by Louise Bay
I took a step into her house. Before he’d left, Sinclair had given me a confidentiality agreement for Lana to sign, but right at this moment, I didn’t give a shit about anything other than making her understand the situation. “Hey, I’m not a cheater. Audrey isn’t my girlfriend.”
“Are you serious?” she asked, stomping around the counter toward me. “Let me point out the obvious.” She flipped the magazine to a double page filled with photographs of me with Audrey on red carpets, in restaurants, even one of us going for a hike.
I really didn’t know Lana well enough to explain the details of my and Audrey’s relationship, and Sinclair would kill me if I told her the truth without putting an NDA in place. “Audrey and I are friends.”
She burst out laughing. “Right. Now, can you get out of my kitchen? I have things to do.”
I grabbed her wrist as she walked away. “Look, I want to explain, but to do that I need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s okay for you to sleep with me but I have to sign an NDA if we’re to have a conversation? Well, don’t worry. As if I want anyone to know I’d been anywhere near you. I’m not going to say a word.”
Her expression hit me like a bullet to the chest. She looked disgusted. Plenty of women were against cheating, but I’d never had to explain myself to any woman. They weren’t concerned with my relationship status. But this was exactly why I liked Lana. She wasn’t like all those other girls.
“Look, I’ve been told not to get into this until you sign the NDA. But Audrey isn’t my girlfriend. It’s just a Hollywood thing. She has a boyfriend back in her hometown. I’ve never so much as kissed her.”
“So you pretend she’s your girlfriend?” she asked, twisting her arm free and turning to face me.
“Yeah. We have a movie coming out and my publicist thought it would be good to create a buzz.” I wasn’t being entirely honest with her. “And I had kinda a bad rep back there for a little bit. I’m trying to be taken more seriously, so it seemed like a good idea to appear settled down.” Sinclair was going to be so pissed if he found out that I’d told her this shit without the protection of a confidentiality agreement.
She put her hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes. “You just lie to everyone?”
“It’s Hollywood. That’s how it works.” I took a step closer but she backed away. “I like you. I’ve—” How could I explain that I hadn’t fucked anyone other than a couple of regular girls since I’d signed up to be Audrey’s boyfriend? It made me sound like a douchebag. But I did like her. I liked the way she was busting my balls rather than falling over herself for a repeat performance. I really liked the way the arrangement I had with Audrey seemed so alien to her, because when anyone thought about it, it was pretty fucking ridiculous. I even liked the way she looked at me as if I was kind of an ass for agreeing to it. “I like you, or I wouldn’t have kissed you. I can’t tell you how much shit Sinclair gave me for getting intimate without an NDA. But you were worth the risk. I don’t think about all that crap when I’m with you.”
She rolled her eyes and went back behind the counter. “I’m overwhelmed at the compliment.”
She might not know it, but being with her was a big fucking deal—my reputation, my career, my future was at stake.
“So you won’t say anything? If the tabloids find out, they’ll make me out to be some kind of cheater.”
“When in fact, you’re just a liar.” She flung open the refrigerator and began to put away the groceries she’d carried in with her, practically throwing things onto the shelves.
“Hey, I’m not a liar.” Though I wasn’t exactly telling the truth to the whole world, either. “Anyway, my arrangement with Audrey only lasts until we finish publicity for the film. And then she’s done. She just got engaged.”
“Unbelievable.” Lana shook her head. I seemed to be making things worse, not better.
“It’s just how it is in Hollywood. Your entire life is a show. It’s not like I’m the only one. You know Bradley Bartha? He and that model have a contract.”
Her forehead crinkled. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just read about them in that magazine.” She pointed at the tabloid that had my face on the cover. “They just had a baby.”
“He’s gayer than a gay thing on a gay day. That kid is not his.”
“Well lucky for me, I’ve never slept with Bradley Bartha, but thanks for the heads-up.”
“Lana, come on. Give me a break here—I’d get blackballed if anyone found out what I was telling you.”
She shrugged, picked up an apple from the bowl on the counter and headed toward her couch. “So don’t tell me and get out of my house.”
I sighed. I should just leave. But it wasn’t like we could avoid each other. We lived next door, for fuck’s sake. Besides, I’d like to get to know her a bit more. Our night together had been so much better than I’d thought it would be —Lana was funny, sexy and knew what she wanted. And I hadn’t quite got enough of her when this morning had been cut short.
“I’m having beers on my balcony later. I’d really like you to join me.”
She fell back onto the sofa. “Ask your girlfriend.”
“Fuck, Lana. I told you she’s not my girlfriend.” I ran my fingers through my hair. She wasn’t listening to me at all.
“Why would I believe a word that comes out of your mouth? You’ve lied about everything.” She turned the TV on with the remote, blatantly ignoring me.
“No, I really haven’t. Audrey isn’t my girlfriend—”
“Even if that’s true,” she said, turning to me, her eyes lit with indignation, “and I find that very difficult to believe, given what I’ve read about the two of you, you still didn’t tell me that you were famous.”
“I told you I was an actor. If you don’t go to the movies or open a fucking magazine, why am I the asshole?” And yeah, I’d found it hot that she hadn’t seemed to recognize me, but where was the crime there?
She tapped her knee with the remote, staring blankly at the TV. After a couple of seconds, she announced, “I don’t know why you’re an asshole. I just know that you are.”
She was beyond frustrating. I was getting shit thrown at me from every direction, but I hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Okay. Well, I’m going to take my asshole-self out for a run,” I replied, turning to the door. “Enjoy your magazine.”
This had to be the first time ever an actor had been rejected because he was famous. Wasn’t it meant to be the other way around?
But then, I’d reveled in the fact that she hadn’t recognized me. That Lana had wanted me, Matt, not some Hollywood fantasy. I guess I couldn’t have it both ways. I wanted a slice of reality when I’d come here to Worthington, and I’d gotten my wish.
Eleven
Lana
“Hey, Mrs. Wells,” I said as I pushed the front door open. I was going to start locking my doors. Mrs. Wells should really do the same. We might be in Worthington, but there were plenty of strangers—and untrustworthy movie stars—during the tourist season. I put down the groceries on the counter. “Hey, Harold,” I greeted the ginger tabby, who hissed and flung his tail in the air, giving me an uninterrupted view of his asshole as he marched out the door. How appropriate. That was exactly the kind of respect the world was showing me at the moment.
I finished unpacking the groceries and went into the living room to say hello to Mrs. Wells.
“I’ve been hearing all about your new neighbor,” she said before my ass had even hit the chair. “A movie star, apparently.”
I hadn’t seen Matt since I’d blown up at him yesterday. Truth be told, I’d been avoiding him. I didn’t really want to run into my one-night stand turned one-night nightmare. I didn’t even want to think about him.
“I don’t really follow these things,” I replied, watching the muted television. Having Googled Matt, I felt stupid for not recognizing him.
“I hear he’s handsome, too. You think maybe he’s
the one the spirits told me was going to be appearing in your life?”
I snorted. “Hardly.” I didn’t know what to make of him having a contracted girlfriend. It made no sense to me. Surely there were a thousand girls who would be happy to be his real girlfriend. Why deliberately choose someone he said had a boyfriend?
“You don’t think he’s handsome?” Mrs. Wells asked.
Of course I did. That went without saying. But then, really, how many ugly movie stars were there? “Looks aren’t everything.”
“True, dear, but that initial attraction is a good thing to have.”
I rolled my eyes. She meant well, but I was in a shitty mood and had thought about Matt Easton enough to last me a lifetime.
“I’ve barely seen him. I guess he’s working long hours.” It was only a half-lie.
“Well, it’s nice to be nice. He might be grateful for a warm Worthington welcome. Take him some of that lemon curd you make.”
Was she joking? “I appreciate you trying to set me up and everything, Mrs. Wells, but I’m too busy to worry about making a man lemon curd.” What, was this 1950?
“Oh, my dear, you need to put your priorities in order. One should never be too busy for love.”
“You’re right,” I said to avoid an argument. I’d rather head home and work on my collection. “Thank you, Mrs. Wells. Your groceries are put away. Give me a call if you need anything.” I patted her on the hand and stood to leave.
“You’re a good girl who deserves a good man.”
Even if she was off where Matt Easton was concerned, it was nice to think that Mrs. Wells was rooting for me. “Thank you.”
If Mrs. Wells had been right in her prediction—how this summer would bring turmoil along with a man—and it hadn’t just been a coincidence, then at least it was over now. Getting caught in a sheet by a perfect stranger was as tumultuous as I could stand. I wasn’t waiting for Mrs. Wells’ storm to roll in. It had been and gone. And I’d survived.
My stomach grumbled. Lemon curd sounded like a fabulous distraction from thoughts of Matt Easton.
I shut the gate and headed back into town to pick up some supplies. I had plenty of sugar at home, but I’d need lemons and eggs.
As I came out of the grocery store, my canvas tote heavy with fruit, I looked across the street. Polly Larch and her sister Patricia were accosting my tall, handsome, Hollywood neighbor. He wore a baseball hat, but I could still see that his generous grin had spread to his eyes. Even though they surrounded him like twittering birds, he clearly didn’t see them as a bother.
Mrs. Wells was right about one thing—he was very handsome.
I guess he’d told me he was an actor, even if he hadn’t told me he was the hottest thing in Hollywood. I couldn’t blame him for that. And maybe his arrangement with Audrey Tanner was normal in his world. Perhaps he hadn’t cheated.
He looked over at me and our eyes met. I smiled, tightly. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with him. Maybe I owed him an apology.
His grin grew wider and he gave me a two-fingered salute. My smile softened, and I looked away and started back to my cottage. If only he hadn’t turned out to be a total asshole. I hadn’t trusted anyone for so long, I’d been determined not to be blind to men’s character flaws just because I found them attractive, just because I fell in love. I’d thought a night with Matt would be uncomplicated and maybe even the first step at rebuilding my faith in men. I’d thought that I would escape unscathed—it was meant to be simple. Didn’t the universe realize I deserved to catch a break?
*
Five jars of lemon curd later, I screwed on the lid to the last jar and set it down on the counter.
I scooped up four and put them in the refrigerator, then returned and picked up the fifth. I transferred it from one hand to the other. If he hadn’t actually cheated, I did owe him an apology.
Would he think I was a complete lunatic if I turned up at his door with a jar of lemon curd? Probably. Maybe, I’d just leave it on his back doormat as a kind of peace offering, then turn around and disappear.
That sounded like a plan.
I took a deep breath and headed out of the back door.
Barefoot, I crept up onto his deck, not wanting to draw attention to myself. His car was in the driveway, but then again, it normally was, even when I knew he was out all day. As I got to the top of the stairs I heard music—Motown, Marvin Gaye—playing from the open dining room window. I grinned. He had good taste. I was just about to set the jar on the mat when his back door opened and I came face-to-face with his feet.
Damn it, even his feet—large, bronzed and poking out from his faded jeans—were sexy.
“Hi,” he said.
I straightened and tilted my head to find him grinning at me. “I was going to leave this,” I said, taking a step back and offering him the jar.
“Oh.” He frowned, but accepted it. “Thanks.”
“It’s lemon curd,” I explained.
“Oh. Great.” He nodded.
I got the distinct impression he didn’t know what the hell I was talking about. “You know, you can spread it on your toast in the morning.”
As I said it, I realized how ridiculous that sounded. Looking at him, I doubted he’d ever tasted sugar. “You might not like it. I won’t be offended if you don’t—”
“It’s perfect. You made it?” he asked.
I backed away, but he followed me out onto the deck. “Yeah. I had some left over and I wanted to apologize for losing my temper yesterday.”
“So you brought me homemade lemon curd?” He shook his head and grinned. He seemed genuinely happy about it.
I shrugged. “I like to bake. Anyway, I’m sorry. I won’t keep you.”
“Hey, no. Don’t go. I gotta taste this.”
My toes curled over the wooden steps of the porch. “I think it’s better if I leave.”
“Please stay,” he whispered from behind me.
I sighed. I should go back to my drawings, my cottage. I definitely shouldn’t turn around. There were a million reasons why being in a ten-foot radius of the guy was a bad idea. “Do you have any sourdough bread?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Nope. Is that mandatory?”
I turned to face him. “No, any bread will do.”
He held the door open and I ducked under his arm and into the kitchen. Face-to-face with the countertop we’d done God-knows what on the night before last. Flashes of his tongue, his muscles, and his musky smell invaded my brain.
I avoided his stare and rounded the counter, pulling the silverware drawer out to get a teaspoon. “Here. Just taste it on its own. Then if you don’t like it, you haven’t wasted anything.”
He grinned as he took the spoon from my hand and cracked open the lid. His gaze flickered away from mine only for a second when he dipped the spoon into the yellow goop. I leaned back against the counter and watched as he brought the spoon up to his lickable lips.
“Wow,” he said when he’d swallowed. “I mean, that’s a whole lot of bad for me but it tastes too good. How come I’ve never had that before?”
“Maybe Los Angeles is too health conscious?” I wasn’t Hollywood thin like the women Matt must be used to, though I’d never worried about my body or what I ate. Girls like Audrey Tanner must never eat.
“LA’s full of crazy people eating cardboard and cotton balls or whatever the latest fad is. I ignore it. You can take the boy out of the Midwest but do not take the steak from the Midwestern boy’s diet.”
“Is that how you see yourself?” I asked. I released the countertop behind me and tucked my hair behind my ears. “As a Midwestern boy?”
A wrinkle formed between his eyes as he looked at me. “That’s what I am.”
“But you’re a movie star.”
He snorted and took another spoonful of curd. “Are you a shopkeeper? Or are you from Worthington, Maine?”
I transferred my weight from one foot to the other. “Both, I guess.”
&n
bsp; “Exactly. Just because I’m in movies doesn’t mean that’s all I am.” He took a deep breath.
I knew what it was like to have people you didn’t even know make judgments about you. I didn’t know how anyone enjoyed being famous. I couldn’t think of anything worse.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was famous, but I was kinda enjoying the anonymity. It doesn’t happen much anymore.” He put the empty spoon back into his mouth and hummed as if he might have missed a speck of the curd. “I liked the fact that you didn’t have me in that movie-star box. That you found me attractive without knowing who I was.”
I folded my arms. “Oh, because no one ever found you attractive before you were famous.”
He chuckled and screwed the cap back on the jar. “I’m not saying that I had a problem getting women to notice me. But these days …” He slid the curd across the counter. “These days I never know if a woman wants me so she can brag to her friends, tip off a tabloid, or because of some kind of … connection.”
“Must be terrible,” I said, shaking my head in mock sorrow.
He sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me. I’m just saying that it was nice.” He shrugged and his t-shirt pulled tight across his chest. “Refreshing, but I should have told you, I just—”
“No, I shouldn’t have gone off like I did. You told me you were an actor. If I didn’t have my head in the clouds, or went to the movies a little more often, I would have known who you were. I’m sorry for going crazy.” I stared at my feet, embarrassed that I’d been so angry … and that I hadn’t recognized him.
“I should be the one apologizing. Fucking Sinclair bursting in like that—I could have killed him.”
“He’s your publicist?” I leaned back on the countertop, my eyes flickering to the waist of his jeans. Was his body really as hard as I’d remembered?
He ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Came to check up on me, I think. And, as you witnessed, he has boundary issues.”
Ruby had been right. “So he’s mad at you stepping out on Audrey?”
His face lit up with a wicked grin. “Stepping out? Is that what I did the other night?” He moved closer, stopping right in front of me, leaving us only a whisper apart.