"Yeah, but they move fast."
"I know. You get the broom ready to head him off in case he tries to go anywhere besides out the door."
Flynn couldn't very well wrestle her out of the way. "Okay."
"Going toward the door." Zoe spoke softly as she cleared the stove and reached for the door handle. The mouse didn't move. "Opening the—damn it, it's locked." She fumbled with the lock, obviously not wanting to take her eyes off the mouse.
"I think he moved a little."
"The lock's sticking. I'll have to get closer and concentrate on it, which means I can't pay attention to the mouse."
"I'll let you know what he's doing." Feeling like the goalie on a hockey team, Flynn clutched the broom and waited.
Zoe flicked the lock back and forth and pulled. The door didn't budge. "What if it's painted shut?"
"Then we think of something else. This mouse is outta here."
"I think we should name him." She tugged harder on the door.
"Name the mouse? Why on earth would you want to do that?"
"So he's not such a foreign creature." She'd started puffing with the effort of trying to get the door open. "See, if we personalize the mouse, he won't seem so other, and we won't be so freaked out."
"I'm not freaked out." Which was a lie. The idea of sharing the cabin with a little scurrying thing that could go anywhere, that could bite him in the middle of the damned night, for crissakes, was giving him the willies. Bigfoot was one thing. A little hyperactive mammal was something else again.
"Well, I'm freaked out. A little. We'll call him George."
"George is moving."
"Hee-yah!" Zoe gave a mighty pull and wrenched the door open, but George dashed past her, past the broom Flynn wielded like Wayne Gretzky, if he did say so himself, and made for the living room.
"Get the bedroom doors!" Flynn yelled as he ran back to the living room with George still in his sights. The little mouse ran under the coffee table and—naturally— under the ugly couch.
Zoe slammed both bedroom doors and reappeared in the living room. "Well?"
"Under the couch."
"We'll lure him with cheese and shoo him out the front door. When I was taking inventory I found some cheese. Keep watch. I'll be back."
"He won't get past me." Flynn crouched down, peering with narrowed eyes at the opening under the couch.
Moments later Zoe came back, her hand brimming with chunks of cheddar cheese. "We'll make a trail leading out the front door. George will go from piece to piece and finally find himself on the porch. We slam the door, and voila. No George."
Flynn had his doubts about the plan, but he didn't have a better one at this hour of the night. "Go for it."
Zoe opened the front door, letting in the sounds of the night. Flynn couldn't remember the last time he'd heard crickets, or the breeze through the top branches of tall pines. Now if he could manage to hear the howl of a Sasquatch, that would really make his night.
"Here you go, George." Zoe dropped pieces of cheese in a line from the front porch through the open door to the edge of the couch. "Din-din is served." Then she backed up and came to stand beside Flynn.
"Now what?"
"We watch from a safe distance and see if it works."
"Then I'll get us a couple of kitchen chairs." On his way to accomplish that mission he noticed the groceries spread out on the counter. "Want some wine?" he called out.
"Sure!"
"Should we eat some of that cheese?"
"Better not," Zoe called back. "We don't want to confuse his little olfactory glands by putting cheese in places we don't want him to go."
Flynn pictured George running up his pants leg to get the cheese and heartily agreed. "I see a can of nuts. I'll bring those."
"Great!"
Making the mercy mission into one trip gave Flynn a sense of efficient accomplishment. He stuck two wineglasses in his hip pockets, shoved the bottle opener in his front pocket, hooked an arm through each of two chair backs, and then picked up the wine bottle in one hand and the can of nuts in the other.
When Zoe saw him she laughed. "You look like a street performer about to start his act."
"Trust me, once I unload this stuff there's no act. I'm still worried about the read-through of the script, considering that I'm way out of my depth. Maybe we should discard that plan. It could leave a really bad taste in your mouth for this role, and I wouldn't want that." Nice segue, Granger. He patted himself on the back.
"I'm not at all concerned. I just need Tony's lines read. You'll be fine."
So it hadn't worked. He gave up the fight for the time being. She helped him unload, and soon they were sipping a fairly good Merlot and munching on an assortment of salted nuts.
"Do nerds care about wine?" Zoe asked.
"This nerd does." He took another swallow. He was aware that he was drinking on an empty stomach, which might not be the wisest move, but it tasted good after all the stress of this trip. He lifted his glass. "Not bad. Not bad at all."
"I sent Margo a list of brands, and this was at the bottom, but it's fine. I'm sure she tried her best to get what I asked for."
"So you've known her ever since high school?" Flynn was still having a tough time making all the pieces fit. "Not continuously. And don't get me wrong—we weren't best buds in school. We were on the same cheer squad and knew some of the same people."
"So why are you hooked up with her now?"
"She's reunion committee chair. You know how some people weren't close in high school, but later on they find they have a lot in common? That's how it is with Margo and me."
Flynn questioned that Zoe had a single thing in common with Margo but decided not to say so. Sometimes stars like Zoe got lonely, and a simple friendship with someone who wasn't in the business was exactly what they needed. He wouldn't tread on that.
Zoe helped herself to another glass of wine. "Did you e-mail Kristen?"
"Um, no." And he felt guilty. He'd been more interested in researching Bigfoot than getting in touch with the woman he planned to marry.
"I guess George interrupted you."
"Yeah." And his laptop still sat on the couch, open and running. He suspected he'd been bumped from the Internet by now after all this period of inactivity, but he was burning battery life. In order to fix that, he'd have to approach the couch, which could compromise the George plan, so he vowed to get the laptop plugged in at his first opportunity.
"I think it's great that you've found someone special," Zoe said. "How did you meet her anyway?"
"Went back to visit my old roommate, Josh. He fixed us up."
"And it was love at first sight."
"I'd say like at first sight instead." But Flynn had sensed a kinship they could build on. They'd managed to keep the relationship alive in the past year with Flynn making several trips back to Harvard. The sex was good and he liked the companionship. No question, Kristen was a logical choice.
"If you're thinking of marriage, then I guess you've progressed beyond the liking stage."
"Yeah." He believed that, although he hadn't told Kristen he loved her. The timing had never seemed right, and it wasn't the sort of conversation to have over the telephone, when you couldn't kiss each other afterward.
"Selfishly I'm hoping you won't move back to Massachusetts."
"I hope I won't, either." He poured himself some more wine. It was tasting better with every sip.
"But it's a possibility? I hate hearing that."
"I have to be fair. My plan is to give Kristen a year to decide if she likes Southern California. If she doesn't, I can't force her to live there. And I would be fine in Massachusetts. I spent all those years going to Harvard. I'm used to it."
Zoe turned to him. "Flynn, used to it is a long way from liking it. She shouldn't expect you to be miserable, either."
"I wouldn't be miserable. I could teach at Harvard. They probably need someone with practical experience in the field of entertainment
law."
"Do you hear yourself? You're settling, Flynn!" She looked into his eyes. "Admit that you'd miss Hollywood."
The wine was getting to him, forcing him to be more forthcoming than he might have been otherwise. "Yeah, I'd miss it." He'd miss Zoe, to put an even finer point to it. Maybe he hadn't seen her regularly, but he had to admit she'd always hovered on the edge of his thoughts. Knowing there was a file in his office marked Zoe Tarleton had given him a thrill, a reason to feel good about life.
"It's none of my business, but I think you should let Kristen know that your life is here." She sighed and took another gulp of wine. "Listen to me, being self-serving. I want you to stay, so I'm trying to convince you to deliver an ultimatum to Kristen. That's not right. I apologize."
"No apology necessary." Not in the least. God, her eyes were incredibly blue, and knowing that she needed him to hang around was a real high. "I'm glad I've been of value to you."
"You have, Flynn. You've been extremely valuable."
He was convinced that the wine was causing this moment when their eyes were locked and sparks seemed to be shooting off of both of them. "What happened to your glasses?"
"They were sliding all over the place while I was unpacking, so I took them off."
"You probably need the screws tightened." The wine was coaxing him to lean over and kiss her, which he most certainly wasn't about to do. They'd been discussing his life with Kristen, so how could he be thinking of kissing Zoe?
She smiled at him. "I'll bet you have one of those little kits with the tiny screwdriver inside and little spare screws."
"Yeah, I do. I can fix your glasses. They just need to be screwed... tighter."
"That would be nice." She had a dreamy, come-closer expression in her eyes.
"No problem. Glad to do it." Damn. He wanted to kiss her. He justified his unacceptable urges by reminding himself that she made a living being kissable. A close-up shot of her lips was guaranteed to make any guy in the Free World ditch his significant other and long for the ecstasy promised by Zoe's mouth.
So he could be forgiven for thinking of kissing her. Any normal male would be engulfed by her natural sensuality. He felt himself drifting toward those smiling lips.
"George is coming out."
Apparently she hadn't been as mesmerized by the moment as he had, because she'd caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Well, of course she hadn't been mesmerized. He wasn't her type. He was her Rent-a-Nerd. He would do well to remember his place in the scheme of things.
He turned to look, and sure enough, George had ventured out to sniff the first piece of cheese.
Zoe's voice was low and filled with excitement. "This is going to work."
"Could be."
Sure enough, George wolfed down the first piece of cheese and moved to the next.
"He's just like Pac-Man," Zoe said.
"I used to love that game." Flynn watched George moving steadily toward the door.
"Me, too." Zoe drank her wine and watched George move laboriously through piece after piece. "It's what gave me the idea to try this."
"Well, it's working like a charm." Flynn poured himself a touch more wine.
"Let's drink to ridding the cabin of George without bloodshed." Zoe raised her glass and smiled at him.
"I'm for that." Flynn clicked his glass with hers and drank. Damn it, this cabin was feeling cozier by the minute. Good thing Zoe was so far out of his league. He'd been with her less than two hours, and he already felt as if he'd betrayed Kristen.
"George is out!" Zoe bounded from her chair and slammed the door on the tiny mouse.
"I'm e-mailing Kristen," Flynn said, and retrieved his laptop.
Omigod, Zoe Tarleton is actually spending the weekend in Long Shaft! I can hardly believe this is happening. Who would ever think that a big star like her would end up coming to a little place like this? But she's here, she's really here! No one is supposed to know about it, of course. But I know, and I'm completely stoked! I know everything about her. I've done lots of research. You might say I'm a secret fan. I think she should stay here awhile. In fact, maybe she should stay here forever and ever....
Chapter Six
While Flynn got on the Internet to type in his love note to Kristen, Zoe returned to the kitchen, closed the back door, and looked for something they could fix for dinner without burning down the cabin. She felt as if they had a third person on this trip and she didn't like it, even though she'd agreed that Flynn could communicate with Kristen.
This whole Kristen business was kind of weird anyway. Flynn could have e-mailed his lady love earlier, while Zoe had unpacked groceries. At least fifteen minutes had gone by before she'd spotted George, plenty of time to type a message. Yet apparently he'd been fooling around with something else instead.
Also, and this was the salient point—what the hell was he doing with condoms on this trip? Ever since she'd seen them in that little compartment of his suitcase, she'd been second-guessing herself. Maybe it had been a box of something else. Maybe he'd saved a condom box and was reusing it for ... something.
No, that was nuts. Nobody, not even Flynn, would save an empty condom box and reload it with some other doodad. Besides, Flynn didn't have doodads. He had his basic wardrobe and a shaving kit. That was it.
Except for condoms. No matter how she turned the situation around, examining it from all angles, she came up with the same conclusion. Flynn thought there was a chance he'd get lucky this weekend.
Once she accepted that fact, another one came bounding along on its heels. Flynn wasn't nearly as committed to this Kristen person as he'd implied. Kristen might be a safety net, a way for him to protect himself until he decided how he wanted this weekend to go. That made him a lot more complicated than she'd thought.
So now what? The idea of a weekend fling with her favorite nerd had crossed her mind more than once in the past few hours. She'd dismissed it because of Kristen. Also, she didn't see Flynn as the weekend fling type, and she might end up ruining a perfectly good lawyer-client relationship. Flynn was the best in the business, which was why he got clients even if he did happen to drive a nerd car.
"So what do you think we should fix for dinner? Something with olive oil?"
She turned to find him leaning in the doorway. Looking down at the bottle in her hand, she realized she'd spent quite a while fixated on Flynn instead of scoping out a dinner plan. "That's what I was thinking," she said. "Something with olive oil."
"Like what?"
She thought quickly. Olive oil had to do with Italian cooking. She knew that because of the fabulous dipping sauce at her favorite restaurant. Glancing at the pile of groceries she'd unloaded from the bags Margo had carted in, she noticed a package of angel-hair pasta. "Spaghetti?"
"Spaghetti sounds good. But I don't see ajar of sauce. How can you have spaghetti without sauce?"
"Maybe we have one of those envelopes of dry ingredients you mix in with tomato paste." Zoe rummaged through the pile on the counter, but no little packet showed itself. "Here's a can of tomatoes," she said brightly, holding it up. "We could mush them up and add a lot of salt and pepper."
Flynn looked doubtful. "In a pinch, maybe, but I think more goes into spaghetti sauce than that. Maybe some of the olive oil. Is that garlic?"
"I guess so." Zoe picked up the tiny bulblike thing and held it to her nose. "Probably garlic. And this is definitely an onion." She picked that up, too.
"It looks like Margo thought we'd make our own sauce."
"She probably did." Zoe didn't relish the idea of admitting to Margo that she couldn't pull that off. She'd look like a spoiled rotten diva if she did that. "I have an idea. Let's get creative. We'll open up the tomatoes, mash them up a little, add some of the garlic, and some of the onion. We'll keep tasting until it seems right."
"I have a better idea." Flynn looked immensely pleased with himself. "I'll go back online and find a recipe for spaghetti sauce. Then we can get the exact mea
surements we need."
"C'mon, Flynn. Let's try this on our own. We might come up with a whole new taste."
"More likely something totally inedible. Look, we know we're both bad in the kitchen. I'm sure I can find some good recipes. I'll Google spaghetti sauce. Be right back."
"But the thing is, I'm not into recipes," she called after him. "That's the reason I—" She gave up protesting when she heard the sound of his laptop booting up. She should have known he was a recipes kind of guy.
But she had a little time to maneuver before he showed up with his Googled spaghetti sauce formula. She could get the jump on him and show him that innovation had it all over following directions. He would be so amazed. She liked the idea of amazing Flynn.
First she found a big kettle, filled it with water, and dumped in the pasta. After turning the burner on high, she located a can opener and a pan for the tomatoes. There. She had the pasta on one burner and the potential sauce on another one.
Next step, mush those tomatoes into a pulp. The utensil drawer had the kind of potato masher she remembered her grandmother using, so she took it out and began pulverizing the tomatoes.
Now this was what she called creative cooking! She'd bet Julia Child started out this way, forging a path to creative cuisine. Zoe poured in some of the olive oil, which seemed like the right move at this point. The tomatoes were sticking to the bottom of the pan and olive oil was good lubrication. She'd learned that from massage.
Massage made her think of sex, which she hadn't had in ages. One bout of watching her love life dragged through the scab sheets was quite enough. She wasn't only worried about her feelings. Her parents had suffered, too. They were simple people who'd never anticipated having an international star for a daughter.
They still weren't comfortable with it. Her mother had once confided that they wished Zoe had become a schoolteacher or a nurse. That way they wouldn't have to cringe every time they passed the magazines in the grocery store checkout aisle. Whenever the gossip was flying, they stopped shopping completely and bought takeout, and they hated takeout.
Gone With the Nerd Page 6