To the Stars and Back: A Glittering Romantic Comedy (First Comes Love Book 4)

by Camilla Isley

  “I’m so happy for you, mate.” I slap him on the shoulder. “And this time I’ll be there no matter if I’m in the middle of shooting a movie in Australia.”

  “You’d better be, because I’ve got a feeling this time I’ll actually end up married by the end of the ceremony.”

  “Look at you, so sure she’ll say yes, you arrogant bastard!”

  “I hope so.”

  Here comes the goofy smile again.

  “Why propose in LA?” I ask. “New York wasn’t romantic enough for you?”

  “LA was our first trip together when I realized she wasn’t just an employee, so to speak.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t tell her then, right?”

  “No, but just because I was still being a tosser,” Richard says gravely. “LA is where everything started, at least for me, and I hope Blair will focus on that.”

  I raise my glass. “Cheers, mate.”

  Richard clinks his glass against mine just as Blair comes back from the restroom.

  “What are you guys toasting?”

  I see the panic on Richard’s face and promptly come to the rescue. “My next blockbuster. Signed the contract today.” Which is not even a lie.

  “Oh, what’s the movie about?” Blair asks, then quickly adds, “If you’re at liberty to say…”

  “Am I off the record?”

  She smiles. “With us? Always!”

  “It’s a small town romance, with a brooding leading man who falls for the out-of-her-element city girl.”

  “Sounds…”

  “Like it’s been done a million times before?”

  “Not what I was going to say, but, yeah, it has been done a million times before.”

  “True, but the script was too clever to pass on. Trust me, it’ll be a huge success.”

  “Oh, I’m not complaining. I would eat romcoms for dinner every night if I could.” She smiles and takes a sip of wine. “How about real-life romances? Where’s the girl who never watches TV?”

  I almost choke on my wine. How can she know about Lana? I haven’t told anyone about her. Okay, yes, I did tell Liam… but I seriously doubt he and Blair know each other.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  Blair frowns. “Know what?”

  “About Lana.”

  “Lana? Who’s Lana?”

  “You asked me where she was?”

  Her confusion deepens. “No, I asked how it was going with your search for… oh!”

  Comprehension dawns on her as the shoe drops for me, too: she’s referring to our conversation about dating from the Teachers Without Postcodes charity gala last year.

  Now Blair smiles shrewdly. “You mean you’ve actually found a girl who has no clue who you are?”

  I lean back in my chair. I’m so busted.

  “I’m not following,” Richard says. “What are you guys talking about?”

  Blair turns toward him to explain. “Last year at the charity gala, Christian spent the whole night telling me all about the hardships of dating as Hollywood’s most wanted bachelor and told me the only way for him to find his one true love would be to meet a girl who had no idea who he was whatsoever.” She pauses for effect. “And it seems now he’s finally found her, and she has a name: Lana.”

  They both stare at me expectantly, but I’m saved from replying by the server arriving with our dishes. The conversation dies down as we all take our first bites.

  “How’s your pasta?” Blair asks after a while.

  And despite my initial prejudice, I have to say, “Pretty amazing.”

  “So.” A little, evil smile dances on her lips. “This girl… You really didn’t think we forgot about her, right? And before you ask, yeah, you’re off the record.”

  I sigh and tell them how Lana and I met. When I finish the story, Richard still seems too nervous or too absorbed in his own love troubles to comment, but Blair is enthusiastic.

  “Wow, if that’s not a meet-cute worthy of a movie! Have you called her yet?”

  “Nah.”

  “But why?”

  “It happened only two weeks ago. Isn’t it too short a time to get over a ten-year relationship?”

  “Depends on if she was still in love with the dude or not.”

  “She was pretty upset.”

  “Of course she was upset. Being cheated on is no fun, whether you’re still in love or not,” Blair says passionately. Is she talking from personal experience? I seem to remember there was a story there involving spaghetti marinara, but before I can pin down the memory, she continues with her speech. “And you also have to factor in the best friend aspect. That alone would be enough to upset anyone.”

  “How long after your last breakup did you meet Richard?” I ask.

  Blair beams and turns to Richard. “Twenty minutes? Half an hour, tops?”

  They lock eyes and share a complicit smile. Such a simple gesture, and yet so full of hidden meaning. The mirror of a deeper connection, of a partnership, of shared inside jokes, of intimacy… They’re so clearly and completely in love with each other it makes my stomach ache with longing. I’ve never had a bond that real, and until just now, I also hadn’t realized how much I yearned for it. Penny might be on to something. Not that I’ll ever tell her that.

  “But to be fair.” Blair breaks eye contact with Richard and returns her attention to me. “I don’t remember much of the night in question. Anyway, breakup time is meaningless; it’s depth of feelings you want to look out for.”

  “Of that, I’ve no idea.”

  “Only one way to find out. You should call her.”

  “Mmm…”

  “Richard, tell Christian he should call the girl.”

  My friend gives me a blank stare and says, “Definitely.”

  He’s so spaced out that Blair could’ve asked him if he wanted triplets and he would’ve given the same answer.

  Still, the night leaves me with a sense of deep unease.

  At home, before I go to bed, I step into the office and take Lana’s card out of the desk drawer.

  To call or not to call?

  Seven

  Lana

  “Excuse me, Professor?” a male student calls.

  “Yeah,” I say, turning toward the classroom.

  “Aren’t Navier-Stokes equations supposed to be partial derivatives?” the nerdy-looking boy with thick glasses and a mop of curly carrot-orange hair asks from the second row.

  I blink back at the board, and notice I’ve used the wrong differential symbol in all the equations.

  “Good catch, Montgomery.”

  Mortified, I start to erase all the dx symbols and substitute them with δ. Gosh, there’s, like, a million of the little buggers.

  “Sorry, guys, I’m having a rough couple of weeks.”

  I turn to the class to find my intermediate fluid dynamics undergrads staring back at me with blank expressions, as if I’ve said something incomprehensible. As if professors weren’t supposed to have lives outside the classroom.

  “Anyway…” I smile awkwardly, and, oh boy, I’m blushing. I hope the students will interpret it as a simple I’ve-messed-up-my-differential-equations embarrassment and not a my-personal-life-is-in-ruins shame. “As I was saying, Navier-Stokes equations describe how the velocity, pressure, temperature, and density of a moving fluid are related…”

  When the class ends, I’m relieved. At least until I remember that going home from work now only means a depressing night eating dinner alone before I go to bed, alone again.

  Two weeks since I’ve kicked John out of the house and I’m still not used to the silence. Even if I wasn’t madly in love with Johnathan anymore, I still can’t erase the empty crater he’s left in my life as easily as the swipe of an eraser on a chalkboard.

  Weekends are no better. So far I’ve gone out only once, socially, and it was as awkward as I’d expected. Everyone in our group was tiptoeing around m
e, and the absence of Summer and Johnathan was as conspicuous as the side glances and pitiful stares my friends kept throwing at me. Everyone did their best to be cheerful and upbeat and easygoing, but they were trying so hard they ended up being exactly the opposite.

  The only positive aspect of the breakup so far is the ton of free time I’ve had to read. And on that note, I decide to stop at the library on my way home.

  “Hello, Marjory,” I greet my favorite librarian as soon as I push past the glass revolving doors.

  “Hi, Lana,” she says back. About my age, with wavy light-brown hair and hazel eyes, Marjory is my go-to girl for book recommendations. “Already finished with the pirate story?”

  “Yeah,” I confirm.

  “And what are you in the mood for today?”

  “I want something epic—literally.” I smile. “With castles, and princesses, and knights in shining armor.”

  “Oooh, how exciting. Are we talking historical fiction or epic fantasy?”

  “Either,” I say. “Whichever has the better story.”

  “Let me check our online catalog.” Marjory picks up a tablet from her desk and taps the screen a few times. “If you’d like to browse in the meantime, fantasy is in aisle eight and historical fiction at four.”

  I thank her and begin to stroll around the library, fascinated by the endless orderly rows of titles. I never borrow physical copies of books; I come here only to get recommendations, and then I check out the eBook online and download the file on my eReader. Mostly because I think we humans should stop chopping down forests to print books. If bookworms all over the world switched to digital reading, it’d save so many trees.

  Still, being a book lover, I’m not immune to the allure of holding a real book in my hands and, yes, occasionally smelling the pages.

  While I give Marjory time to come up with a few suggestions, I get my fix of smelling newer-looking paperbacks, read the few first pages, snap pictures of the covers of books I might like, and finally go back to Marjory to hear her opinion.

  “Did you find anything?” she asks.

  I show her the pics. “What do you think of these two?”

  She stares at the first cover. “This one was a meh for me, but you can always check it out and return it if you don’t like it.” Marjory swipes left to the next picture. “Oh, and this one is amazing, but it’s a five-book series of pretty hefty tomes, so unless you’re in the mood to spend a few months in the fantasy middle ages… Actually, you’re a quick reader so one month might be enough for you. Anyway, once you start with this”―she now makes a funny, deeper monster voice―“you really have to commit.”

  “It’s a no, then,” I say. Lately, I like to change genre with every book I read. I’ve been stuck doing too much of the same for the past ten years and now I want to keep things fresh—literarily, at least. “What do you have for me?”

  “Two nice standalones.” She pulls up the covers on her tablet. “This one’s set in middle ages England, and features star-crossed lovers, battles, intrigue, politics… And this one is basically the same, but with magic and a few fantastic creatures added into the mix.”

  “They both sound wonderful.” I add the two titles to my wish list. “I’ll decide at home, depending on how magically inclined I feel.”

  “Glad I could help. It’s always a pleasure seeing you, Lana.”

  “You, too, Marjory. Bye.”

  I’m exiting the library when Marjory calls, “Hey, Lana, wait up!”

  I turn to see her walking toward me.

  “Here’s my business card,” she says. “I wrote my personal phone number on the back. Give me a call when you have the chance; we could grab a coffee, talk more about books.”

  Her eyes are all shiny, her smile bright and warm.

  “Wow, thanks,” I say, grabbing the card.

  “I’m sorry.” Marjory’s smile falters a little. “Am I being too forward? It’s just that it’s so rare to meet someone who loves books as much as I do. I thought we could be friends, but if you don’t want to—”

  “No,” I interrupt her, smiling. “You’re right. I wonder why I never thought of asking you. Coffee sounds great. I’ll text you my number so we can pick a date.”

  “Perfect.” She pulls me into a quick hug. “I can’t wait.”

  This is what I need, I think on the way home. To meet new people, have new friends. Kudos to Marjory for taking the initiative; I would’ve never asked her to grab a coffee with me. Which makes no sense, as it’s a great idea. I need to borrow a page out of her book—pun intended—and be more proactive. New friends won’t drop into my lap from the sky, not if I don’t get out there and seek them. Maybe I should join a book club.

  I’m in the process of googling “how to find the right book club for you” as I walk into my house. It keeps me distracted for a while, until my stomach growls and I realize I’m starving. Grabbing the takeout menu off the fridge, I tap in the number for the pizza place and order a medium all-dressed.

  Excluding high school puppy love, I’ve only ever been in a serious relationship with Johnathan. And he was the cook of the house. Since he’s been gone, I’ve been ordering takeout almost every night. I hope all the walking I do will burn down the extra calories. So far I haven’t gained weight, but I should add “join a cooking class” to the “my new life as a single woman” list of things to do.

  “Meow.”

  “Meeoow.”

  The cats remind me it’s dinnertime for them as well.

  “Hello, kitties.” I grab a can of cat food from the cabinet. “How was your day?”

  The loud purring I receive in response has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the food they’re about to get. But thank goodness for Cengel and Boles; without them, the total emptiness of the house would’ve been too depressing.

  I feed the cats and then sit back at the bar, reading the blurbs of the two books Marjory suggested. I’m halfway into the first one when my phone beeps and a message from Winter appears on the top half of the screen.

  How’s it going?

  I’m teaching a beginner photography class next month

  You should totally join

  And that taps right into my new life’s plan.

  Count me in

  Really?

  Yeah

  I’m so happy

  You’re gonna love it

  I’ll text you the info once the final dates are fixed

  Can’t wait

  Exactly what I needed right now

  Love you

  ♥ u too

  With a book club, a cooking class, a beginner photography course, and my new friend Marjory on the horizon, my life might just be getting back on track.

  As I’m contemplating my bright future, Boles jumps on the stool next to mine. I scratch him under the chin and smile to myself for the first time in what feels like forever.

  Old Lana, bye bye. New Lana, ready to conquer the world.

  ***

  I’ve just paid the delivery boy and settled down with my pizza when the phone rings again. A call from an unknown number.

  With a thrill of curiosity, I say, “Hello?”

  “Lana?” a male voice asks.

  “Yes. Who’s speaking?”

  “Christian, from the Peninsula’s closet.”

  At once my pulse picks up. “Oh. Hi?”

  “Just checking on you, in case you were hiding again in a storeroom somewhere and needed rescuing.”

  And just when life was getting boring, here comes my very own white knight in shiny armor.

  I chuckle. “No, not hiding anywhere, but thank you for checking.”

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Only my solo dinner,” I say, adding a flirting note to my voice.

  If Old Lana thought Christian was trouble, New Lana is open to… experiment…

  “Any interest in a non-solo dinner?” he asks.
“I mean, you want to grab a bite together? If… if it’s not too soon.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  He sounds downcast.

  “I meant, yes to dinner, no, it’s not too soon.”

  “Great.” I can practically hear the smile in his voice. “Would Thursday night work for you?”

  “Yes, I’d love to.”

  “Pick you up at seven-ish?”

  “You remember where I live?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Perfect. See you Thursday, then.”

  I hang up with a silly smile stamped on my face, and I don’t even care that my pizza has gone cold in the meantime.

  Eight

  Christian

  Christian, you moron.

  What have I done? Inviting Lana to dinner was a stupid idea. What am I going to do when we show up at the restaurant and a mob assaults us demanding selfies and autographs? I’m an idiot. I should call her back and cancel.

  No, I want to go on a date with Lana!

  So what now?

  I could invite her here and have Jeff make dinner.

  Yeah, ’cause the mansion would be so much less of a giveaway than a crowd of fans.

  What if I rented a more understated Airbnb and still have Jeff prepare our meal?

  Nah, too much of a lie.

  Or I could buy a smaller house and invite her there.

  Still too dishonest.

  What else? What else?

  Then the perfect idea hits me.

  It’s romantic, private, and I’m a genius.

  ***

  “Bill,” I say into the intercom on Thursday, calling my driver/garage manager—and, yeah, owning over twenty cars I need a garage manager. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with insurance payments, maintenance, and so on otherwise. “Can you please bring up the Tesla?”

  “Right away, sir.” Bill’s voice comes back distorted over the speaker.

  “The Tesla, huh?” Penny echoes.

  She’s still here in my office collecting her stuff before she goes home for the day.

  “You have something against that car?”

  “No, Boss.” She puts away her laptop and loops her messenger bag over her shoulder. “It’s just that since you had me buy the Tesla, you haven’t driven it once… until now.”