Lost on the Road to Love

by Kay Harris

  “Love you,” I said just before hanging up.

  I walked to the door slowly, sure a long night of looking at film stretched ahead of me. So I was delighted to find Henry on the other side of the door. “Hey, Chelsea,” he said as he strode through the door of my hotel room.

  I swung the door closed. “What’s up?”

  “I wanna be outside. It’s freaking gorgeous here. And I wanna hang out on the beach, maybe with a bonfire.”

  “Okay. You looking for company?” I asked, hoping desperately he would tell me that’s why he was here, not that he’d come looking for a box of matches or something.

  “That’s exactly what I’m looking for,” he said with a grin.

  “Sounds good.” I slipped into my sandals. “Who else do you want to invite?”

  “No one…I mean, we could ask Tom if you want.”

  I glanced at the digital clock on the table beside the bed. “It’s past his bedtime. At least, for a day he’s not cutting film.”

  “Come on, then,” Henry said, holding the door open for me.

  Half an hour later, Henry and I sat in lawn chairs on either side of a small gas fire pit, all of which we’d pulled down onto the beach from the hotel’s porch.

  The sound of waves crashing on the shore complemented the creaking of chairs as we shifted and the strange soft sound of the fake fire. There was no wind, and the still, warm air felt like a hug as it surrounded me. I looked at Henry, sitting just a few feet away, and in that moment, I was utterly content.

  “Well, it isn’t exactly like the bonfires I remember growing up. But it’ll do,” he said, giving a sour look to the little metal dish burning orange flames in front of us.

  “Hmmm. You’ll have to regale me so I can live vicariously. Not a lot of sitting out on the beach in San Francisco.”

  “Too damn cold,” he said, stretching his long legs out in front of me.

  “And windy.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “So, come on. Tell me what it was like growing up in a mansion in Malibu,” I urged.

  “First of all, it isn’t a mansion. It’s just a house. I’ve seen the place you grew up in on freaking magazine covers, Chels. That is a mansion.”

  “One magazine cover, once. And why on earth were you looking at that magazine?”

  “My mom had it. And the point is, my parents’ house is practically a hovel compared to that thing.”

  “Okay, but their ‘hovel’ is in Malibu,” I pointed out.

  “True.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  Henry gazed into the fire and began his description. “We have a pretty substantial backyard with a pool. A path winds through some trees and bushes out to the beach. Sometimes we set up in the backyard, other times on the beach. It just depends on the privacy factor. At any rate, we’d set up a big bonfire. A real one with actual wood,” he said, gesturing dismissively to the flames in front of us. “And we have a bunch of chairs, lawn chairs, camp chairs, all different. But”—he held his finger up—“at least half the chairs are those ‘big man’ chairs.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Because you come from a family of giants.”

  “Only on one side. But, yes,” he agreed.

  “So you all sit around a fire. And you do what? The adults talk, the kids make s’mores?” I asked, picturing it perfectly in my head.

  “Yes, and usually at the end of the night, it breaks out into a jam session.”

  “Jam session?”

  “Yeah, guitars come out, and my dad and Hank sing.” He chuckled and got a faraway look in his eye. “When we were kids, my sister would fall asleep in my mom’s lap and I would fight to stay awake.” He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the sky. “I love that backyard.”

  I sat up straighter in my chair. “So, you have to tell me, Henry. Do you play guitar?”

  It was a closely guarded secret. I must have overheard other people on the show ask Henry this question a million times in the past three months. But he never answered it. He was a master of evasion. I wondered if he would answer me now.

  “Can you keep a secret?” he asked.

  “Of course I can.”

  “I can play. I learned to play on a ukulele before I could spell my own name.”

  “Then why the hell is it such a big secret?” I asked, sitting forward in my chair to stare at him across the fire pit.

  Henry was still leaned back, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “Well, it’s like this, Chels. I play for fun. I’m not particularly good. At least not good enough to make a living at it. And I wouldn’t want to even if I was. I like to play with my dad and my uncles around a fire in the backyard or in the living room, but that’s it. When people find out I can play, they all want me to do it for them. But it’s something I do only when surrounded by my family. It’s personal. You know?”

  “I think I get that. It’s too bad I won’t get to hear you play, though.”

  “I’ll play for you some day, Chels,” he said casually.

  “You will?” I asked, surprised.

  “Sure. You’re practically family.”

  I went completely still as I digested this. Henry gazed up at the stars as if he hadn’t said anything extraordinary. Our close friendship shouldn’t be in any way surprising. After all, Henry and I had spent sixteen to eighteen hours a day together for the last three months. We were the same age. We had the same dry sense of humor and tendency to overuse sarcasm. And we shared an understanding of the first world problems of growing up a rich kid.

  I felt the same as Henry, ninety percent of the way at least. Except while I was comfortable in his presence, enjoyed his company, and valued his friendship, I also deeply desired his body. In fact, if I could stop dreaming and fantasizing about him and me naked in bed, in the back seat of a car, or in a stairwell, we’d be in good shape.

  “What are you thinking about over there?” Henry asked me.

  Unable to tell him the truth, I made something up quickly. “Um…that hot island waiter from dinner.”

  “Huh. You little vixen. Did you get his number?”

  “No. I don’t think a guy like that has a geek fetish.”

  He rolled his head on the back of the chair, shifting his focus from the sky to me. “Oh, please, Chels. You’re hot, and you know it. And that dude was definitely looking.”

  I had no idea where to take this conversation. I pushed up my glasses while I contemplated that. Finally, I said, “Well, maybe I’m not so good at figuring out who’s interested.” My chest constricted as I said it. This ridiculous, secret hope crept up in me that Henry would say, “I’m interested, Chels.” Then I would leap out of my chair and into his arms.

  I shook my head to clear it of the fantasy and paid attention to what Henry was saying to me.

  “Don’t worry. I got your back.”

  “Yeah?” I managed to respond as my dream died a terrible death.

  “Yeah, I’ll be your spotter. I’ll tell you when a guy’s interested.”

  This wouldn’t be weird if he were any other friend of mine. It wouldn’t be weird if it were Tom, Candace, or even my college buddy, Greg. So, why was it weird now? “You’d do that for me?” I asked.

  “What are friends for?”

  Chapter 8

  Four months ago—Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

  “Come here, gorgeous!” Meno cried as he scooped me up into a massive bear hug.

  After a couple more stops in the Caribbean and a few more in South America, we were closing the Western Hemisphere in Rio de Janeiro, the town where my big brother had once hidden for five years. His best friend, Meno, still lived here. And while I’d only seen Meno in person twice, he’d promised Jack he’d take care of me while I was in Brazil. Not one to shirk his responsibilities, Meno met us at the airport when we landed.

  “Hey,” I said, accepting his embrace easily. “Good to see you again.”

  Meno pulled back and looked at me. He was truly one of the kindest, most since
re people I’d ever met, but he was a serious flirt. “My God, Chelsea, if you weren’t my best friend’s sister. Mmmmm.”

  “Stop it, Meno,” I said, slapping his shoulder.

  “Welcome to winter!” he said, laughing. “Must be strange to go from summer in the states to winter down here.”

  I was only half paying attention to Meno because I was looking around at the rest of the cast and crew. I’d come off the plane last, and they were all either dealing with our gear or looking at maps. In Tyressa’s case, she was on the phone. In Henry’s case, he was talking to two people I’d never seen before. The three of them stood in a corner of the room. I squinted my eyes to get a better look.

  Meno was saying something about how it was still pretty warm here, and I wouldn’t need a coat or anything. Finally, he reclaimed my attention. “Chelsea.”

  I turned back to him. “Sorry, Meno.” I smiled. “I was just thinking about where we are headed next.”

  “What are your plans?”

  I shrugged. “We have tomorrow off. Tomorrow night is the airing of the first episode of the show. And then we get to work the next morning. So I’m free until then.”

  “Good.” Meno rubbed his hands together. “Because I have plans for us.”

  “Chels!” I turned to see Henry gesturing to me from across the room. “Come here for a sec, will you.”

  I grabbed Meno’s hand and dragged him with me as I approached Henry. I assumed the man beside him was his cousin Danny. I knew Danny planned to meet up with us in Rio. The man stood tall, like Henry, but aside from that, they shared absolutely no similarities in their appearance. Not that they should. Danny was the son of Hank Tolk, Henry’s dad’s best friend. They weren’t actually related. So it wasn’t strange that the fairer, thinner, lighter-haired man didn’t look like his cousin.

  I had no idea, however, who the woman was beside Danny. As I neared the trio, I could see she was one of those impossibly beautiful women. She stood quite a bit shorter than me, maybe five foot three inches, and I knew from experience a lot of men found that cute, unlike my above-average height of five foot ten inches. She had curves in all the right places, unlike me, who had no curves at all. And she had long, beautiful, flowing, straight-as-an-arrow blonde hair.

  Worst of all, I knew she couldn’t be Danny’s girlfriend because Henry had already told me Danny was gay. Actually, his exact words had been, “He bats for the same team as Tom.” At the time his statement had led to a sentimental conversation about the LGBTQ people in our lives and what they meant to us. Now it was hitting me in the face because I knew this girl was not necessarily taken.

  “Hey, Chels. This is Danny,” Henry said excitedly.

  “Hi, Danny,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “And this is Danny’s BFF, Erika,” he said, gesturing to gorgeous.

  I shook her hand, too, while Danny said, “Chelsea Morrison. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Oh yeah?” I wanted to explore that statement further, but I felt Meno’s elbow dig into my ribs. I quickly recovered. “Um, Henry, Danny, Erika, this is Meno.” I wasn’t entirely sure how to introduce Meno, and I hadn’t mentioned him to Henry at all. So I went with vague. Meno shook hands with each of them and gave them his ever-charming smile.

  “You’re American,” Henry noted.

  “Yep. Chelsea’s big brother, Jack, and I were college roommates. I moved down here a few years back.”

  “And now he owns his own restaurant,” I told them, pushing my glasses up on my nose.

  “I was about to take Chelsea to my place for dinner. You all interested in joining us?” Meno added with a smile.

  ****

  All through dinner, I’d watched with rapt attention at the activity taking place across the table from me. Erika was not only gorgeous, she was also charming, sophisticated, and flirty as hell. And the primary focus of her affectionate attention was Henry.

  I’d managed to make it through the meal by keeping a near constant flow of wine down my throat. So, when Henry, Danny, and Erika finally said goodnight and headed off into the Rio night, Meno cut me off.

  “I’ve never seen you drunk before, Chelsea,” he said, pulling the wine bottle straight out of my hands. “Since your brother makes you sound like a saint, I kinda wondered if you even did drink.”

  “My brother is delusional,” I told him, looking around the restaurant for the first time in hours. “Hey, where is everybody?”

  “The place is closed. That’s why my staff cleaned up everything but this table.” Meno gestured to the table in front of us, littered with the remains of our feast.

  I swung my head around and took in the spotless tables all around me, covered in clean linens and awaiting tomorrow’s customers. “Wow. I suppose it’s late.”

  Meno chuckled. “What’s up with you?”

  I refocused on him. “What do you mean?”

  Meno leaned forward on his elbows, his bushy, dark brown eyebrows raised. “I mean, something is up with you.”

  I avoided his gaze and waved a hand dismissively at him.

  “Okay,” he said, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his head. “I’ll just ask Jack why you’re acting so strange.

  My gaze instantly snapped up. I watched the smirk play on Meno’s face. He knew he’d just won.

  “I’ve got a thing for Henry, all right?” I said defensively.

  “Hmmm. And?”

  “And what?”

  “You’re jealous of that Erika chick?”

  “Duh.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  Now I was frustrated, which along with the wine and my already irritated state, made me sound pretty pissy. “How exactly does that not make sense?”

  “If you’ve got a thing for the guy, why are you pining over him and watching him flirt with other chicks? Why aren’t you taking action?”

  I pouted at him, unsure of how truthful I wanted to be. “He’s my friend. I don’t want to ruin—”

  “Bullshit,” Meno interrupted.

  My mouth flew open, and I stared at him.

  “That’s bullshit,” he repeated. “What’s the real reason?”

  “Uh, uh” I stuttered.

  “Okay, let me guess. You think he’s out of your league.” My mouth managed to drop even farther, and Meno winked. “Knew it. That’s total crap, Chelsea. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, desirable woman.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. But if he’s already with someone else…”

  “You think he’s already with this chick and she’s here on long-distance booty call and he never once mentioned it to you?”

  The tone of Meno’s voice made it clear he thought it sounded ridiculous when repeated back. But I wasn’t so sure. There was something in Erika’s behavior that spoke to familiarity. And there was definitely something in the way she looked at me that said “competition.”

  “Why don’t you just ask him?” Meno suggested.

  “Ask him if he’s hooking up with Erika?”

  “Sure, and if he is, ask him what she means to him.”

  I wished I could be that straightforward. Maybe it said something about my friendship with Henry that I couldn’t. Hell, I could be completely blunt with my brother’s best friend. Why couldn’t I be the same with my own?

  ****

  Two months and two weeks ago—Paris, France

  By the time we were tromping through Europe, the events in Rio left far behind us, Henry and I were back to being whatever it was we were. In fact, during our time in Europe, we’d grown even closer. We’d started to have long talks every evening as we wound down from our busy days. We’d walked through the streets of European towns side by side and often hand in hand. Our physical closeness had prompted Tom to ask me, pointedly, if Henry and I were sleeping together. When I’d explained we were just good friends, he’d clucked his tongue and shook his head at me.

  Through all of this, I’d basically been playing mind games with
myself. I’d tried to convince myself our friendship was just a special one and there weren’t any rules to it. I’d also told myself I wasn’t sexually attracted to Henry anymore. I’d tried to convince myself if confronted with a situation like the one with Erika again, I wouldn’t be jealous. I also found new excuses to not bring Erika up as I’d told Meno I would.

  The events in Paris forced me to confront how deeply I’d lied to myself.

  On our second night there, I arranged to meet up with my friend, Charles. It wasn’t a big deal, but for some reason, I didn’t want to discuss who Charles was or what he meant to me with Henry. So I’d planned to go without mentioning it to him.

  After we’d finished shooting for the day, we went straight to the hotel. It was a hot day, and we all wanted a shower. As I got dressed, I ignored the text message Henry sent me asking about dinner plans. I felt a little guilty as I put my phone on vibrate and shoved it in my pocket before leaving my room and heading to the hotel lobby. I was halfway to the front door when I spotted Henry sitting on a couch in the center of the spacious room, looking right at me.

  He stood as I approached. “There you are.” Henry smiled at me and ran a hand through his damp hair. He looked hotter than hell and smelled like an ad for some fancy, manly soap.

  “Hi.”

  “Did you want to get dinner?”

  “Actually, I’m meeting up with a friend, who lives here in Paris, for dinner…You could join us, you know, if you want to.”

  “I didn’t know you had a friend in Paris,” he said, cocking his head to one side.

  I shrugged. “I guess I didn’t mention him…um, he was a contractor we hired for a show we did last year.”

  “And?” Henry raised one eyebrow.

  I blushed and looked down at the floor. This should not be so hard. It should not be difficult to tell this to my best friend. But, for some reason, I really struggled. “We had a fling. But you know. We’re just friends now.”

  “Well, in that case, you’d better go alone,” Henry said, grinning.

  My head snapped up, and I looked at him. “Oh no,” I protested quickly. “It’s not like that.”

  Henry rolled his eyes. “Please, Chels. Go get laid. You don’t need me hanging around.”