The Real Thing (The Bouquet Catchers Book 5)

by Lizzie Shane

  “You could always resurrect it.”

  “I guess.” She turned her attention back to her sandwich. “What about you? What would your younger self think of how you turned out?”

  Ian had to laugh at that. “I don’t know. He’d probably be disappointed. This wasn’t the dream. Though I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”

  “Did you go?” she asked, tentatively, as if she knew it was a sore spot but couldn’t resist asking. “To Nashville?”

  “I did,” he confirmed. “That’s where I met Sadie’s mom, actually. We were both trying to make it. God, my dad was so pissed when I refused to go to college. And my mom. I thought she was never going to talk to me again. But then my dad helped me get set up in Nashville. Told me to take some time to chase the dream. I think he was banking on the hope that I’d get tired of the struggle and decide to go to college within six months, a year tops—but three years later I was still going after it. I was even gaining a little momentum, making some connections, getting a few writing credits—but then my dad broke his hip. It was a nasty recovery and my mom was struggling. I hadn’t been home in years, so I asked Scarlett to fly back with me.” At her look he clarified. “My girlfriend. Sadie’s mom.”

  “She wanted to audition for American Idol,” he went on, remembering all the warning signs he’d ignored. “We figured she’d stand out more as a country artist at the Seattle auditions than she would at the Nashville ones, so she decided to come along. We’d been dating a while, thought we were going to be the next Faith Hill and Tim McGraw. Big dreams.” Just like he’d always shared with Maggie. Their conversations had focused on their ambitions. He’d never even noticed that the hunger was all they had in common. “While we were in Seattle we found out she was pregnant with Sadie. We were kids. Stupid kids. We’d been playing at being starving artists for years and suddenly it was like reality was smacking us in the face.”

  He shook his head, reaching absently for a chip though he didn’t bring it to his mouth.

  “I asked her to marry me. Came up with this whole plan where we would stay with my folks in Seattle to save money until the baby was born and then go back to Nashville.”

  It hadn’t seemed like walking away from the dream at the time. Each step away from the goals they’d once had had been small. It had been cumulative, building up until it seemed impossible to go back.

  Ian shrugged, turning the chip in his hands. “I don’t know when my dreams shifted. I never really noticed it happening. Maybe it was the first time I held Sadie, when suddenly doing what was best for her was more important than anything I had ever wanted for myself. I just kind of assumed Scarlett felt the same way.” He’d never been able to understand why she didn’t. How could she want anything more than Sadie? “I got an offer to join a tour with some guys I’d known in Nashville who needed someone who could play guitar and sing back-up. I turned it down without even mentioning it to Scarlett. Touring, gigging, fighting to make it—that was no kind of life for a kid. Or maybe I was already over that life before Sadie came along and she just gave me an excuse to walk away. That’s what Scarlett said. I don’t know. But it took me longer than it should have to realize she never stopped wanting it. Looking back, I see all the signs I missed, but at the time I just thought we were happy. We’d moved down here, out of my parents’ place, so we had our own space. I was taking some classes, thinking about getting a degree, planning this whole future for us—and then she was just gone.”

  He realized he was still holding a barbecue chip and popped it into his mouth, crunching, absently cataloguing the remains of their lunch. Her half-eaten sandwich. Two open bags of chips.

  He didn’t know why he’d told her any of that. He shouldn’t have come over at all. Shouldn’t have brought Vinnie’s. Shouldn’t have watched her mouth while she ate and listened to the little moans of happiness she made. And he definitely shouldn’t have started talking about Nashville and Scarlett.

  He didn’t talk about that shit. With anyone.

  Maggie studied him, her eyes speaking volumes though she didn’t say a word as he became aware of the song on the radio. A slow, acoustic Lorenzo Tate song he hadn’t heard in years.

  He’d learned to play that song that last summer, hoping to impress sixteen-year-old Lori Terchovsky. God, he’d been obsessed with her then. He’d spend all week practicing new songs to play for her when his family made the trip down on the weekends. They’d make out in his room for hours while his stereo played. Van Morrison. The Rolling Stones. The Fifth Horseman. Whoever he was obsessed with that week. He’d talked endlessly about going to Nashville. About how the soul of classic rock was lost in pop music these days, but true singer/songwriters were still making art in Nashville. He’d been a pretentious little prick, but Maggie had looked at him like he hung the moon. And then she would tell him about her plans to go to LA.

  She needed to go back to LA. The sooner the better. She hadn’t even been here a week and already she was sneaking tendrils into his life everywhere he looked. They needed distance. About a thousand miles should do it. Then maybe he’d stop thinking of the look in her turquoise eyes right now—and how she’d somehow seemed to know that the best thing to say in that moment was nothing at all.

  He’d told her about Scarlett leaving, but she was leaving too. He couldn’t afford to forget that.

  “I should get going,” he said, his chair scraping across the floor as he stood and began gathering up the trash. “I’ve got a few errands to run before I need to go pick up Sadie.”

  The song was still in its first chorus. The silence that had seemed to stretch forever between them must have only lasted a few seconds. Ian reached over and snapped off the radio, which snapped Maggie to attention.

  * * * * *

  Where was a screenwriter when you needed one?

  Ian had poured out his heart and she’d been desperately trying to think of the right thing to say, but the words had been thick and heavy on her tongue, refusing to come.

  Ian was standing and Maggie stood as well. She had to say something. “Thanks for lunch.”

  Ugh. Anything but that.

  “Anytime,” Ian mumbled, heading for the door.

  She caught the screen before it could slam closed again behind him, feeling the moment slipping away.

  “Hey, Ian?”

  He glanced back and she met his eyes. He stood at the edge of the porch, still beneath the overhang, but the drumming rain fell just beyond his shoulder, enclosing them in a strange sort of bubble. His expression was far from welcoming, but she pushed past her nerves and forced the words out.

  “It’s her loss. Leaving you. She was an idiot if she couldn’t see that.”

  For a moment, something eased slightly in the tension at the corners of his eyes and she thought she might have miraculously said the right thing—but then he flashed a smile, cocky and over the top. “I know,” he boasted.

  She huffed a soft laugh as he put two fingers to the brim of his cap in salute and darted out into the rain. She watched him leap into the truck. Gravel scattered as he drove away without looking back and Maggie stepped back into the house.

  Leaning her back against the door, she closed her eyes. “Don’t fall for him. Don’t fall for him,” she whispered, over and over again. But it didn’t do any good.

  He’d saved her from a fire. He was capable and smart and funny—and he’d happily reorganized his life to revolve around his daughter without a moment of hesitation. Of course she had a crush on him. With her history, it would be a miracle if she could be indifferent to a man who loved his daughter more than his own dreams. How was she supposed to resist that? Especially when he was doing such a good job of resisting her?

  “Don’t fall for him, Maggie,” she whispered again.

  History had proven she was a human wrecking ball when it came to love. For both their sakes, she needed to steer clear.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tuesday morning it was still raining. But
Maggie still didn’t have a valid driver’s license and Cecil needed more dog food and she needed something in the refrigerator other than ketchup and salad dressing, so she donned Lolly’s raincoat and slightly oversized galoshes and started walking down the beach toward the town. There were access points scattered along the beach and she knew there was one off the boardwalk in downtown Long Shores.

  It wasn’t much, as downtowns went. Grocery store, little two-screen movie theatre, a few beachside inns, and a collection of shops that only kept regular hours in the high season—including Vinnie’s Sandwiches and the candy shop where Lolly used to take her to buy fudge and salt-water taffy.

  She’d left Cecil behind—it was too long a walk for him and he hated getting wet anyway—so she was able to move briskly down the beach. The rain was so fine it was more like mist on her face. Her jeans were quickly soaked, but the galoshes and coat kept the rest of her dry.

  There was something almost soothing about the crappy weather—private. Because who else would be crazy enough to go for a two mile walk down the beach in a steady drizzle? She had the vast stretch of sand entirely to herself and a sweet calm seemed to seep deeper into her skin with each step she took.

  She didn’t remember the last time she’d felt this peaceful, nothing around her but quiet. And when she climbed onto the boardwalk that peace seemed to follow the hollow thump of her footsteps into town.

  The movie theatre had seen better days. Frankly, the entire town had a slightly worn, shabby look to it, like it hadn’t had a fresh coat of paint since its heyday thirty years ago. Or maybe it was forty or fifty years back. Even in her oldest memories Long Shores had always had a sort of faded, time-worn feel.

  Maggie hadn’t been anywhere so run down and unglamorous in years and it felt wonderful. Freeing. Like she could wander the streets in jeans, a worn hoodie that used to belong to Aunt Lolly and an ill-fitting raincoat and no one would look at her twice. She could just be comfy.

  Comfy wasn’t a word she’d thought of much in the last few years.

  She stepped into the grocery store and flipped back her hood. She felt it, that barely audible whoosh as everyone who saw her sucked in their breath in recognition. But no one approached her as she got a cart and began wending through the aisles.

  She meant to head straight for Cecil’s dog food, but she got distracted by a display of pastries, staring at the decadent, forbidden carby goodness.

  She was hungry, she realized. Another thing she hadn’t felt in so long it almost felt foreign. She ate what she was told when she was told, fueling the machine of her body, but it was automatic. Now she felt starved.

  The pastries went into her cart. As did fruits and vegetables that looked too gorgeous to be ignored. Salt and vinegar chips. Cheese. God, she wanted to buy all the cheese.

  She got Cecil’s dog food, and grilled chicken and field greens just so she could pretend she’d been virtuous as well, and then headed back up front toward the check stands.

  There was only one register open and a small line jutted out of the lane. Maggie maneuvered her cart into the end of the line, glancing down at the bizarre mishmash of impulse purchases that filled her cart.

  The woman in front of her glanced back and did a double take.

  “Oh! Oh, you can go ahead,” the woman stammered, tugging on her cart as if she would remove it from Maggie’s path.

  “No. No, it’s fine,” Maggie assured her. “You were here first.”

  The woman was flushed from the effort of trying to extract her cart from the magazine-lined aisle. “No, I insist. Please.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Maggie smiled her broadest smile. “Really. I don’t mind waiting.”

  “Oh. Well.” The woman stopped trying to wrestle with her cart, but she kept stealing glances at Maggie—and Maggie kept reinforcing her smile.

  It was actually kind of fun, waiting in line. Novel. And if that didn’t demonstrate that her life was out of whack, she didn’t know what did. Who actually wanted to wait in a line just so she could feel normal?

  Or at least as normal as she could feel when the woman in front of her was stealthily reaching for her cell phone. Maggie was just glad she’d worn make-up this morning. It was habit. Don’t leave the house without her face on.

  The line moved forward and the woman had to choose between capturing her cell phone video and unloading her groceries. Thankfully, she chose her groceries, tucking her phone away, and the little knot of awareness in Maggie’s chest unknotted. She pushed her cart forward—

  And then she saw the tabloids.

  No wonder the woman had recognized her. Her face was on half the magazines lining the checkout line.

  Mel had said people were starting to speculate about her absence. She just hadn’t thought they’d already have had time to go to press. From the online sites she expected it, but the print mags must have already had these pieces in the works before she vanished for them to have appeared so fast.

  It was probably a reaction to Alec’s book rather than her disappearance. She’d only been gone…what? A week? How was that even newsworthy?

  Though she knew the answer to that. Everything in her life was newsworthy. Even the stuff the papers made up.

  Maggie scanned the headlines. Most of it was the usual drivel. Claims that she was having a mental breakdown. Claims that she was in rehab or secretly pregnant with a variety of celebrities’ love children. Smaller inset photos showed which of her exes they’d hounded for quotes this time, like some bizarre version of This Is Your Life, alongside interviews with people who claimed to know her—some of whom she’d never even heard of.

  Mel had warned her that if they couldn’t find her, they would take quotes from anyone they could find who was willing to talk. She knew that. And she’d known that Alec’s damn book would push her into the public eye. She should have made a statement. She was a little surprised Melanie hadn’t simply had her publicist make a statement in her absence—not that it would have stopped the tabloids. Her manager was probably still hoping she’d come home and defuse it all with one perfectly timed television appearance.

  “Miss Tate?”

  Maggie jumped, realizing the line had moved forward without her while she was staring at the magazines. She pushed her cart into the open space and began unloading her groceries, studiously ignoring the magazines with her own face staring down at her.

  “Hey. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Ian.

  Maggie felt a flush rising up over her face as she turned toward Ian Summer, who stood behind her with a basket hooked over one arm. She’d wanted to see him ever since he’d left yesterday. Of course he would appear when she was surrounded by tabloids featuring every mistake she’d ever made and several dozen she hadn’t. “I can’t shop?” she asked, embarrassment making the words sharper than she intended.

  His eyebrows arched. “I didn’t see your car.”

  “I walked.”

  His gaze flicked down to the quantity of groceries filling the conveyor belt and she realized—much too late—that she was going to have to carry all of it two miles up the beach to get it home. The watermelon had definitely been a bad idea.

  “You want a ride?” he asked, before she could start paring down her purchases by size and weight. “I have to take this stuff home anyway.” He nodded toward the handful of things tucked into his basket—all of which could have easily been carried up the beach.

  “I’d appreciate that. Thanks.” She’d been tempted to say no—even though she knew it was an idiotic temptation. Ian always seemed to see her at her least competent, but turning down his offer wasn’t going to make her look any more sensible. He nodded, as if it was nothing worth mentioning and she felt her flush intensifying again. “I didn’t even think of having to carry everything home. I guess I’m not that good at being practical.”

  The cashier cleared her throat and Maggie realized she’d fallen behind again. The woman in front of her was gathering up her
bagged groceries—as slowly as possible so she didn’t miss anything. Maggie stepped forward, turning on her brightest smile for the cashier and other customers who were finding excuses to linger with their purchases. “Hello! How are you doing today?” she asked cheerfully.

  Behind her she heard a low, growled curse and didn’t need to look to see that Ian had spotted the tabloids.

  * * * * *

  Ian had told himself he was going to steer clear of Maggie after oversharing at lunch yesterday, but that plan had been doomed from the start. He’d already promised to do the dump run for her and offered to help her with any repairs, but it wasn’t just that. She was like a magnet, drawing him in whenever they were anywhere near each other. The second he’d seen her at Safeway, he’d immediately gravitated toward her.

  And then he’d seen those goddamn magazines.

  Maggie didn’t even seem to notice them, her smile vivacious and bright as she chatted with the cashier, but Ian couldn’t take his eyes off the glossy covers. He read every headline, getting angrier by the second on her behalf. Some talked about her like she was the victim of some betrayal, but most of them gleefully speculated on her sanity, her love life, or both.

  Ian was so preoccupied glaring at the rack of magazines the cashier had to clear her throat to get his attention. Maggie was loading her bags back into her cart and Ian jerked forward, setting his basket on the conveyor belt. “Sorry, Ellen,” he mumbled, swiping his frequent shopper card.

  Maggie took a step toward the exit and one of the shoppers who had been hovering stepped into her path. “Ms. Tate? I’m a huge fan. Do you think…?” The woman who had been in front of Maggie in line held up her cell phone. Ian expected her to gently but firmly tell the woman no, but instead Maggie’s face lit up as if she’d been hoping for just this sort of interruption.