by Anna Brooks
“How’s your grandbaby?” His daughter had a little girl a few months back. Cutest little baby with chubby cheeks and eyes so big and brown I already feel sorry for her daddy when she grows up.
“She’s perfect.”
He’s focused on the road, but I smile regardless. Leaning back in my seat, I look out the window at the palm trees as we pass. The ride to my place is exactly two point four miles from the market, and when he pulls up to the stop down the street from my apartment, I gather my belongings and say goodbye before getting off the bus.
I lug my basket into my kitchen, put the flowers I got for a steal in a vase, then get out everything I need to make mac and cheese. Even though I know the recipe by heart, I still pull out my recipe box and find the card with Mom’s very distinctive, swirly handwriting on it. In my suitcase, at the very bottom, my mom left me a stack of recipe cards with my favorite meals on them.
Placing the white index card on the countertop, I hum as I grate some cheese, pretending I’m happy but not believing it even one little bit.
* * *
My work week is normal—boring and irritating since my boss is a jerk—but uneventful for the most part. I haven’t had another nightmare, which is great. I have thought about Carter, which is weird. Wondering if I did the right thing by walking away.
I go to the market on Friday, and then again next week, finally able to score some cherries. The cute farmer asks me out, but like last time, I politely decline and secretly wish I’d run into Carter again.
There’s something about him. It’s hard for me to trust a stranger, especially since I’ve seen too many nice guys turn bad. I always tell myself they’re all the same just to stay closed off.
I take the same bus home, promising Reginald another tin of cookies and vowing never to tell his wife that he eats that much sweet stuff.
As I’m cooking my dinner, my phone rings just as I put it in the oven. When I see it’s an unavailable number, my hands begin to shake. Not like anybody ever calls me, but if it’s work, I have all their numbers, and I rarely get telemarketers, so it freaks me out a little bit about the unknown.
I know it’s implausible, but I worry it’s my mom. Hope it’s my mom. I miss her so much, and I hate that some days I can’t remember what her voice sounds like, or that every time the phone rings, I wish it’d be her on the other end. But then I fear maybe the police have tracked me down to tell me she’s not around anymore. Or my dad somehow found me and will tell me I need to come home because my mom’s sick. So many scenarios and so much fear, but I still flip the screen open and hold the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Is this Miss Bishop?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“Hi. This is Roger Casey. I’m calling about the résumé you sent in for the ad for the new Soap Opera reality show.”
“Oh, my God. Really?” I almost forgot I did that a couple of months ago, totally on a whim.
He laughs. “Yes, really. We’d like to see you in person and chat to see if you’re eligible for the final auditions.”
Ohmygod. Okay. Stop acting like a fool. “Yes. Okay.”
“Are you available tomorrow evening? Say s-”
“Hello?”
“Miss… hear me?”
Shit. Shit. This stupid, stupid phone. “One second. I’m running outside right now. My reception is awful in my building.”
I can’t hear if he answers, but I rush to the sidewalk to get a signal. “Hello?”
“Can you hear me now?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry.”
“Technology, right? I was saying… does seven o’clock work for you tomorrow evening? I know it’s short notice, but to be quite frank, you weren’t on the initial call list, but the person in front of you backed out at the last minute, so if you can’t make it, I’m afraid we’ll have to move past you.”
I’ll make it work somehow. “Yes. I’ll be there.”
“Great. We look forward to seeing you then. My assistant will email you the details.” Oh, thank God, I don’t think I’m going to remember much of this conversation, I’m so caught off guard.
“Thank you so much.” I smile as I hang up and hug my phone to my body, unsure how I feel about the whole situation.
I’ve struggled since I’ve been here to land any type of audition. I’ve had a couple of call backs, and one role as an extra in a crowd, but nothing else. And now I’ve stooped so low as to audition to be on a reality show. But the winner of this contest show is guaranteed a spot on one of the network’s six shows.
If I win, it would be ah-mazing. It’d be a dream come true if I got to act in a soap opera. It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I came out here because I think it’d make my mom proud. We used to watch soaps together, and she’d always say how she wished I would end up with a man like one of the stars. So if I can land a role, she would be so happy and she’d be able to see me and know I was okay. I don’t have the desire to be on the big screen; in fact, until I came here, I never even thought about actually acting. The only reason I did is because it’s something I thought would make Mom proud.
I haven’t been able to dedicate a lot of time to pursue it as much as I’d like. The random audition here and there, but it’s hard to find the time to even make those with my hours at the restaurant.
Because I need money, and the only way I’ve been able to make ends meet is as a waitress at a high-end restaurant. The cash from my mom secured my apartment and filled my fridge with some groceries the first week I was here, but it didn’t last forever. I’ve been at the same restaurant for a couple of years now, and I have this vision of a producer or director walking into Savoring and giving me a job on the spot. It’s so silly. So until that happens, which is pretty close to never, I’m a waitress… because nothing is more cliché.
This whole reality show thing is not at all something I actually want to do, but the audition I’m going to is one that benefits me more than it will make me uncomfortable. If I make it onto this contest, it’ll give me exposure and experience, plus the winner gets the guaranteed job.
The possibility that I have even the slightest chance makes me so happy. Makes me think I’m finally doing something my mom would be proud of.
When I turn around to go back into my apartment building, frustration and irritation inch up my spine because I can’t believe what I just did. I reach for the knob and turn it, but I already know what’s going to happen; it doesn’t budge. “Crap.” I ran out of the building so fast I forgot to grab my key.
Hopefully, one of the guys I see in the hallway sometimes with badges or shirts that have some type of security logo on them comes around to let me in. I’ve never actually talked to any of them, but it makes me feel better knowing they’re here.
I plop down on the cement block with a dramatic sigh and wait.
Chapter 3
Carter
I never thought I’d see her again.
When she walked away from me at the market, I didn’t try to change her mind because she was right to leave. But damn. Here she is. Again. It’s like kismet. Third time’s a charm and all that. And she’s so damn pretty it makes me almost nervous. I don’t get nervous. Ever. This is all new territory for me, and I hate that she’s got the upper hand, so it’s time to change that. “Thought I told you it was smart to walk away from me, not to me.”
She whips her head up, and her beautiful eyes widen like an anime character. “Oh my God. You.”
“Yeah, me. And you. What’re you doin’ here?”
She stands, wiping her hands on another one of her sundresses, this time teal. “I, uh…”
“Are you lost?”
“I… no. I’m not lost.”
I study her, the straight spine, the tight fist, little nuances I didn’t notice the first time I saw her because it was too dark. And then the second time I was too damn mesmerized to make the connection. “You sure about that?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m not lo
st.” She shifts on her feet and looks back and forth between me and the street.
“You don’t have to be directionally challenged to be lost, honey.”
Her eyes settle on mine, and she puts her hands on her hips. “I’m not lost.”
“Waiting on someone?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Why are you sitting on the step outside my apartment building then?”
“Your apartment?”
I shuffle the bags in my hands. “I’ve only lived here for two years, babe. My apartment.”
I swear I hear her talking under her breath, saying, “This can’t be happening.” She crosses her arms. “Well, I’ve lived here for almost as long. And I’m only out here because I locked myself out.”
“How’d you do that?”
“If you must know… the reception in this place stinks. At least, for my phone it does, so I had to come out here for a call, and I forgot to grab my key.”
I jingle mine in my hand. “Want me to let you in?”
“No. I’d prefer it if I watched you walk in and had to wait out here for someone else to come for me.”
I take a step closer to her, loving the attitude. She swallows, and I stare into her eyes. The depth of pain in them, the guilt in them is all too familiar. And I want to make that go away. I reach around her and stick my key in the lock, then push the door open for her.
“Thank you.” So sweet with her manners.
“You’re welcome.” She walks right past me and up the stairs. I follow behind her until she stops outside number 2D. “Is this you?”
“Why else would I stop?”
“Because you’re trying to throw me off and not show me where you really live. Which is smart because I could be a creep. I’m glad you’re looking out for yourself.” She’s definitely got street smarts, but an uneasiness in her demeanor causes my protective instincts to stand on edge. I realize now I had it wrong. I’m not the one who needs a distraction or a friend or whatever the fuck I was trying to tell myself she’d be… she’s the one who needs me.
“I’m glad you’re glad.” She puts a hand on her hip, and I smirk at her adorable attitude. Her lips part, and just as she appears to start talking, the door to ‘her’ apartment opens. “Hey there, little miss, can I help you?”
Billie freezes, and by the way her fists tighten, I know it’s because of more than just being caught lying. It’s fear. And something inside me shifts. I go into a different mode—more than a bodyguard but less than a boyfriend, somewhere in between. I nod at the older man as I put my hand on her shoulder and gently scoot her away. “I was just walking my girl here back to her place.”
Somehow with her eyes wide in shock, she still manages to narrow them as she backs away from me. I smile at her. “Come on, honey. Let’s go.”
She puts her hand in mine, heat immediately warming my cold heart, and her lips part as I rub my thumb against her soft skin. “Okay,” she breathes. I follow her as she walks right up to apartment 3C, the apartment directly across from mine, and opens the door.
“Thank you.” She drops my hand like she just realized it was on fire and rushes inside.
Shit, shit, fuck. I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t not.
“Billie.” I stick my foot in the door.
Her spine straightens, and she slowly turns around but inches over to the counter by the knife block. “You need to leave.”
I hold my hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Anything but that. “I promise.”
“You need to leave.”
“I’m a bodyguard, Billie. Kind of my thing to protect people, not harm them.” Especially pretty ones who are trying really, really hard to be strong when it’s clear as day all they want is someone to lean on, I want to say. Her fists unclench as her guard goes down just a tad, but I jump on it. “I live here. You live here. I just wanna give you my number in case you ever need anything. If you ever lock yourself out again, I want you to have at least one person to call. Unless I’m totally wrong and there’s already someone…” And damn if a jealous streak doesn’t punch me in the gut thinking she already has a man.
Even though she’d be better off with someone else.
It’s barely there, but she shakes her head, and I know I’m spot-on. “Everyone needs someone they can call if they need help. Or maybe I like knowing I can borrow a cup of honey if I need to.” I try to lighten the mood just a bit.
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip to fight off a smile. A timer buzzes, and she reaches over to shut it off.
I take the opportunity to glance around her apartment, which is laid out identical to mine. Kitchen that’s only big enough for a small table that leads directly into the living room on the right. Down the hall is one bathroom on the left and a bedroom across.
What strikes me is how homey it is. She has curtains on the wall even though I know there aren’t any windows behind the TV. It makes the space look bigger somehow. Decorative pillows litter the brown couch, and instead of the ugly linoleum like in my kitchen, hers is covered by a really big colorful rug that looks like rope. Just like my mom had in our kitchen when I was little.
“You’re a bodyguard?”
Her quiet voice pulls my attention back to her. “I am.” Reaching in my pocket, I pull out my wallet and take out my ID for Royal. Slowly walking toward her, I hold my arm out, and she takes the plastic rectangle that gets me access around the building.
“I’ve seen some other guys walking around here with that ace logo, but I’ve never seen you.”
None of those assholes better have said shit to her. “Yeah, about eight of us live here. And I work a shit ton of hours, so it’s not surprising. But you did see me working a few weeks ago outside of Savoring.”
I’ve thought about her more than I care to admit since then, but what I will admit is that it was fucking awesome to feel something other than guilt and regret.
“I know. I remembered you.”
“I remembered you, too.”
“Carter Cane.” She looks up at me. “That’s the most superhero name I’ve ever heard.”
“I am not a superhero.”
She puts the card on the counter and slides it toward me. “What are you, Carter Cane?”
“Just a man.”
Her head falls to the side, and she studies me. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
“Who are you, Billie…?”
“Bishop. Billie Bishop.”
I snicker, and she straightens her spine, the backbone in full effect. “Why’re you laughing?”
“If I have a superhero name, then you have the best goddamned damsel in distress name I’ve ever heard.”
“I am not a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.”
“Okay.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “I can.”
Holding mine up in defeat, I answer her, “I never said you couldn’t. In fact, I think you’ve been doing it for far too long.”
“Why would you say that?”
“It’s my job to read people. I read you the moment I saw you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. I just hope to Christ she can’t read me.
She licks her lips. “What did you see?”
“Everything. Too much… not enough.” So much it gutted me. And just enough to know that I’m going to lose the fight and end up getting it all from her. I shouldn’t. It almost feels like a betrayal to Zoe, but she’s not here anymore, so fuck if I know the right thing to do. Instead of listening to my head, I’m gonna go with what my gut tells me.
Reaching into a drawer, she grabs a pot holder and opens the stove and then pulls out a pie-shaped dish and sets it on the counter. After taking a breath so big her shoulders rise and lower, she turns and asks, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Billie
I ask him to stay because my mom always said if someone’s in your home when your oven timer goes off, you offer them a serving.
Whether you’re making a casserole or cake, it’s the polite thing to do.
“Do you want me to stay?”
I toss the oven mitts on the counter. Carter stands a few feet away, his stance non-threatening and seemingly harmless. His cocky approach from the market is gone, and in its place is a man who is confident yet cautious. Calm, but also on guard. And somehow has managed to make me feel… safe around him.
Like the way he saw that I was uncomfortable with the man who came out of the apartment I pretended was mine and took me away from that situation. Carter was right, though. I was trying to throw him off because I don’t know him, and I didn’t want him to know where I lived in case he was a psycho. I’m a single girl who’d get crushed like a bug by someone as big as him.
But at that moment, he saw me. He saw how I tensed up when the door whipped open and that burly man had his eyes on me. Not only did Carter see it, but he protected me from it. I’ve never had that before. And when I put my hand in his, it was like… it was indescribable. My entire body tingled in a way it never has before from just a touch.
“Yes. I’d like you to stay.”
He smiles. “Let me run to my place real quick.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
I nibble on the inside of my cheek to try to hide the ridiculous grin I can feel stretching across my lips. When he just continues to stare at me with his piercing green eyes, I finally break eye contact and turn to shut the oven off.
“I’ll be right back.”
His lean and fit body moves gracefully, and when the door clicks shut behind him, I sag against the counter, my stomach a jumbled mess of fireflies. I never thought I’d feel like this again. When Tommy Smith Jr. shared his lunch with me in third grade, I was instantly in love. And instantly infatuated. I started following him around, and every time he smiled at me, I felt like something was in my belly, fluttering around. But then I noticed he started to walk away when I’d wave at him.
He broke my heart when he told me he was dumping me for Mindy Beckett. I was already embarrassed enough going to school with bruises, too small clothes, and trouble learning like everyone else did, but that just made it worse. My poor little heart shattered, but it wasn’t really anything new. Every time I’d think my daddy would be getting better and the pieces of my world were gluing themselves back together, he’d smack me across the face, and just like that, it would crumble again.