Souvenirs

by Mia Kay

  His smile slashed through his beard. “It’ll be there later.”

  As he stopped a waiter, Grace looked for something else to say. Dark curly hair, dark eyes, dark tux, long tie, Marvin the Martian tie tack.

  Harry handed her a glass of champagne. “Besides, this is the most talked about project in the city.”

  “But it’s no illudium Q-36 explosive space modulator.”

  He choked on his drink before dissolving into a laugh. “No, it isn’t. I’ve brought a few clients, so would you mind making me look cooler than I am?”

  Grace took the arm he offered. “Lead the way.”

  Harry’s group of inventors and ‘dot-com’ brainchildren were fascinating. Grace listened to peoples’ stories until she began to enjoy herself. It increased as Bennett came to her side. When everyone stopped to stare, she introduced him.

  The circle widened, and he stepped forward. His voice rumbled through her while he continued her tactic of questions about them instead of answers about himself.

  “We’re keeping you,” Harry said after a lengthy and lively conversation. He offered his hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

  Grace hated to see him go. “Thank you for making me feel comfortable, Harry.”

  The group left them, and she noticed the glass in Ben’s hand. “Your drink will get watery.”

  He handed it to her. “It’s not mine.”

  She took a sip. It was water. “Thank you. Champagne hurts my teeth.”

  He frowned, and she explained. “It’s like drinking the sound of nails on a chalkboard.”

  Laughter shook him, right down to the fingers he settled at the base of her spine. “Hullo, Idgie.”

  Grace couldn’t speak. She’d worried about a backless dress for all sorts of reasons, but this hadn’t been one of them. Heat pooled under his hand and spread through her stomach and then lower.

  “Hi.” The whispered syllable was all she could manage.

  Bennett dragged his fingers away, and the heat went higher. She hoped the latex pasties the dress shop had sold her stayed put. They’d probably pop off and fall from under her dress, right at her feet.

  “Sorry,” he said. “You’re beautiful. That dress makes you look like you tumbled out of the sky.”

  They walked together, not touching, and she missed him.

  “That’s why I picked it. It reminded me of nights at home on my deck, when the stars look close enough to touch.”

  “Are you homesick?”

  “Not really. I miss Mom, but I’ve learned to carve out space wherever I am.”

  “As long as you have enough tables?” he teased.

  “Even that may change. I’m testing some software that might allow me to work efficiently in a digital space. My back is loving the lighter load.”

  Another group approached them, teachers eager to discuss a project aimed at promoting science careers. When they finished their pitch for her participation, Ben still stood at her side. He wasn’t bored. He even had a smile on his face.

  She looked for a place to put the teachers’ business cards. “It’s odd. Everyone wants me to talk about science.”

  Bennett took the cards from her and slipped them into his jacket pocket as they renewed their walk. “Do you regret doing all this?”

  “No. It was time to fill E.G.’s shoes. Oddly enough, giving up my anonymity has made me more comfortable instead of less.”

  He nodded. “Would you like to dance?”

  “How’s your ankle?”

  “As long as we don’t quick-step, I should be fine.”

  If they quick-stepped she’d probably break his toes, but she wanted to dance with him more than anything. As she reached for his hand, another tux-clad man strode toward them, his honey blond hair glinting under the lights.

  “Grace? I never imagined I’d run into you.”

  She’d heard his voice every day for three years. She remembered grinning like an idiot the first few times he’d called her. Now, he hugged her like nothing had happened and she didn’t return it.

  “Ryan. What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Paul sent an invitation to one of my clients, and they suggested I come with them to sniff things out.” His gaze darted to Bennett.

  Grace hurried through the introductions, anxious to get Ryan out of their way. “Ryan Franklin. Bennett Oliver. We were about to—”

  “Let me take you to meet my client. He’d be interested to learn more about Paul’s project.” Without waiting for an answer, Ryan dragged her away. “I’m sure Bennett won’t mind. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

  Grace looked over her shoulder, damning the reason for this stupid party. “Excuse me.”

  Bennett nodded and gave half a wave, and she faced the crowd so she wouldn’t run into anyone as Ryan propelled her forward.

  “Charlie,” he called out, “this is Grace Donnelley, the author of the book the movie is based on. She’s an old girlfriend I was stupid enough to let get away.”

  “I’m also the screenwriter and one of the associate producers.” Grace forced a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Charlie . . .?”

  “Devlin. I’m a friend of Ryan’s from law school. But when he came out here, I went to Vegas. This is my wife, Dana.”

  Grace offered her hand to the pretty redhead. “It’s nice to meet you, Dana. I was in Vegas a few years back for the World Fantasy Awards, and I made it a point to leave the strip and see more of the city. It’s really lovely there.”

  “It is.” Dana leaned in. “You know when I tell people we live in Vegas, they assume all we do is gamble and eat at ten dollar buffets.” She tapped another woman on the shoulder. “Chelsea, meet Grace, the screenwriter for Partners in Time.”

  As the group surrounded her, Grace forgot about Ryan. Bankers, lawyers, designers, architects—while their jobs were traditional, the people were fascinating. Ultra-runners, sailors, bicyclists, photography buffs.

  When Harry Levy walked past, she included him in the conversation because he’d mentioned sailing earlier.

  She was proud of herself for remembering that until Ryan grasped her elbow and pulled her away.

  “You made me look like a moron,” he hissed.

  “How?”

  “You didn’t talk about anything I understood.”

  “They’re your clients. How could you not know what interests them?”

  “Don’t turn this around. You always make yourself the center of attention.”

  “How?” She challenged him. “All I do is listen. People like to talk about themselves and their interests.”

  “You ask too many questions,” he grumbled. “I want them to listen, Grace. Not talk around me. How am I supposed to get ahead if they won’t hear what I have to say? And now I have to compete with Harry Levy. You couldn’t just help me?”

  “So you want me to be bait?” she asked. “Nod like a bobble head doll to get their attention for you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t you be quiet? Shy, country introverts are supposed to be quiet, aren’t they?”

  “How many country girls have you met, Ryan?” She sneered up at him. “Couldn’t be many, because I remember you as a fan of city girls.”

  “Look, I was trying to learn more about your work and what always kept you so busy. I wanted someone to answer industry questions.”

  “How many answers did you find up her skirt?”

  “At least she knew the value of being seen and not heard,” he jeered.

  She snorted and shook her head. “Come to think of it, I do remember how much you like passive women.”

  “It’s a good thing I don’t,” Bennett said from behind her. “Grace, would you like to dance?”


  “I would, thank you.” She turned toward him and found herself snared by Ryan’s hand circling her wrist in a cold, iron grip.

  Bennett’s eyes were icy in his grim face. “Let her go, mate.”

  “No,” Ryan growled. “We haven’t finished talking.”

  “She thinks you have.”

  Caught between them, Grace stayed silent but she refused to return to Ryan simply to avoid a scene. Around them, the partygoers stilled. She jerked her arm and winced as Ryan’s grip twisted. Ben didn’t move, but his free hand was in a fist at his side, his skin white along the tops of his knuckles. He widened his stance, bracing for battle.

  “The Beast of Britain,” Ryan sneered. “What are you gonna do, hit me?”

  The crowd quieted in concentric rings, leaving them at the center. Instead of causing a larger scene, Bennett put a light arm around her waist. She curved into his shoulder, making her preference clear. Her other arm was outstretched as if shackled by a weight. She looked over her shoulder. “I didn’t intend on a line dance.”

  The nervous laughter from a few bystanders brought Ryan to his senses. He released her, and Bennett whisked her to the dance floor.

  “Pompous, self-centered, misogynistic jackass.” Grace muttered the grave list under her breath and against his shoulder.

  “I hope you’re talking about him.”

  His warmth and his laughter relaxed her. “He only came because he thought he could use me as a bragging point. Thank you for rescuing me.”

  “You’re welcome.” His fingers brushed her wrist. “Did he hurt you?”

  “I’ll probably have a bruise.” She stopped him from turning around. “I bruise easily, Bennett. It’s not a big deal.”

  “It bloody well is.”

  “He isn’t going ruin my night or take up any more of my time.” She relaxed as his hand returned to her waist. “Would you have hit him?”

  “I’ve not hit anyone since Noah and I had our row about Fe.” His voice lowered to a growl. “But if you’d flinched away from him again, I would have pounded him into a pulp. Crowd be damned. Was he always that way?”

  “Obnoxious? Yes. Violent? No. I get the feeling he’s desperate.”

  “For you?”

  She snorted. “No. He was never desperate for me. He wants something and he needs me to get it.”

  Their steps slowed, and Ben brushed her spine with one hand while the other kept hers in its grasp. Grace dropped her head to his shoulder. They gave up stepping for swaying.

  “I’ve enjoyed talking to everyone tonight. They’re all so different.”

  “Different from what?” he asked.

  “From me. My dad ran a drill press his entire life. Do you know what that is?”

  Bennett nodded. “He was a machinist.”

  “Blue collar through and through. I grew up on catfish and s’mores.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he teased. “You’d have to have chocolate in there somewhere.”

  “He always told me I could do whatever I wanted, but I don’t think he ever imagined anything like this.”

  “He’d be well chuffed with you, Grace.”

  “Does that mean proud?” Grace couldn’t stop the squeak in her voice. It was a question she always asked but couldn’t answer. Her father had been proud of his little girl, but he’d died as her professional life had begun.

  Bennett tilted her head and caught her tear with his thumb.

  “Yes, sweetheart. Any man in your life would be proud of you.”

  “I don’t belong here, Bennett. I’m not like these people. Investment bankers and ‘dot-com’ geniuses. Actors.”

  “You know, the people from the library looked at you just like you see this lot.”

  “They didn’t.” She stared up at him. “Did they?”

  That was something to think on, but she was too exhausted to think and dance at the same time. She dropped her head and hid her yawn in his shoulder.

  “I think we’ve done enough for tonight,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She shook her head. “Meg and Paul—”

  “Are going to be here for a while yet, as are Susan and Morris. And Ryan is spoiling for Round Two.”

  At the edge of the dance floor, Charlie Devlin was talking to Harry Levy and Paul. Ryan stood, ignored on the fringes, glaring at her.

  “Home?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  They walked across the dance floor, out the far doors, and into the elevator lobby. It wasn’t the escape route she’d expected. “Where are we going?”

  “Gino and I stashed my car in the garage this morning so I could leave whenever I felt like it and no one would see me.”

  “Sneaky,” she teased.

  “You learn to be.” He held the passenger door for her. “It’s a nice night. Why don’t we put the top down?”

  Grace’s thoughts were tumbling in her head so loudly she almost didn’t hear him.

  “Sure. That would be nice.”

  They emerged from the garage and fresh air hit her face. Inhaling deeply and aching for more freedom, she slipped from her shoes and plucked pins from her hair. “Bennett?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m not running away from him.” It was important to her he knew that. “But I’m glad you offered this.”

  “May I offer something else? The beach, maybe.”

  “Sure, why not.”

  From the passenger seat, she watched him behind the wheel. The wind ruffled and tossed his hair, and he rested one elbow on the door while he steered with his other hand, light and relaxed. His quiet confidence helped her unwind. Leaning back against the seat, she closed her eyes.

  The car stopped, the engine quieted, and Grace’s comfort diminished when she realized their location. “Your apartment?”

  “I live at the beach, remember.” With a smile, he uncurled from the driver’s seat and came around to open her door. “I’m not kidnapping you. It’s my last week to have it, and I thought you’d like to see it on the inside as well.”

  She was proud the hand she gave him didn’t shake, but her insides quivered as he unlocked the door.

  The apartment was spare but comfortable, and the deep dark of the ocean whispered on the other side of glass doors. One of the chairs faced the view, and the table next to it was stacked with paperwork. Curiosity pulled her forward.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Scripts. Do you want to look at them?”

  She shook her head. It felt wrong to read another writer’s work. Instead, she read the spines of the books stacked in the floor.

  “Drink?” he offered.

  “Do you have any beer?” Grace asked as she faced him. She became transfixed as he clawed at his tie.

  “That thing has been bothering me all evening. Yes, I have beer. Go through. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  On the deck, she stood against the rail with her back to the door. Watching him get undressed had been a highlight of her vacation, and she wasn’t going to torment herself with the memory.

  The beach was quiet and, while the stars were dimmed by the lights lining the coast, the moon sat heavy and full in the sky. She stepped out of her shoes, hitched the hem of her dress to her shins, and went down the stairs. Her toes sank into the silvery, cool sand, and she wriggled until she was up to her ankles. It was probably ruining her pedicure, and she couldn’t have cared less.

  The door slid open and Ben emerged. He had a bucket of longnecks in one hand and his tuxedo pants rolled almost to his knees. He offered his arm and they lumbered through the loose sand to reach the hard packed surface of the tide line. She left her arm in his.

  “It’s nice out here alone,” Bennett sa
id. “Just us and the moon.”

  “And whatever is lurking in the water.” She looked around him, half-expecting a monster to rise from the black sea. “There’s probably a shark stalking you. You look like a giant penguin.”

  “Yeah? Well, I only have to be faster than you, and I think we’ve proved I’m safe on that score.”

  They shared their laughter, and her nerves quit jangling under her skin. At a suitable spot, she shimmied the dress up her hips until she had enough room to sit on the sand.

  Muttering in an unintelligible whisper, Bennett put the beer between them and sat, balancing his weight on the arm behind her and protecting her like a large, black dune. Drinking her beer, Grace watched the foaming whitecaps wash ashore.

  “You asked me once about my name,” she began.

  “Until my audition, I thought it began with an I.”

  “It’s Ella. My father named me that, and no one’s used it since he died.”

  “Is there a story behind it?”

  “He knew I was a girl before I was born. Mom said he’d come home, kiss her stomach and whisper, ‘Hello, Princess.’ She put her foot down. Princess Donnelley was not done, but they could name me after princesses. Princess Grace was her favorite, and he . . .”

  When her breath shook, he stuck his beer in the sand and closed his fingers over hers. She laced them together and tightened her hold.

  “He said his daughter wasn’t always going to have to work as hard as her parents, so he picked the only princess who fit.”

  She looked up at him and saw the shock in his eyes.

  “You’re named for Cinderella?” When she nodded, his eyes danced with suppressed glee. “It fits.”

  “It sorta does.” Her smile apparently freed his humor, and their joint laughter warmed her inside and out.

  They fell silent again, and she lifted a second beer from the bucket. Bennett followed suit. The ocean crashed, and the surf erased their footprints, leaving them marooned with no path backward.