From Fake to Forever

by Jennifer Shirk

  “See?” Missy said, with a smile so bright his head began to pound all over again. “Sandra always knows what to do. She’s our resident caregiver.”

  “Resident caregiver, huh? Then who takes care of Sandra?” he found himself asking.

  “Huh?”

  “Who takes care of Sandra?” he repeated.

  Missy’s delicate brows pulled together. “Well…I do. I guess. Although Sandra never really needs mothering. She handles everything on her own. You’d be surprised. She’s a tough cookie.”

  Tough cookie? Ben had to wonder about that. When he first met Sandra he would’ve bet the entire farm on a notion like that, too. She came across as cold, strong-willed, and fully capable of handling anything dished out at her in stride—and then some. The problem was she seemed to keep a lot to herself, surrounding her feelings in a shield of perfect composure and coolness. The first time he’d seen that shield melt was yesterday when she admitted to the problems she was having with the school and her ex-husband. But maybe that acknowledgment was only scratching the surface of what she truly felt.

  After all, cookies weren’t invincible.

  …

  Sandra thought movie stars were supposed to be invincible. They were supposed to be charming, have glowing tans throughout the year, and always look incredible at all costs. How wrong she was. Ben looked awful. The worst she’d ever seen anyone’s face outside of a Halloween costume. His coloring was so pale, and he looked dehydrated. Just thinking about him made her pick up her pace, hoping the water and maybe a few aspirin would do the trick.

  “So, Sandra, Ben Capshaw just happened to be at your house last night?” Carol called from behind.

  Sandra stopped in front of her office. Poor Ben, she thought. He was in for a long wait for that water and aspirin. She was never going to get out of Carol’s probing clutches now.

  She turned and regarded Carol, hand on her hip. “As a matter of fact, yes. Ben happened to be at my house…bringing in a stuffed animal for Hannah…that he won at the boardwalk…when we all had lunch together.”

  There. It was out in the open now.

  “You spent the whole entire day together? Sandra, you little vixen. I didn’t know you had it in you. All that talk about not noticing him, and here you were all along, weaving your little web—no pun intended.” She faked as if she would cry. “I’m so proud.”

  Sandra rolled her eyes. “I didn’t weave any web. Besides, nothing happened.”

  “Nothing?”

  “He’s not interested in anything more than friendship.”

  Carol’s eyes widened. “He’s gay?”

  “No, he’s not gay!”

  “How would you know if nothing happened?”

  “Look, trust me, Ben Capshaw is not gay. He happens to be a gentleman. He even said he would help me paint the classrooms this weekend—for free, for your information.”

  “Whoa,” Carol shot, holding up spread hands. “Back up here. He offered to help you paint the school? You might be onto something then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What heterosexual man in his right mind would do something like that?”

  “Still lost.”

  “Honey, men don’t do much unless they’re after something. Since he already has money, and your cooking skills are…well…there, I’m going to have to go with the penis factor.” Carol threw her arms around her and squeezed. “I’m so happy for you!”

  “Thank you so much,” she muttered into her shoulder.

  Carol pulled back from her with a laugh. “I’m serious. I am happy for you. It’s about time you stopped living in the past and moved on with your life. Ben’s super hot and rich. True, the arachnophobia thing he has is a little weird, but all in all, he seems like a good guy. He’s actually pretty cute with the children, too. Hannah especially. And what better way to stick it to Steve? Can you imagine his face when he finds out you’re involved with Ben Capshaw, someone he could never dream to be careerwise? Boy, I’d love to see that.”

  Sandra frowned. “I don’t want to date Ben to stick it to Steve.”

  “Ah, so you have thought about it, then.”

  “Dating Ben or sticking it to Steve?”

  Carol just cocked an eyebrow.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Sandra said with a sigh. “I can’t think straight anymore. Yes, Ben seems very nice, but you know how actors are. You never know what you’re really getting underneath all the charm. I can’t go through what I did with Steve all over again. I just can’t. For Hannah’s sake, as well as my own, I need to think rationally this time.”

  “You know, Ben isn’t Steve, Sandra. Some actors marry and even stay married.”

  “Yes, actors get married. But actors aren’t the most responsible of men. They more than likely get divorced. I can vouch for that, since I’m part of the statistic.”

  Carol folded her arms. “You know, your attitude is what we in the preschool world call super smelly.”

  “I’m not listening to this anymore.” She stepped into her office and tried to shut the door, but Carol blocked her.

  “Okay, okay. I still think you’re nuts. What if that superstar out there is your soul mate?”

  “He’s not.” Ben couldn’t be. She didn’t want him to be. She turned away and grabbed an unopened bottle of water off her desk. “Besides, we’re only going to paint—not have a romantic tryst.”

  “Okay. How about I help you paint tomorrow, too, then?” Carol shot her a devilish smile. “Since you won’t go for it, there’s no sense letting a perfectly good opportunity with a certain super hottie go to waste, right?”

  She blinked. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”

  “No problem at all.” Carol swiped the bottle of water out of her hands and waved it in front of her. “I’ll take this to Ben for you.”

  Sandra watched her go but couldn’t help feeling as though something was off. She didn’t know why. It was nice of Carol to offer to help her and Ben paint tomorrow. Yes. The more she thought about it, it was quite nice. A relief, too. Now she wouldn’t have to be alone with him. If Carol wanted to make a fool of herself, well, that was her choice. Carol was single, had no responsibilities to anyone, and didn’t mind one bit that Ben seemed to be looking for a brief fling. More power to her.

  She closed the door and ran her tongue over her teeth, experiencing a taste of something bitter. It was oh so very Florence Nightingale of Carol to bring the water to Ben, too. That didn’t bother her, either. She couldn’t care less how Ben was feeling. He was a healthy man who could bounce back quickly from whatever was ailing him. Carol was probably offering to give him a little personal TLC at this very moment. He’d be fine. Everything was fine.

  So why did she suddenly feel sick herself?

  …

  Ben paced outside the preschool, waiting for Sandra. He’d said he’d help her paint the classrooms today. What was holding her up?

  He glanced at his watch again. She was more than forty-five minutes late now, which was funny in itself, since she didn’t strike him as an unpunctual person. No, she struck him as one of those anal-retentive types. The type who harped about things being just so and always wanted things their own special way. She would’ve made one heck of an agent.

  Sandra’s car suddenly raced into the parking lot, screeching to a stop. The car door flew open, and she jumped out, unsmiling and her shoulders as rigid as plywood boards. Somehow, wearing jeans, pink sneakers, and a sweatshirt that said “Mexico,” she still managed to look like royalty. Her head was held high and with each step toward the rear of the car, her ponytail swung from side to side in a crisp rhythmic pattern. She hooked open the trunk, shoved some paintbrushes under her arm, and yanked out two gallon-sized paint cans.

  “Don’t just stand there modeling your designer jeans for me,” she snapped as she marched up the sidewalk. “Or are you having second thoughts about painting?”

  Ben glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was the one she was addr
essing. “Uh…no. I’m going to paint.”

  She gave a stiff nod. “There’s more stuff in the trunk.” Sidestepping him, she opened the front door and disappeared.

  Ben tried to get his bearings as he rubbed his arms to ward off the chill from that whirlwind of frost she’d just left in her wake. What the heck was that all about? What had he done this time? He thought long and hard for almost a full minute. Nothing! For the first time, he did absolutely nothing! He’d been on his best behavior. In fact, he was a damn nice guy for even being here on a Saturday, and there she was giving him a nasty minus-thirty-two-degree attitude.

  Not this time, sweetheart. What more could he do to prove to her that he wasn’t here at her school for some lark, but to help her? He wasn’t going to lie down and take it like any ordinary Joe Schmo she was used to dealing with. Publicity be damned! This woman’s attitude needed adjusting.

  Ben marched in after her, longing for a good fight to get out some of those pent-up feelings he had for her—in one way or another. If his agent wouldn’t allow him to do it physically, then he’d have to do it verbally. “Look, Sandra, I—”

  He stopped in the doorway as he took in the picture presented before him. Sandra sat on top of a small desk with her head tilted down and a hand spread, covering her face. She was silent, and her chest rose unevenly as though she had difficulty taking in a breath. He stood there, stunned, and the anger left him before he could blink, replaced with an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.

  For that reason alone, he didn’t dare step closer.

  Sandra swiped at her eyes and looked up. “Is there a problem?” she asked. She questioned him with such composure he would have never guessed she was upset, except for the few tears that still clung to her eyes.

  “You tell me,” he said.

  “There’s no problem at all.”

  He didn’t want to think about why her refusal to open up stung so much. After all, he’d only known her for about a week. He wasn’t a relative. He wasn’t a shrink. So maybe it wasn’t any of his business to know what was bothering her. He didn’t want to get any more involved in her life, anyway. It wasn’t his style. In fact, he should respect her want of privacy and turn right around and ignore the distress he saw on her face.

  But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Because if there was anyone who was in need of a friend right now, it was Sandra.

  “Where’s Hannah?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “At home. Missy’s with her.”

  He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying to put on an air of ease and casualness. “I guess that’s why you were late then, because of Missy, right?” He fell silent and waited.

  Seconds ticked by. He almost thought she wouldn’t respond.

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “I wasn’t late because of Missy. I was late because of Steve. He called before I left.”

  Steve. The jerk face himself. He should have known it was the ex-husband who put her in such a foul mood. “So what did the man of cheer want?”

  Sandra didn’t smile at his potshot, which told him she was even more upset than he thought. “It was what he didn’t want. He promised Hannah he’d come to school for the Halloween party. She’s excited to show him her princess costume. But he called to tell me he has a sudden conflict with work and can’t make it now.” She shook her head. “I really thought this time was going to be different, for her sake. Hannah’s going to be so disappointed. I don’t know why he makes these promises to her.”

  “Can’t make it? Just what the hell does he do for a living that he’s too busy and can’t change his schedule?”

  “He’s an actor,” she said softly.

  He went numb. “Did you say actor?”

  “Yes. He’s been doing some off-Broadway stuff. Some Broadway, too. That’s why he’s been in New York. He has a small role in The Producers right now.”

  Her ex-husband was an actor. Holy crap. No wonder she gave him such a hard time. He was viewed as the enemy. “You don’t say,” he managed, still feeling dazed by the news.

  “I suppose you can sympathize with his schedule more than I can.”

  That comment snapped him back to awareness. “What? No! Hey, I do have some principles.”

  She gave him a long look before she responded. “Yes, I’m starting to believe you do.”

  He gave her a brutal stare back, annoyed how little she thought of him. Still. “Damn right I have principles. Look, I know how it feels to be Hannah, okay? No dad in the picture or even trying to be in the picture, so I would never condone a father acting like that. Ever. If I had a great daughter like Hannah who I didn’t get to see often, I would make it a point to be there when I promised.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Why do you think I got so good at acting?” His breath came in and out in a ragged manner. He realized he was on a roll now. But he couldn’t help himself. It was as if his soul needed emptying, and the more he told her, the lighter he felt. “I perfected my craft by standing in front of my mirror at home by myself. I would practice every day what I would say in case someone asked me where my dad was—which people often did. I was so damn convincing no one ever suspected how hurt I truly was at being ditched like that. Now look at me,” he said, thumping his chest with a hand. “I guess I’ll have to thank him in my Oscar acceptance speech someday.”

  Sandra rushed over, placing a hand on his arm. “Oh, Ben, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  He barely grunted, hypnotized by her touch and how sweet she smelled. She had a soothing presence, and it took everything in him not to pull her into him and not let go. But this wasn’t about him. It was about Sandra and what she was dealing with.

  “I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn’t have unloaded on you like that.”

  Sandra raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, surprising him into silence. “Thank you, Ben.”

  “Thanks for what?”

  She shook her head as if she didn’t quite know, either. “For being honest. For sharing. For helping me. You know, for getting all riled up for me. I didn’t tell Missy or Hannah about Steve’s call. I thought it’d be best if I dealt with it myself like I usually do. I don’t even know why I told you, but I’m glad. I feel so much better.” She grinned. “You’re a lot cheaper than therapy.”

  “You don’t have to always show you’re the boss of every situation. It’s okay to admit you’re upset, that you need someone to talk to. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

  She shrugged lightly. “I guess I got in the habit of that when I found myself raising a baby alone. It’s hard to open up and trust. But you’re right. Sometimes I do need someone.”

  A warning voice whispered in Ben’s head. Sandra was too open with him, too close to him, too vulnerable at the moment. He was feeling kind of vulnerable, too, and, since it was for real and not acting, he didn’t know how to deal with it. He needed to end where this discussion was heading before he ruined everything.

  He quickly picked up a paintbrush and twirled it in his fingers. “Okay,” he rushed out with a forced smile. “How about we start painting? I’ll let you watch the master with his skilled strokes firsthand.”

  Sandra shot him a seductive smile. “I know a little about skilled strokes myself, you know.”

  He flinched and dropped the brush with a swoosh and a plop. Did Sandra just flirt with him? He wasn’t sure. But he was pretty sure she had. He tried to swallow, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. This was terrible…but, in a way, friggin’ awesome. He suddenly thought of his agent… Okay, it was mostly terrible.

  What the hell was he going to do now? Ignore it? Flirt back? He probably looked like an idiot doing neither and just standing there with a paintbrush on his foot. Sandra was even staring at him the same way as yesterday when he showed up at school with that hangover.

  “Hey, guys,” Carol greeted, stomping in and tossing her oversize handbag on a desk. “Sorry I’m
late.” She pushed up her sleeves and looked anxiously from Ben to Sandra. “You two are quiet. Did I interrupt something?”

  He and Sandra stared at each other in silence.

  “Well, I can see I didn’t interrupt any painting,” she remarked sourly. “By the way, Sandra, your trunk is open.”

  “My fault!” Ben realized too late that he had shouted. But his heart rate and breathing hadn’t slowed since Sandra had smiled in that suggestive way. He licked his lips and tried again. “I’ll go bring in the rest of the stuff so we can start. Because that’s why we’re all here. We’re here to stroke—I mean, paint. Which is why I need to go get the rest of the stuff. Out there, in the trunk.” He clamped his mouth shut and practically did a home-run slide out the door before he embarrassed himself further.

  Well done. If he were ever up for a role as a babbling lunatic, he’d get it hands down. But who wouldn’t be reduced to a pile of mumbled words if Sandra had flirted with them? Talk about your twist of fate. He’d been after that since he’d met her, but now—because of his agent’s brilliant advice—he couldn’t have it. He stopped at Sandra’s car and closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy a brief fantasy of him and Sandra alone—if he wasn’t an actor supposed to be behaving like a saint. Oh, baby. He’d take Sandra and—

  Still do nothing?

  His eyes shot open. Not exactly the kind of sexual fantasy he could send in to Playboy. Too grounded in reality for his taste. But he’d known Sandra long enough to discover she wasn’t a woman who went for casual affairs. She was a relationship type of woman. The long relationship kind. Not one of his strengths. Sandra was a woman who needed stability and a man who could be a good father to her child. Again, more of his acquired shortcomings. His brain had just given him the wake-up call he needed. Sandra obviously was not the woman for him—in any way—and the sooner he reminded himself of that fact, the easier it would be to keep her at arm’s length if need be.

  He hoped.

  Chapter Eight

  Sandra rushed to school on Monday, saying a small prayer that the fumes had died down from the weekend’s paintfest with Ben and Carol. The fact that the rooms were even done before tonight’s parent-teacher night was a stroke of sheer luck on her part, but she wanted things to look—and smell—their absolute best.