The Hollywood Tales: Brandon Books 1-4

by Audra Cole

  It takes a good minute before the alarm sounding in my head is loud enough to distract me. I jolt away from Brandon and back myself against the driver’s side window, breathing hard, my eyes wide. My shock is reflected back to me in his expression, and I’m not sure if he is surprised by his actions or my reaction. Maybe both.

  I stay frozen against the door, not trusting myself to move. At any moment, my body could rebel and fling back into his arms. I mentally draw a line down the center of the car and vow to stay on my half. Looking at Brandon, still catching my breath, I am suddenly nineteen again. The old spark is still there. Without even touching him, I can feel the current between us, pulling us closer.

  I close my eyes and remind myself of the invisible line.

  “I should get going, it’s late,” I say.

  The smile leaves his face, and I feel a twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry,” I add.

  He shrugs and smiles again. “It’s fine. I get it.”

  He’s obviously forgotten that I know him well enough to know when he’s fine and when he’s not. Currently he is not okay, despite his words. I feel bad but I also don’t know what else I can do. My hands and heart are tied with memories from the past, and no matter what I tell myself, I don’t see that ever fading enough to rebuild what we had.

  He closes the car door again and gives a slight wave before slipping through the front doors of the inn.

  This time I immediately start the car and hit the gas.

  Chapter Eight

  I get home ten minutes later, and shuffle through the front door like a zombie. The clock on the wall shows it’s nearly midnight, and I have to be back at work in less than four hours. I groan to myself and go into the kitchen to grab my phone charger. Sometime during the drive home my phone went dead. Ashley has probably sent me half a dozen messages by now. I grab the charger from the drawer next to the fridge and take it with me to my bedroom. I plug my phone in next to my bed and lay it on the nightstand. While it starts to power up, I go about my nightly routine: makeup off, contacts out, teeth brushed, hair piled up in a messy bun on top of my head. Lastly, I slip into some yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt.

  Exhausted, I flop onto my bed and roll over to grab my phone. Sure enough, there are three texts from Ashley. And one from James:

  “Working late. I’ll call tomorrow.”

  Several possible responses run through my mind. As much as I want to clear up the drama from last night, I am a little pissed off that he ignored me for twenty-four hours and then, when he does finally get in touch, that’s all he has to say.

  The message was sent over three hours ago, and I’m pretty sure he will be sleeping by now. Skipping over his message, I go to the ones from Ashley. She’s probably still awake, but I’m not sure I have the energy to talk about any of this right now. I text her back to let her know that I just got home and need to sleep. Then I flip the phone to silent and turn out the lights.

  In the dark, I try to force myself to close my eyes and go to sleep, but my mind is restless. I am physically and emotionally drained, yet it feels as if my mind could ramble on forever. I can’t stop the replaying of kissing Brandon in the front of my car. I know I should feel bad, that it was technically cheating on James, even though things were way screwed up between us right now. But, as I licked my lips, I couldn’t help but remember the way Brandon’s had felt on mine and wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped it.

  ***

  Morning comes all too quickly, and before I know it, I am trudging back to work. I think I dozed off once or twice, but for the most part, it feels like I spent the whole night tossing and turning, my wheels spinning.

  I’m the first to arrive at the café, so I unlock the doors and let myself in. I stash my purse and jacket in the back room and go about the morning routine. About a year ago, the bakery we used to order all our breads and pastries from closed up. The owners moved to Florida or something, and I volunteered to become the baker. So the café purchased some extra equipment, and I started coming in at the disgusting hour of four a.m. to bake everything from scratch. I am mostly self-taught—there was a lot of carb carnage in the beginning—but now I have my standard recipes down to a science. I could turn them out in my sleep, which is convenient since that is basically my current mental state.

  I spend the next two hours baking everything we’ll need for the day. Most of it had been prepped the day before, so it is just a matter of orchestrating timers and rotating everything through in the right order. Some days, when I’m not half dead, I play classical music and wave my arms around at the ovens like a snobby conductor. For the record, today is not one of those days.

  About twenty minutes before opening I hear the bell on the front door jingle.

  “I need a mocha stat!” Ashley says, as she steps inside.

  “Good morning to you too. What are you doing here so early? I thought we were doing lunch today.” As if on autopilot, I turn to prepare her drink.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on that. Tomorrow?”

  “Sure. What’s up? Is everything okay?”

  “Some company ordered like three hundred bracelets. It’s my biggest order ever, and it has to go out in a couple of days. Which is great! Fantastic, actually! But my next shipment of supplies is on backorder, so now I have to go into the city to pick up some things. I’m heading out now, but thought I would at least stop by and say hi, see how your night went. Since your late night texts were less than helpful.”

  I set the coffee cup down in front of her. I stare at her as she takes a big gulp, not sure what to tell her.

  “Charity? Are you okay?” Ashley asks. “You look like hell.”

  I shake my head, trying to clear the fog. “Sorry, I’m just really tired. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  “Did you talk to James when you got home?”

  “No, it was really late. I figured he’d be asleep. He did text though. I guess he was working late and said he would call today.”

  “Oh, okay. So then, what’s wrong?” Ashley asks. Concern shows in her eyes.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to say. Things are complicated.” My voice trails off.

  “Complicated how?” Ashley asks. She takes a final sip of her drink.

  “Well, something happened last night. I, uh, saw someone at the airport.”

  “Someone, who?” Her eyebrows knit together as she stares at me, as though trying to read my mind. “Not…”

  “Brandon. Brandon was there.” I confirm her unspoken suspicions.

  “Brandon was there? You can’t be serious!” she yells.

  I shush her and lower my voice. “Would I really joke about something like that? I drove him here and dropped him off at the Beverly Inn, like five blocks that way!” I gesture at the window.

  Ashley looks horrified. “You drove him here? Why on earth would you do that?”

  I quickly explain the situation, leaving out most of the details of the conversation we had on the drive. Her expression only changes to become more shocked as I go along. Not a good sign. I mean I know it was bad, but was it really this bad?

  “You kissed him!” Her chair nearly topples over, as she jumps up.

  Apparently, it is that bad…

  “Shhh!” I pull at her jacket until she sits back down again. “No, I did not kiss him! He kissed me. It was a mistake, I’ll admit. But it’s going to be okay. He’s only in town for a couple of weeks. Then he’ll go back to LA, and everything will go back to the way it was before.”

  I hope.

  Ashley considers me skeptically. “Charity, I’ve known you for like, your whole life. There’s no way you will just forget any of this ever happened and go on like normal.”

  I know she’s right, but maybe if I keep telling myself that it will all be fine, I’ll start to believe it.

  Eventually.

  “Well I have to try. What choice do I really have? It’s self-preservat
ion, trying to keep my remaining shreds of sanity, here.” My joke falls flat.

  “What about James?” She ignores my question. “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. I think now would be a great time to tell him about kissing someone else, immediately after having our first really big fight. That would be perfect,” I fling back. “Of course not, Ashley. Are you out of your mind? What happened with Brandon was a mistake, a one-time thing.”

  “Ugh, I can’t believe this is happening,” Ashley says.

  “I know. My life has suddenly turned into a Lifetime movie special of the week.”

  Ashley laughs. “No kidding! Well, like you said, it’s only a couple of weeks. Besides, he’ll probably be busy with family stuff anyways. You won’t even know he’s here.”

  “Exactly.” I nod in agreement.

  The bell on the door rings again as the first groups of customers arrive. I hop up from the table and get them seated before sending Ashley off.

  ***

  The rest of the day passes quickly, and I only end up working for six hours before my boss lets me go. Luckily, people are pretty generous on Sundays, so the tips were decent, even though it was a short shift.

  On my walk home, my phone starts to buzz from the pocket of my coat. I fish it out and see James’ name on the screen. I hesitate slightly before pushing the answer button and lifting the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, is this a good time?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I’m just walking home from work,” I answer.

  “All right, well, listen, I really want to see you. I want us to work things out. I don’t know what happened the other night, but I’m sorry for being such an asshole about everything, and for not calling you sooner. I think the whole thing caught me off guard, and I didn’t know how to react.”

  He sounds so sincere, and a jolt of guilt hits me when my mind flashes back to the kiss with Brandon. For a brief moment I consider telling him what happened at the airport and coming clean, but I decide against it. If I ever decide to tell him everything, it will be better in person.

  “Honestly, you don’t have to apologize. It was just a miscommunication, and I way overreacted and made an idiot of myself. I figured we both needed some space to think things over, and we’ve had that. Let’s just drop the whole thing and move forward. Okay?”

  “Sure,” James agrees, sounding surprised but relieved. “I’m free tonight. I could pick us up something for dinner and come over. Chinese?”

  “That sounds perfect,” I say.

  “Great. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” He pauses. “I love you.”

  His words sound strange. It was only two nights ago that he said it for the first time. Alarm bells ring in my head at the silence on the line, realizing he is waiting for me to reciprocate the statement. “You too!” I force some happiness into my voice, before clicking off the call.

  I slide the phone back into my pocket and cringe at my own lame reply. It didn’t feel right to say those words the other night and it especially doesn’t feel right now, with all the confusion in my head and heart.

  Chapter Nine

  I decide that I have enough time to whip up a new scone recipe while I wait for James. I have recently been working on a side project to create a recipe book featuring the breads and goodies I make at the café. I figure if I can get enough interest, I could start selling the books at the café and the local bookstore. Who knows, maybe it could even get bigger than that, and I could sell them online or something, the way Ashley sells her jewelry.

  If nothing else, it is a fun process to experiment and create new things. And the customers seem to love the variety. That in itself is rare in a small town where most everything else stays the same.

  I pull out the mixing bowl and all the ingredients and set to work, studying the recipe, and getting caught up in the process. Normally I can block things out and focus, but today there is a nagging question in the back of my mind that won’t go away.

  Once I get the pan into the oven, I cross the kitchen and snatch up my phone.

  My mother answers on the second ring. “Charity dear! What a lovely surprise!”

  “Hello Mother,” I begin, carefully choosing my words. “I have a question for you, and I need you to tell me the truth, no matter what.”

  “What is it?” Her voice changes, the cheeriness gone.

  “At one point in time did you put together a packet of information about schools and career paths for Brandon?”

  “Charity, why would you ask me that? I mean really, that is the most out of the blue thing,” she sputters.

  “Mother, please. I need to know.” I struggle to keep my voice even. I know I already have confirmation, but I wait, wanting to hear it out loud.

  “Well, if you must know, yes. I gathered some information for him. I thought it would be helpful.”

  I take a deep breath and unclench my balled-up fists. I’m angry, but the fight just isn’t in me. There are more questions bubbling up, yet I can’t make myself ask them. I tell her good-bye and get off the phone, ending the call before she can bombard me with questions of her own.

  I think back to the morning of what was supposed to have been our wedding day. I was sitting in my room, staring at my wedding dress, and so desperately wondering what had happened to make Brandon walk away. Now, years later, I am beginning to see the full picture, and I realize that it could have all been avoided. All the pain. All the heartache. But, it happened, and now, knowing the reasons why doesn’t make me feel better after all.

  I grab a bottle of wine and pour a large glassful for myself before returning to the oven to finish my baking project.

  ***

  By the time James rings the doorbell, I feel the effects of the two—or was it three?— glasses of wine working their magic and erasing some of my anxiety.

  “Sorry I’m late babe,” he says, as I swing the door open.

  “As long as you remembered the food, I will forgive you.” I smile.

  He laughs and holds up the bags of takeout. I usher him inside and follow him to the kitchen where he starts to unload the food onto the counters. We work silently as we each fill our plates, and it seems like no one wants to be the first to say anything.

  I glance over at James and try to decipher my feelings. Do I love this man? I wonder to myself. Or, is he just the “safe” choice?

  Choice? What am I thinking about. There isn’t a choice to be made here. Brandon is not an option.

  Not anymore.

  Must be the wine buzz.

  I shake my head to try to clear the thoughts and struggle to think of something, anything, to say to start a conversation, because the silence is killing me.

  “I made scones,” I say.

  Really? That’s the best thing you could think of? I mentally ask myself.

  James nods. “That sounds great. I was wondering what you were baking in here. I could smell it from outside, actually.”

  “They have walnuts and cranberries. Dried ones, not fresh.”

  Can someone please hit me with a shovel and end my misery?

  He nods again but doesn’t add anything. I mean really, what is there to add to that?

  Yikes.

  It’s possible I need therapy…or maybe just more wine.

  “I don’t know if this is something you want to talk about, but I was at work and my buddy was asking if we were going to rent the beach house or not. Have you had a chance to give that any more thought?” James mercifully breaks the silence as we sit down at my small dining room table to eat dinner. My poor, neglected dining room table. It really only gets used when James is here. He insists that we eat at a table. He says it’s more civilized. I eat in the kitchen or on the couch when I’m alone. Looking at him now, I wonder if James ever eats sitting on the couch. I doubt it.

  What was he asking me? Charity, focus!

  “I checked with my boss and since it’s kind of the slow season, he
is fine with me cashing in all my vacation time, so I would have about three weeks off. I’d have to check in from time to time, maybe make a few trips into the city but other than that….” His voice trails off.

  Beach house, right. I almost laugh at the idea of James being able to give up work for three weeks. The man works around the clock and never goes anywhere without his laptop and cell phone.

  Then it hits me, the realization that if he is willing to take off that amount of time and do the bare minimum for work, this must be something that is really, really important to him. I feel guilty all over again.

  “Yeah, I think it’s a great idea. I love the beach and it would be nice to spend some time without distractions and everything to…get back on track.”

  His face lights up with a smile, and for the first time since all this started, I feel a flutter of happiness. The lightness of the moment fades all too quickly, swallowed up by the guilty feelings mixed up inside of me. I stare up at James and wonder if I should come clean, to see if he would make the same choice if he had all of the information.

  “Are you all right? You seem…odd,” he asks.

  I chicken out. “I’m good. Let’s eat.”

  Chapter Ten

  I wake up the next morning to the sound of running water. I look over and see the side of the bed where James slept is rumpled, but he is no longer there. I do a half sit-up and still see his suit and tie laid out across the chair in the corner and it registers that he’s in the shower. Monday is normally my day to sleep in because it’s my only day off, and normally James doesn’t sleep over when the next day is a work day, but last night he made an exception.

  I know he is probably short on time, so I give up my lazy Monday morning routine and stumble out of bed. I slide into my slippers before heading downstairs to turn on the coffee and make some breakfast that he can take on his way back into the city for work.

  “Good morning, gorgeous.”

  I turn away from the stove and throw James a smile as he comes into the kitchen, surprised to see he is wearing a pair of basketball shorts he had in his gym bag. I flick my glance to the clock on the far wall of the kitchen. “Are you going to be late?”