dining room is packed and the waiting area full. A couple of guests have already figured out who Nathan is and have their phones out. They not-so-discreetly take his picture.
“Hey,” she says, coming up to stand in front of him to block prying eyes and photo ops.
“Hey.” He smiles tightly and pockets his phone. He crosses his arms and uncrosses them. Anxious.
She motions for him to lean down. “Do you want to get room service?” She speaks into his ear over the din of conversation and pulse of bass thumping through the restaurant’s speakers.
“Yes.” He puts his hand on her back and follows her to the bank of elevators.
“Crowds really bother you.”
He stabs the b
utton for his floor. “More than they used to. Price of being a hermit, I guess.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“You already have. I realized last night that talking helps. I’d forgotten about that. I didn’t feel that gnawing guilt when I woke this morning.”
“That’s great. Did it not help last time?”
“Yes, but I haven’t talked with anyone about Carson since last summer with you.”
Ella briefly touches his arm, grateful he’s chosen to share with her. Everyone should have someone they can talk to. She wishes Damien had shared what happened between them last November.
The elevator dings and doors open. Ella follows him to his room, where they order dinner and eat a light meal. After Nathan puts the tray of dirty dishes in the hallway, Ella silences her phone, asking Nathan to do the same, so that they aren’t interrupted. She sets up her recorder on the table and invites him to sit beside her on the couch.
“Ready?” she asks when he sits down.
“Ready,” he acknowledges, replenishing their wine.
Ella turns on the device, and for the next two hours, they talk about his son and Stephanie. He admits divorcing Stephanie is inevitable. It doesn’t make him happy, but it’s getting easier to live with the idea that he and Steph are better off without each other.
But his mood changes when they veer back to his childhood. He speaks candidly, with reverence and adoration about his parents. He misses his father and plans to visit his mother in San Diego soon. He hasn’t seen her in more than a year and wants to go surfing.
“My face is the only part of me that’s seen the sun in seventeen months.”
Ella laughs. “Where have you surfed, aside from San Diego?”
“Many places, but my favorites are Hawaii and Australia.”
“Ever been to Half Moon Bay for the Mavericks?”
“No, but I have a ton of respect for big wave surfers.”
“You’ll jump out of airplanes, hike K2, and heli-ski in Alaska, but you won’t face down a thirty-foot wall of water?”
Last Summer: A Novel Page 17