The door across the hallway creaked open.
“Clarissa is your ticket. That’s the way you pay your rent and get your career launched. Get on it!”
Discomfort tightened Norris’s chest. Get on it. Hmm . . . he had a desire to “get on it” in more ways than one. If Clarissa could bring the final piece of finance to the small but lovely screenplay he’d written, that wouldn’t be the least of them.
But the thought of hitting up his ex-lover, who now happened to be a big deal in the entertainment industry, seemed a bit self-involved. Unseemly. Especially since right now they were trapped together in a Christmas hell not of their own making or design.
“Not sure I feel comfortable doing that.”
“What? Not sure you want to eat after the first of the year? Well, I’m sure, dude. I’m sure I want the commission. Text me her digits, I’ll call her right now before I hit the plane and—”
“No!” Norris said loudly enough that Clarissa’s head jerked upward. Her eyebrows narrowed as she peered into Norris’s room from across the hall. She’d probably thought that Norris had joined the rest of the McGovern family downstairs for the cookie-making session, and that she was alone on the second floor.
“No.” Norris quieted his tone. “No, I’ll take care of it.” He turned back to the window. Snow softly fell on the pine trees. He glanced over his shoulder. Clarissa stood in the doorway to his room, her arms crossed over her horrible sweater.
A smile spread over Norris’s face. He couldn’t help it. Where the hell did Eliza McGovern find these atrocious bits of clothing for her family and guests to wear?
Clarissa’s required attire today wasn’t quite as horrid as yesterday’s, meaning there were no actual pigs involved. Instead Clarissa’s mother had taken a photo of Clarissa at the most awkward adolescent stage—when she had glasses and headgear, and obviously hadn’t sorted out the intricacies of makeup—and had it plastered on the front of a knit sweater. Blinking lights outlined the face, and beneath was the word “Piglet.”
Norris’s eyes widened. He yanked his eyes from the sweater and met Clarissa’s gaze as he listened to Peter yammer on about the necessity, no, the requirement of utilizing friendships in entertainment to further one’s business interests.
“Okay,” Norris interrupted. “Okay. Have a great time in Tahiti. We’ll talk when you’re back.”
Peter was midsentence when Norris pressed the red button on the phone.
“You still have that douchebag Peter Brett as an agent?” Clarissa lifted an eyebrow and shook her head.
“The agent I used to have went off and became a big-time producer. So yes, I do still have this douchebag instead of the other agent I deeply enjoyed working with.”
That had been how they’d met. When Clarissa had first landed in Los Angeles after college and been an assistant at CTA. He’d been a production assistant for Lydia Albright’s company. They’d started as friends, then became lovers. Finally, when Clarissa got her promotion to agent, she’d sold Norris’s first screenplay—which oddly had been the beginning of the end for their relationship, but not their careers.
“Hear that Truly & Madly is set up in New York.”
Norris nodded.
“Also hear that it’s missing a piece of finance.”
“That’s what Peter called to discuss. He wants me to ask you to come on board.”
“I bet he does.” She squeezed her arms tighter across her chest. “Now.” A hint of bitterness wove through her tone. Of course, how could it not? The life of a producer was incredibly difficult. When she had first struck out on her own, Peter, like most agents, hadn’t even returned her calls. But now that she’d achieved success, every agent in town wanted their clients in Clarissa’s films.
Time to change the subject. “So this is your sweater today?” Norris asked.
“Lovely, right?” Clarissa looked at Norris’s sweater, an artful picture of Jack Frost painting a window. “I think mine is worse.”
“I’d have to agree, if only for the personalized nature.”
“Eighth grade was not my friend.” Clarissa glanced down at the photo emblazoned across her chest. “Neither were glasses and braces.”
Norris walked closer. He took the bottom of her sweater in his hands and pulled it taut to get a better look. “Except for now.”
“Now?”
“The braces are your friend now.” He glanced up from the photo of the gawky girl, who barely looked like the present-day Clarissa.
His heart picked up its pace in his chest as his eyes found hers. Heat filtered down his back and tightened his spine. His cock hardened at the nearness of the woman he’d once desperately loved.
“You have this smile.” His fingers lightly touched her chin and tilted her face so that her lips were angled to his. “This amazing smile.” The sweetness of her breath and the scent of . . . how did she smell of lavender and lemons at Christmas? All of it—Clarissa’s heat, her nearness, her scent—all of her, as intoxicating to him now as it had been when they were a couple.
Those rich brown eyes. Her gaze didn’t flicker away. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. There was no smile now, only the heat of a kiss that he’d wanted since yesterday.
Her mouth opened and he deepened the kiss. Familiar, and yet not. Time and distance had made what once felt familiar, now feel hot and illicit. She wanted him too. The heat between them was impossible to deny.
Her stomach growled.
Norris pulled back. He smiled and pressed his forehead to hers. He remembered how cranky Clarissa got when she hadn’t eaten, and he doubted a hangry Clarissa coupled with Eliza would be a Christmas show anyone wanted to see. “Let’s go get you fed.”
At this moment, it was the wisest choice any man could make.
4
“Have you been downtown since you got here?” Clarissa asked.
Norris turned left onto Main Street and around the giant courthouse in the middle of the square.
“We only got here the day before you arrived, and I your mother’s itinerary hasn’t allowed me to do much sightseeing.”
“It won’t.” Clarissa’s phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen. “Oops, it would appear she’s discovered our absence.” Clarissa pressed the button that sent the incoming caller to voicemail. “Uh-oh. Poor Eliza, she’s not going to like that much. She prefers to have all Christmas guests trapped in the house. Then she disables their cars so they can’t leave until the twenty-sixth.”
“Kidding, right?”
“Well, she won’t do it to Kevin, at least not this year. But once he’s married into the family? It’s a distinct possibility.” Clarissa pointed out the windshield. “Park here. Let’s go to Bea & Barbara’s Bakery. Best cheesecake and cannoli I’ve ever had, and I’ve eaten cheesecake and cannoli on both coasts.”
Norris pulled into a parking space and turned off the car. The snow had stopped falling, but a fresh sprinkling of the white stuff blanketed the entire town. Holiday finery decorated Powder Spring’s main square. Black iron lampposts with actual flames in their glass lanterns were spaced every few feet down the sidewalk. Each wore a holiday wreath of red and green. The park surrounding the courthouse sported both a giant menorah and a Christmas tree. Giant lights strung across Main Street spelled out “Season’s Greetings.”
“It’s like you grew up in Bedford Falls,” Norris marveled.
“I love that movie.” Clarissa pulled her coat tighter around her body. “It was pretty idyllic here, unless you were different.” She opened the passenger door and cold air rushed into the car. Norris followed her onto the cobblestone sidewalk.
He’d been different as a kid. He’d wanted books and poetry and words and oddly, he’d never been teased about his unique nature. He supposed growing up an only child with doting older parents helped. No one had ever called him Piglet, or compared him to a near-perfect sibling. Nor had there been any parental expectations that he be anyone other than who he was. Hi
s parents would never have considered making fun of or teasing him over a physical malady . . . hell, they’d never teased him over anything.
Really, even though he was a bit odd by normal standards, Norris had wanted for nothing, and that included friends. In fact, he hadn’t known he was odd until well into his college career. Norris caught up to Clarissa as she led the way to the bakery. Her cheeks pink from the cold.
Were they going to discuss that kiss? Norris doubted it. Rather than bring it up, he angled himself closer to her and slid his hand around her waist. She didn’t pull away or change her body language. Instead, she looked up at him and smiled.
“Coffee and a sandwich, plus some cannoli for dessert.” She stopped in front of a glass door with the picture of a bee circling a sweet honey cake painted on it.
“Sounds perfect.” Norris opened the door, and the rich scents of cake and cookies and cinnamon and coffee and chocolate slammed into his nose. Along with the warmth. He stomped his boots, ridding his feet of snow. A line stretched from the door to the counter.
“There’s a table.” Clarissa wove through the nearly full bakery to a table near the back in a little alcove. “This place is completely different.” She grabbed a menu from beside the catsup. “They took out a wall. Added at least a dozen tables and booths.” She perused the menu. “And a full menu. Wow. Last time I was home, they had sandwiches and salads, but now they have everything.”
A woman with pink hair walked up to the table, pulling napkins from her pocket. “Hi, I’m Alison, what can I get you folks—?” She looked up and saw Clarissa. Her face broke into a giant smile. “Oh my God! Is that you, Clarissa McGovern?”
Clarissa’s cheeks grew pinker.
Alison leaned down and pulled Clarissa into a hug. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”
“I don’t know, three years?”
“My God, you lucky girl,” Alison deadpanned. Clarissa smiled and Alison laughed. “Back for Christmas?”
“You know it.”
“Eliza driving you nuts?”
“You know that too.” Clarissa rolled her eyes. When she did that, she looked almost like a teenager. Norris could picture Clarissa as an adolescent. Had she worn black and been an emo girl? Or had she been popular, with bows and curls? Based on her disdain for home and her hometown, he guessed the former, but couldn’t be certain, based on this woman’s friendly reaction.
“Girl . . . you know, I’ve got my parents’ place now. They’re down in Florida for the winter. Coming up tomorrow, but you’re always welcome if you need an escape.” Alison leaned in and cupped her hand over her mouth. “I mean, we all know about the Christmas madness over at your place.” She turned and patted her curls. “And who is this fine fella? You brought home a man for the holidays?” She lifted an eyebrow and winked.
“Hi, I’m Norris.” He smiled and extended a hand to shake Alison’s.
“Hey, Norris. How long you been dating our Clarissa? You two meet out in Hollywood?
A stunned silence filled the space between them as Clarissa looked at Norris. Alison was a lot closer to the truth than she might have guessed, but still completely wrong.
“Actually, Norris is an innocent bystander co-opted into Mother’s madness. He’s good friends with Julia’s boyfriend.”
“Got it.” Alison nodded.
“But we did meet in Hollywood, Clarissa and I, years ago,” Norris added.
“Hmm, so you knew her before she was Miss Big Deal.”
Norris smiled. “I did indeed. We were both just assistants when we first met. Trying to break into the world of film. We kind of lost touch for a while. I moved to New York.”
“Well,” Alison took out her pad to take their order, “you know what they say. There are no coincidences in life.”
“Do they say that?” Norris asked.
“They do.” Clarissa winked.
Norris and Clarissa both ordered. After a bit of catching up on Alison’s life in Powder Springs and Clarissa answering her questions about the projects she was working on in Los Angeles, Alison left them to put in their lunch order.
“You’re still working on Bangkok Nights?” Norris asked. “I thought for sure you’d’ve let that one go.”
“Couldn’t. I love that story. I’ve always loved that story. Was the first project I ever optioned.”
“I remember when you read it and said you had to have it. How much did you pay?”
“For the first option? I don’t know, like five hundred dollars for twelve months. An entire week’s salary for me at the time.”
“Will it ever get made?”
“Maybe. Who knows? We’ve got Dylan McElroy attached and it’s as close as it’s ever been. Now if I can convince Worldwide to start cutting checks, we’ve got a film. I’m hoping for third quarter next year.”
“That sounds doable.”
After discussing the positives and negatives of both Bangkok Nights and Dylan McElroy, Alison set down their lunches, smiled, and scurried away to greet another table.
“What about you? What are you doing in New York? Heard you’d gotten a gig in development, and then you were writing, and then—”
“And then what?” Norris looked up. He wondered what she’d heard and who she’d heard it from.
The color drained from her face. “And then you weren’t around for a while.” Clarissa said softly. She dropped her eyes and took a bite of her turkey burger.
“That’s a nice way to put it. ‘Not around for a while.’” Norris poured catsup on his burger. “Might as well call it what it was. I had a nervous breakdown, went a little batshit crazy. Isn’t that what you heard?”
Clarissa stopped mid-chew and put down her burger. She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “The story wasn’t quite that extreme. I didn’t know if it was emotional or if it was chemical. Neither is unusual in our world, but you’d never been into the drug scene before. So I thought maybe”—she glanced down and softened her tone—“I thought maybe the bullshit had gotten to you and you simply took a break.”
“You could say that. It was my parents, really. They came, collected me, and took me to their place upstate for, what, about three months. Did some intense therapy and realized that things really didn’t suck as much as I thought. That life was pretty damn good. And that I was being kind of a self-involved asshole to think I was the only person in the world who’d failed to make a million dollars and win an Oscar, all before thirty.”
Red crept up Clarissa’s neck.
“Not all of us can be overachievers, now, can we? Wouldn’t be overachieving anymore, it’d simply be normal.” He shoveled fries into his mouth.
Clarissa’s eyes met his. They didn’t hold happiness, but instead a look he couldn’t put into words or explain, other than to say the weight he witnessed in her eyes was like the look he’d seen in his own reflection when he’d been fighting a heavy sadness.
“You’re not happy.”
The look slipped away and the corners of Clarissa’s mouth fishhooked upward. “How could I possibly be unhappy? I’ve succeeded by every measuring stick possible, haven’t I?”
“Well, by my measuring stick, and by the industry’s measuring stick, sure, but our business is kind of messed up.”
The nearly real smile dropped from Clarissa’s face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear until after. And then . . . I didn’t know what to do or what to say. Or if you’d want me to say anything. You hadn’t reached out—”
“I didn’t mean you.” He cupped his hand over hers, and again she didn’t move from his touch. “I’m happy for your success.”
She looked into his eyes as though seeking his forgiveness, which she definitely didn’t need to do. He had nothing to forgive her for. If he was completely honest with himself, he hadn’t been ready for a woman like Clarissa McGovern at the time they’d first dated. In fact, he doubted he was ready for her now. But at least he was more ready—more stable, more sincere, more able to realize that
her hurricane personality was nearly unparalleled. Her force and hard work and drive to succeed should make him feel excited that she wanted to be with him, not threatened. Instead of telling her any of that, though, he simply asked, “How’s your burger?” There were so many other damned questions darting through his mind while he sat beside Clarissa two days before Christmas at a bakery in the mountain town of Powder Springs, Colorado. And yet, “how’s your burger” seemed the perfect one to ask.
“It’s good,” Clarissa said. She took another bite. She hadn’t eaten a burger in years, since the last time she’d come home to Powder Springs. Red meat wasn’t her thing. But something about being home, having to endure Mother, and then this—seeing Norris? Well, a burger, some kind of comfort food, sounded incredible. So she’d gotten a turkey burger and pretended it was beef.
Norris slid another fry through catsup. He was still one of the best-looking men she’d ever known, but his magnetism wasn’t really about his looks. She knew, because she worked with the best-looking male movie stars in the world, called some of them her close friends. Her attraction to Norris stemmed from more than his looks, and always had.
The attraction came from his attitude, his humor, the sharp thoughts that darted around that brilliant brain of his. Plus, he nearly always remained unruffled. And that—the fact that Norris stayed unfazed, uniquely happy and enthusiastic in the crazy that was Hollywood and moviemaking—created a joy in Clarissa. A joy that, while appealing, was unfamiliar and unsettling. She didn’t trust happiness like the kind Norris maintained, to continue. And she guessed his joy had faded for a while, when he’d gone to stay with his parents. She did the math. How long had it been after she’d said no, and then after she’d won, that he’d gone a bit batty in the head?
Didn’t matter really. Could happen to anyone trying to work in the industry. She herself had made two attempts to leave the biz, and failed both times. She dabbed her lips with her napkin and stole a look at the man across the table. No, she hadn’t been ready for Norris before, with his happiness, his childlike enthusiasm for life. But now? Now he felt like cool rain on a July day.
Home for the Holidays: A Contemporary Romance Anthology Page 33