His dad sat up a little higher, stirred his tea for no reason. Clink, clink, clink. “So what’d she say?” He put the spoon down and waited.
“I haven’t heard back yet.”
His mother placed her hand on her heart. “Why not? You’re Hank Rogers!”
Hank restrained a sigh. “Being a celebrity doesn’t merit everyone’s instant attention, Mom. Especially from old friends. I’d rather they not think of me that way. It’s a novel feeling being ignored, and it’s probably good for me.”
“My, my,” his mother said, her usual reply when Hank baffled her.
“I always liked that girl,” his dad said. Which was unusual for him. He didn’t often comment on Hank’s personal life.
“We barely knew her!” his mother exclaimed. “He never brought her home, except for that one time.”
It had been during a pregnancy scare, and Ella couldn’t go home for Thanksgiving because she knew she’d break down in front of her mother and father. So he’d brought her to his house, and she’d had no idea which bread plate to use or why she had two wine glasses—she didn’t touch a drop—and after the meal, she sat stiffly in a wing chair in the den to watch football with the family, and she was miserable. Absolutely miserable.
“I liked her,” his dad said.
Hank’s mom stared at him, her mouth partly open, and said nothing. Her husband was the only person who could derail her drama train.
Hank repressed a chuckle.
“So what’re you up to the next couple weeks?” his dad asked.
Hank’s phone vibrated. He always ignored it in the presence of his parents unless it was his agent’s home number.
It was his agent’s home number.
He rose from his chair. “I normally wouldn’t get this, but it’s Tracy. She only calls from home when it’s urgent. I’ll be right back. And I’m not doing anything, Dad, except reading scripts. None of which are working.”
His dad gave a brief nod. His mom nibbled a cucumber sandwich. Hank slipped away.
“Hey,” he said into his cell. He was behind a column and near a potted fern. He was an expert at hiding in plain sight in public places. “I’m with my parents. How ya doin’?” He tacked that on because he knew she’d like it. Tracy was from Staten Island, a very nice person, and that was how she spoke to him. She refused to move out of her little house a couple of blocks from the bay, even though she could afford a very big one now right on the water. It was her stubbornness that made her such a successful agent.
“You believe in signs from the universe?” she asked without preamble.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“The job with Samantha Drake has come up again on Forever Road.” A thriller/suspense movie written by the two hottest screenwriters in Hollywood. “Frampton Cooke’s out. The royal dame’s none too happy to be left hanging. They don’t want to lose momentum and want you there tomorrow. What do you think?”
His heart thumped a little hard. Samantha Drake was an amazing actor. He and Ella had both thought she was the best in the biz—apart from Meryl, that is. Same league. Very few members. And now Samantha, a native Scot, was a dame of the realm, or some such title, thanks to the queen. Working with Samantha would be a huge feather in his cap and a personal dream come true.
But his heart was thumping about Ella, not Samantha. The truth was he’d been invited to audition for the movie, but he’d declined the first time around. He’d told them he had other commitments in the way. But that wasn’t why. Ella was why. No way could he be in the same city as Ella.
He’d had to tell Tracy the truth at the time because she was the one who’d had to make up some fake commitments and tell the Forever Road people he was unavailable.
“They only just set up shop, and they’re only in Charleston a week,” Tracy said. “But Frampton dropped out this morning. His new wife is pregnant, and now she’s having some complications. He doesn’t want to be away from her.”
“I feel for the guy. And I hope his wife and the baby are all right. But you know I don’t want to work in Charleston.”
“I still have an obligation to tell you about the opportunity. A potentially Oscar-winning opportunity.” Tracy was an agent, and that was what agents did.
She was right. He couldn’t be mad at her. “So who called?”
“Samantha herself.”
That surprised him. He assumed it would have been the up-and-coming, Houston-based director, Isabel Iglesias.
“Samantha heard you were in Charleston last night and didn’t stop by. She didn’t like that.”
“She’s never shown me any particular interest before. Even when they wanted me to audition—”
“They hadn’t chosen the female lead at that time,” Tracy said. “She wants you now, and if you say no, Isabel is willing to throw extra money at you. But they do need you there right away for the week, starting tomorrow morning. Then you get almost a whole month off and finish filming in Montreal. Can’t you make it happen? You have only three short scenes in Charleston. It’s not like it’s going to be hard work. Except for the minor stunt stuff. The script calls for you to jump over a railing.”
“Yeah, into the ocean. You know I’m up for it. But I can’t.”
Tracy sighed. “You want to work with Samantha. The story is right up your alley. The money is good. They’ll treat you like a king. Stay busy, and the girl won’t be a problem.”
“Her name is Ella.”
“Fine. Ignore Ella.”
“I know what I’m talking about,” he said. “I can’t ignore her.”
“Okay.” Tracy paused for a beat. “I’ll tell ’em you don’t want it. Again.”
“I’ll tell them,” Hank said. “When I’m done with my parents, I’ll call. Give me another hour.”
“Fine by me.” The good thing about Tracy was that she let him make the decisions he wanted and never second-guessed him. As long as he gave her an opportunity to state her case, she was good.
He told his parents the situation, leaving out any mention of Ella.
“That’s not enough notice,” his mother said. “Even if it is Samantha Drake. You’re a busy man.” She patted her mouth with a soft linen napkin. But Hank wasn’t fooled by the ladylike move. Mom was a dainty eater until she came to high tea at the Plaza, and then she claimed all the good stuff with cream in the middle. He and Dad didn’t stand a chance.
“I’m not ready to jump in,” he said. “I’m finally at the point I can turn things down if I want, and it’s not the end of the world.”
“Right,” said his mom.
His dad frowned. “Does this have anything to do with Ella?”
Hank paused, a lemon tart halfway to his mouth. “No,” he said.
But of course it did. Hank might be a good actor, but he was a terrible liar.
For a brief second, his dad eyed him in a way he never had before. Hank went ahead and ate the tart and five tiny triangles filled with ham. For the next fifteen minutes, they made small talk about his parents’ neighbors, especially the guy who had five dogs. But Hank had to wonder about his dad—and that look.
When they parted, Mom was her usual fluttering self, asking him to take good care of himself—he needed to eat better … and sleep more. And then she remembered the card for Aunt Sarah. She pulled it out of her purse. “Just sign it over there,” she said, pointing to a table beneath a large mirror. “I’ll be right back. Running to the powder room.”
Luckily, so far, the general public had left Hank alone at the Plaza. No requests for autographs. No surreptitious photos from fans or the paparazzi. But when he was signing the card, someone came up behind him right as he was grappling with what to say.
People hovering were a fact of his life, and sometimes he felt like little more than a freak show in a gilded cage, but blah blah blah, no one cared. He could only occasionally whine to Tracy about it without looking like a self-obsessed ungrateful jerk. But it wasn’t that satisfying because Tracy o
ften scrolled through texts when he spoke to her, and went off on tangents—especially about the Yankees—as if she’d never heard him. And the plain truth was, whining was never satisfying.
Argh, back to Aunt Sarah … What should he write? He gripped the pen and scribbled, Have a great birthday, Aunt Sarah. Love, Hank.
It was the best he could do. At least he’d written Love. That was nice.
He took a secret deep breath and turned around, prepared to face an adoring fan.
But it was his father standing there. “Take the part in Charleston,” he said, his hands in his jacket pockets. “You’re avoiding the girl, and it might be time for you to confront whatever it is you’re running from.”
Whoa. Hank’s father didn’t often make those kinds of pronouncements. It threw Hank off, enough that he responded with equal bluntness. “She’s a woman now,” he said, “a very successful one. She was pretty much grown up when we were dating too. I just chose to act like we were kids. I didn’t deserve her then, Dad, and I don’t now.”
He’d never admitted that out loud. And it hurt.
“People grow up,” his father said. “Give yourself a chance.”
“I had my chance.”
“I don’t buy that kind of talk.” His dad rocked back on his heels. “You’re making excuses.”
“Excuses?” Now Hank was getting a little annoyed. His father certainly didn’t mince words when he chose to speak up. “Dad, I’m way too old for lectures.”
“And I’m too old to give them.” His father’s eyes flickered with challenge. “Live in the present, son,” he said.
“I’m only there a week,” Hank said.
“A lot can happen in a week.”
Hank didn’t know what to say, other than No, a lot can’t, but he kept it to himself because his dad would have said he was wrong, and they would have gone around in circles talking about a week and how much one could fit into it.
“Do you want a second chance with her or not?” his dad asked.
Hank hesitated.
“It’s a yes or no answer, son.”
“Yes,” Hank finally said. “Yes, I do. But I don’t—”
“You don’t deserve it,” his dad finished for him. “Who does? We all make mistakes.”
“Some mistakes are worse than others.”
“True,” said his dad. “But if we all held back from pursuing happiness because we’re flawed, nobody would ever be happy. You have to learn from your mistakes. But don’t let them hold you back.”
“I’ll think about it,” Hank said. “Thanks, Dad.”
Hank’s mom came striding up on her high heels, an Upper East Side grand dame, and the whole conversation was necessarily over.
“All done?” She held out her hand for the card.
“Sure,” said Hank, agitated and trying not to show it.
She read what he wrote and pecked his cheek. “It will do, sweetie. Can you come for brunch soon? I’ll make blueberry pancakes. And spinach quiche. Your favorites.”
His dad kept an enigmatic eye on him.
Hank scratched his ear. “I don’t know if I’ll be here, Mom. I’ve decided to think a little longer about the movie in Charleston.”
She sucked in a breath over her newly touched-up red lips. “Really?”
“I’m thinking about it,” he said. “Not saying yes yet, but I’ll make a decision by the end of the day.”
“Well.” She blinked. “We just might have to have brunch in Charleston, then.” She swiveled to face her husband. “What do you think? Haven’t you always wanted to go see Charleston? There’s a reality show about it: Bless Your Heart. I’ve never seen it. Maybe I’ll start watching it.”
“We’ll see,” said his dad—one of his favorite refrains. “He’s only there a week, if he goes.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” said his mother. “A week isn’t long enough to do anything.”
Hank tried not to laugh and hugged them both.
“Let us know what you decide.” His father was calm. Wise. A good guy. And today of all days, jabbing at Hank in a way he hadn’t done since he’d encouraged him to go to college and then to law school.
Hank was mystified. And curious. And somehow grateful.
“Talk to you soon,” he said, and watched them walk away, his square-shouldered dad and his birdlike mother. His heart squeezed at the sight of them hand in hand, and he recognized the emotion. It was love for each of them separately. And love for them both, as a pair, as one unit that took on the world together.
Family could be complicated. But all worthwhile things, Hank was coming to realize, came with their challenges.
CHAPTER SIX
On Monday morning, Ella yanked a little harder on her suitcase and got it up Pammy’s two brick steps to her front door. She’d packed as much as she could for a week’s stay, and if she really had to go back to her apartment to get some other things, she would. But the elderly Sicilian cousins would be arriving in the next few hours, so she’d had to rush that morning and hope for the best.
Pammy threw open the door, an apple in her hand. It had a big bite taken out of it. “You’re here,” she said with her mouth full. Music blared behind her—crazy music, sounding like wind chimes mixed with electric guitars and someone whacking a cookie sheet with a spatula.
“I sure am,” Ella said faintly, wondering what the heck she was doing there, but then she stepped over the threshold into a house that smelled faintly of cloves and sugar. The scent made the place feel homey and warm, and for the first time, her hopes rose that maybe she could manage this week with no problem.
Pammy grabbed her suitcase from her. “I’ll put this upstairs. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks,” Ella said, and barely had time to look at the collection of photos on the foyer wall before Pammy came bounding back downstairs.
“I gave you the room on the right,” Pammy said. “Hank gets the one on the left.”
Ella wondered if Pammy’s strange music had messed with her head. “Say that again? And would you turn down the music, please?”
Pammy told Alexa to stop, thank God. Blessed silence reigned. “Hank’s coming,” she said. “He’s doing a movie in Charleston. Only for a week. He just called me a few hours ago and wants to stay here. He could have had his own house, or even a hotel suite, but he said he wanted to hang out with me as much as he could when he wasn’t filming because we’re cousins and he’d not be here long. So that’s cool.”
Ella just kept nodding, over and over. “Right,” she said. “Hank’s coming.” Hank was coming? “So”—nod, nod—“Pammy, would you please go upstairs and get my suitcase? I can find another place to stay.”
A place with a squealing guinea pig and a very nosy friend who’d be asking her about Hank every moment.
Hank was coming. He was filming in Charleston. For a whole week.
A week wasn’t much.
A week was forever!
Ella couldn’t imagine being in the same place as Hank for a week. Her entire body was on meltdown. She needed to sit. But she didn’t have time. She had to get to work. She had to escape Pammy’s house before Hank showed up!
“Oh, but I want you to stay!” Pammy said. “Three’s even better than two.” A shadow passed over her face. “Hank … he probably won’t be here much. He’ll be busy working and going to parties, I’ll bet, until pretty late at night. He’s popular with the ladies. I tell him to be careful before he winds up married to someone who only wants his money. Or his looks. He’s deeper than that, you know? He’s smart. And he’s a good actor.”
“He’s got a lot going for him, all right,” Ella said.
Pammy looked at her with worry in her eyes. “I was really hoping you could stay and help, you know, with my settling in. You know all the Charleston haunts—the best restaurants, the best bars.”
Ella sighed. “I honestly don’t think you need me for that. You’re going to be fine with Hank here. If I stayed here, I’m like
a crutch. You don’t have to try to meet people. If you really want to feel at home here—”
“I do.”
“Then you have to explore. And you also have to give yourself time.”
“I know,” Pammy said. “But it would be more fun to explore and let time go by with you.”
“I’m getting my suitcase,” Ella said gently.
Pammy gave a long, drawn-out sigh. “This sucks.”
But Ella ignored her and went upstairs. It was a charming little place. The bedroom with her suitcase in it held a queen-sized bed with a beautiful pink primrose quilt. A tall ivory-colored wardrobe stood in one corner. The whole effect was very shabby chic. She peeked into the other room, and it was just as lovely, but it was decorated in forest green and had heavier furniture.
Hank’s room.
Over her dead body would she stay in a room next to Hank—in the same house as Hank! She didn’t even want to be in the same town as Hank!
She grabbed her suitcase but then had to take a call.
It was Macy at work. “Ella, Roberta Ruttle just showed up here at Two Love Lane and would like to speak with you in person.”
Roberta was a sweet but very difficult client. “Is she listening to you right now?”
“I can’t tell,” Macy said.
“Okay,” Ella said, “I’ll be right there. Does she look angry? Or upset?”
“Not a bit.”
Ella heard some rattling through the line.
“She’s talking to Miss Thing,” Macy whispered. “But she looks happy and is talking a mile a minute. We’ll give her some sweet tea or lemonade and wait for you. Is something going on with her?”
“Yet another guy says he doesn’t want a second date with her because she’s not talking.”
“I feel for you,” said Macy. “This is a real problem.”
It was true. Roberta was an enigma wrapped inside a riddle locked inside a mystery. Ella didn’t bother telling Macy about the fact that Hank was coming to town. She’d do that in person. It was too big a deal to share on the phone.
Life was crazy, she thought, as she lugged her suitcase to the stairs. Usually, she was up for it. But as soon as she heard Hank’s name—that Hank was coming to Charleston to stay for a while—she wanted to run for the hills. This was not going to be easy, having him around.
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