Written in the Stars: A Contemporary Hollywood Romance

by Renea Mason

  Respectfully,

  S.M.

  What. The. Fuck. How dare he? Respectfully, my ass. I slammed the laptop closed. It's one thing to not like my stories, everyone has different tastes, but it's another thing to continue to berate me for what I write and then make it personal. I clenched and unclenched my fists. That little voice in the back of my mind, who never failed me, was screaming at me to stop when I reopened the laptop and pressed reply.

  S.M.,

  Since you're all for personal questions…here's one for you. Are you a masochist? Because only a masochist would suffer through six novels, when he had to have known he would be woefully disappointed, and then antagonize the author for leaving him dissatisfied. What exactly did you expect after the third book? That I'd somehow see the error of my ways and change the endings? Or maybe you really are a masochist, and you're looking for my fury? If so, you're going to find yourself once again disappointed by my hand.

  I'll have you know, I had my happily ever after, and it was everything I could have wished for. When I was presented the opportunity, I didn't walk away. So, your theories are wrong. You should find a different hobby. You suck at this one.

  Disappointed,

  Iris

  What an asshole. Why didn't he just stop reading? Why did I let him get under my skin? Just then, my cell phone rang. Kelly's name flashed across the screen.

  I swiped. "Hello," I answered through gritted teeth.

  "Woah, girl. Who are you gonna kill?"

  I closed my laptop. "I'm not sure yet."

  "What happened?"

  "The fucking internet. You know, it only takes one person to ruin it. I usually love getting correspondences from my readers, but this know-it-all asshole and his fucking questions..."

  There was a moment of silence. "Do I need to bring wine?"

  "Not tonight. Friday for sure. I have a deadline if I want to release this next story."

  "Perfect, that's why I called. I wanted to see if you could meet us on Friday. It's a date?"

  "Sure. See you then."

  I reopened the laptop and pushed the reader and his horrible questions from my mind. Word count was what I needed. The question was, would my mystery emailer get off on yet another unsatisfactory experience? I was now determined to give him a sour ending.

  Hours passed, and I typed until my fingers ached. My muscles begged to be stretched. I yawned, checking the time on my wall—12:03 a.m. I was at it longer than I had realized. A notification bubble appeared at the top of my screen, demanding my attention.

  Against my better judgment, I clicked on it. As soon as my email opened, I regretted it. This guy couldn't take a hint.

  Dearest Iris,

  I believe I may have given you the wrong impression. I can honestly say, I don't think I've ever been so eloquently told to sod off. Just another reason to be impressed. I wholeheartedly admit your stories have left me anything but dissatisfied. I've spent many a night spurred to action by your words, bringing forth many bouts of satisfaction. Not because I'm a masochist who gets off on disappointment, because I'm not, but rather, your gift for drawing the reader into the story in a most pleasurable way. Maybe that's why I've been so uneasy with the endings; I've become too invested. I'm a hopeful romantic. It was wrong to project my desires onto you and then hold you responsible. I hope you accept my apology. I meant no offense.

  If you'll indulge me one last question, why do you speak of happily ever after as though it's something that's over? The very definition of the phrase implies the future. How can it be past tense?

  With sincere apologies,

  Most humbly,

  S.M.

  I was tired and weary, yet somewhat thankful for his apology. I knew I shouldn't indulge him further, but today wasn't a day for good decisions.

  S.M.,

  You can only ever have one happily ever after since ever after is a singular event. Sometimes, ever after comes sooner than you might expect. Once it's gone, there is only now. A love like that doesn't strike twice in the same lifetime.

  Iris

  Within minutes of hitting reply, I received another message. No greeting. No salutation. Just one sentence.

  I hope you're wrong.

  I closed the computer and headed to bed.

  6

  Breaking

  I slid into the booth across from Kelly. "So, who's coming today?" It was happy hour, and many of my old co-workers attended on Fridays. Every so often, I made an effort to join them, so I didn't become a complete hermit.

  "Vicky said she'd be here, but she's stuck at the office. Tim is on his way, but other than that, I'm not sure. Did you take care of your reader's problem?"

  "Yeah, he sort of apologized. I haven't heard from him since the other night."

  Kelly took a sip of beer. "Did I tell you Mark is taking me to the Bahamas this summer?"

  "No. That sounds like..." Before I could finish the sentence, I noticed the ticker tape scrolling across the bottom of the screen on one of the televisions above the bar. Lachlan's name stood out from the other text.

  She continued. "Yeah, I'm going to have to work on my bikini bod."

  The word "shooting" scrolled passed, followed by Lachlan's name again. Kelly was still talking, but I couldn't focus on anything but the T.V. screen. "Yeah...," I responded, trying to act like I was listening. She rattled on some more, but I was too distracted. I held up my finger, interrupting her. "Hang on a sec." I dug my phone out of my jacket and searched for "Breaking News."

  The headline made my stomach drop. Active shooter situation at a local film set—site of the new medical drama starring Lachlan Sinclair. Multiple shots fired. More to come.

  Kelly must have read my worried expression. "What's wrong?"

  "I… I'm not…" What could I say? I hadn't told her about Lachlan. I had tried to forget about him, but he was in my city and in danger. Possibly, even…I couldn't think about it. Why did I suddenly feel helpless? Why did it bother me so much?

  I lied, again, and stood. "I'm not feeling well—my stomach. I'm…tell everyone. I'm sorry. I've got to go."

  I grabbed my coat and threaded my arm through the sleeve.

  I needed to be by myself to process everything. I needed to know he was OK. We might not have had any more left to our story, but I wanted to see where his journey led.

  Kelly stood and grabbed my shoulder. "Do you need me to drive you home?"

  "No," I answered a little too emphatically.

  "OK. I hope you feel better." Her furrowed brow told me she knew something was wrong.

  "Me too." I rushed from the bar to my car. Part of me wanted to try to find him to make sure he was OK. He probably didn't even remember who I was, and security would surely put a stop to it.

  I made it home in record time and raced to turn on the television. It had been so long since I watched anything, I couldn't even remember how to turn on the cable. After fumbling with the controller buttons for a minute, I finally found the news station.

  I paced the kitchen, my stomach a knot of nerves. The newscaster rambled on in the background as I desperately listened for an update. I made a cup of coffee and waited for any news he might be OK. That's all I needed.

  The tabloid stared back at me from the counter. What I thought was a closed story now had changed into something much different. Longing and concern were beginnings, not ends. Somewhere in the field of anxiety, fueled by him possibly being killed, hope took root. Hope was a fruitless emotion. One mired in disappointment and heartache, but all-powerful and sneaky.

  As I gazed upon the photos, I couldn't help but feel the world deserved to continue to see his face. The situation evoked the same emotions I had the night Daniel never came home. I tried to tell myself it wasn't the same. Even if the worst happened, Lachlan was a stranger, not my husband, but the parallels between the events and unresolved grief escalated everything I felt. I sat down at my laptop, unsure of what to do next.

  A knock at the door tore
me from my reverie. I didn't have time for Kelly. How would I explain my antsy behavior? How fast could I get rid of her?

  I opened the door. "Kelly, it's not a good…" My words caught in my throat. In the rain and drizzling cold, stood not Kelly, but a gorgeous man, body shivering beneath his gray wool coat, hair glistening from the drizzling rain. Lachlan.

  I blinked several times, trying to believe my eyes. Before he could say anything, I tilted my cup, inspecting my coffee, wondering if I had been drugged.

  His words solidified his existence. "Katherine, I know this is a surprise. I wouldn't just show up if it wasn't critical. There was an incident, and I need to lay low for a while. I sincerely apologize. I don't mean to impose, but you were the first person I thought of, and I'm finding I'm once again in need of your help."

  I shook my head, blinking a few more times before noticing he was still standing in the rain. Snapping out of my stupor, I finally managed to find words, "Come in." I motioned for him to enter. "I saw what happened on the news. I'm so glad you are OK." Relief saturated every syllable. When he hesitated, I took his hand and pulled him through the door. "Forgive me, I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting company and—"

  "No, please don't apologize. I'm thankful." He stepped into the foyer, his clothes dripping wet.

  I helped him remove the jacket and hung it on the rack behind him. "Let me get some towels."

  He raked his hands through his hair, pushing the water out of his dark curls.

  On the way to my bathroom, I remembered the tabloid and quickly stowed it in a kitchen drawer to avoid an embarrassing situation. After retrieving my nicest towels, I returned to the foyer. He toed off his shoes as he watched me approach. One corner of his mouth pulled up in a warm, grateful smile as I offered him the beige terry cloths.

  He was more beautiful than I remembered. His wet shirt clung to his chest. His hair was slicked back with rain. Taking the towels, he thanked me then wiped the excess water from his clothes.

  I gathered the damp towels that now smelled of Lachlan's sandalwood scent and led him to the breakfast nook. He remained silent while I brewed him a cup of coffee. I set the steaming mug in front of him then tucked my hands in my back pockets, considering what to do next. "That should warm you up a bit. I'll see if I have something you can wear, so I can throw your clothes in the dryer. Just wait here."

  "You know, Katherine, a man could get used to a woman who saves him with coffee. It seems you're making it a habit of it, love."

  I chuckled but gave no validation to his comment. "Just relax, I'll be right back."

  Making my way to the bedroom, I dropped the towels in my hamper. I stood in front of Daniel's closet, running my fingers over his shirt sleeves. It was the same as he'd left it seven years ago. Lachlan was a beast of a man, muscled and well over six feet in height. Daniel was tall but trim. Surely there was something that would fit. I dug out a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt. They wouldn't fit Lachlan perfectly, but they would have to do. I loaded them in the dryer with a dryer sheet for a few minutes to freshen the fabric before returning to him. The garments were warm to the touch.

  He sipped his coffee, watching me cross the room.

  "Here, let me show you the bathroom where you can change. Give me your clothes when you're done, and I'll toss them in the dryer."

  He nodded then followed me to the other end of the house, the heat of his gaze tingling down my back the entire way.

  I flipped on the light and placed the warm clothes on the counter. "Let me know if you need anything. There are toiletries and other items here. Help yourself." I opened the closet, showing him the extra shampoo and shaving cream I stored there.

  "Katherine, I can't thank you enough."

  The low timbre of his voice sent a shiver through me that I hoped he didn't see. "Really, it's no problem. I'll see you in the living room." When the door closed, I let out a deep sigh. Was this really happening? Why was he here? Thank God he was alive. I wanted to hug him.

  I sat on the sofa and heard his phone ring from the guest bathroom. His muffled voice spoke to the unknown caller. Several minutes later, he emerged, carrying an armful of his clothes and wearing Daniel's far too small borrowed goods.

  I rose off the couch then strode toward him to take the damp clothes from his hands. "I'll toss these in the dryer for a few minutes, and you should be good as new."

  He smiled. "Thank you. The police just called. I told them I was here. They'll be stopping by. I didn't want you to be alarmed when they arrived. Hopefully, we can get everything sorted out quickly, and I can get out of your hair, so to speak."

  "Sure…Thanks. I'll be right back." The police. Why did sorting everything out leave an ache in my chest?

  His clothes smelled like him. I inhaled before setting them to dry.

  When I returned from the laundry room, I found him on the sofa, sipping his coffee. Again, his eyes followed me as I walked through the room.

  I sat down, not beside him, but on the other end, so I could look at him as I spoke. "It shouldn't take long for those to dry. Hope you don't mind me asking, are you OK? I saw what happened on the news. They still haven't given an update on whether you were a victim." I raked my fingers through my hair, fighting off the shake in my hands. Suddenly, I realized just how profoundly the situation had impacted me.

  "I'm fine, just a little keyed up as you can imagine. Usually, when I'm getting shot at, it's all fake. They haven't released a status on the scene yet because they wanted to give me time to hide since the gunman got away. I'm pretty sure I know who it is."

  "So, you didn't see them?"

  "No, we were filming when the shots rang out. The stage manager and I took off once we made sure everyone was safe. I guess the man was screaming my name, so the manager told me to get out. He said to call him when I was someplace safe, and he'd let the police know where I went."

  I shifted in my seat. "Nobody was hurt, then?"

  "No, thank God. But, remember our flight to LA?"

  How could I forget? "Yes."

  "I had to go to court to press charges against a stalker. I've been receiving threats for several months. I wanted to keep it out of the press, but it doesn't look like that's going to be possible now." He rubbed his palm down his face, trying to wipe away his worried expression.

  "I'm so sorry."

  "I should be the one apologizing to you. The last thing I wanted to do was to drag you into this, but when they told me to get somewhere safe…" He looked away from me and stared at the floor. "I don't know anyone else in this city, a public place seemed foolish, and you were easy to find with a quick internet search. I put your address in the GPS and hoped you'd, well… since we sort of built our relationship on helping each other…that maybe…"

  I reached over, resting my hand on his. "I'm happy to help."

  "Thank you, Katherine."

  I smiled, glancing at the T.V. when I noticed his eyes widen in response to the news coverage changing topics. The anchor shifted from discussing the crime scene to plastering a montage of Lachlan's career details all over the screen. He gripped the coffee cup tighter.

  "Would you like me to turn it off? I only had it on because, well...," I choked on my words, and my eyes began to sting. "As silly as it may sound, given we barely know each other, I was worried...," I cleared my throat to dismiss the urge to cry bubbling up from my chest, "about you."

  "Yeah, why don't you turn it off." He scooted closer to me. "I'm OK. I'm right here. You don't need to worry." He grabbed my hand and squeezed it, no doubt feeling the tremble that remained.

  I picked up the remote and turned off the television. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

  "No, nothing at all. You've already done plenty. I'll just need to wait until the police show up if that's OK. Please don't let me interfere with anything you need to do. I can catch up on some work things on my phone." He didn't let go of my hand.

  I wanted to sit there and savor his touch, but he surely had
a lot to deal with. Extracting my hand from his, I patted his leg and stood. "OK… I'll be over here if you need anything." I strode to my desk on the far side of the sizable, open-concept room. It was so strange having him in my space.

  Opening my laptop, I was intent on writing something but knew it would be impossible. I answered a few emails and closed my eyes, worried that when I opened them, he would be gone.

  When I turned to check on him, he wasn't on the sofa any longer. My heart skipped at the sound of his voice just behind my left shoulder. "You have a beautiful home. The property is breathtaking. It makes sense now why you'd live so far outside the city."

  I twisted in my seat and watched as he gazed over the hillside taking in the valley below. "Daniel fell in love with this place. It was little more than a cottage when we bought it, but he liked that we could be in our own little world here."

  "Your Daniel had really good taste." Had he continued looking away and said those words, I might have avoided the tingling in my stomach, but his eyes were focused on mine.