Christian lays me down, and we make out lying on the blanket—the sand underneath acting as soft bedding. When we pull apart, we both lie supine, staring at the sky.
“Why is the distance measured in years?” Christian asks.
“Most stars are too far away. The number in kilometers would be too big; it’s impractical…”
“And why did you use kilometers to measure the distance to the sun, not miles?”
“It’s a convention to use the metric system, so that all scientists around the world speak the same language. Different units of measurement can be a real pain for engineering students. I remember entire homework assignments dedicated to converting values from one system to the other.”
“Can’t you use a computer program or an app for that?”
“In real life, yes.” I turn my head sideways to look at him, our eyes locking again. “But in a homework exercise you have to show all the passages, so you gotta learn the traditional way.”
“Fair enough.” He smiles. “So what’s the weirdest unit you had to work with?”
I think for a second. “Definitely the slug.”
“The slug? There’s a scientific unit called slug?”
“Yep.”
“What does it measure?”
“Mass. It’s the mass accelerated by one foot over square second when a force of one pound is exerted on it.”
Christian keeps smiling. “And in human terms?”
“One slug weighs more or less 32.2 pounds.”
“That’s one fat snail.”
“I guess,” I say, laughing.
I want him to kiss me again. And something in my gaze must give my wish away, because he rolls on top of me and presses his lips to mine.
Ah, the romantic power of the U.S. Customary System.
I don’t know how much time we spend wrapped in each other’s arms, but I’m glad we’re the only two people on this beach, as our conduct isn’t one hundred percent proper for a public space.
I’d stay here all night, but when the ocean breeze turns into a strong wind, we both begin to shiver. Even if we don’t want to, we have to leave, unless we’re looking to turn into popsicles.
Christian drives me back home and walks me to the door. We kiss again on the landing, but I’m not ready to invite him in, yet. I like him, but I’m taking things slowly. I haven’t dated anyone new in ten years and I have no idea what the rules are these days. But I won’t jump in bed with a man on a first date—or is this a second date? Does an afternoon together in a closet count?
Still, I’m not ready for the next step. I’m trying desperately to think of a polite way to convey all this without sounding as if I’m not interested, when Christian surprises me by saying, “I have to go, early flight to catch tomorrow morning.”
Perfect solution, really. Solves everything. So why am I immediately assaulted by doubts?
Doesn’t he like me enough to want to come in?
“Oh, okay,” I say.
He smiles. “Next time we go out, I’ll make sure I don’t have to be anywhere outside the city the next day.”
Hypothesis: we’re going out again.
Conclusion: he likes me.
I blush. “That would be nice.”
As a strong emotion crosses his features, his brows drop and his eyes widen. “I don’t know what your ex was thinking,” he says. “But I’m glad we met in that closet.”
I can’t stop a huge smile, “Yeah, me, too.”
We kiss again, and when Christian leaves, I stand on my doorstep watching his car until it disappears around the corner.
Walking into my house, I touch two fingers to my lips… Maybe Winter was right. Maybe I really had forgotten how being in love was supposed to feel. My breath catches at that.
Don’t be ridiculous, Lana, you can’t be in love after one date.
Right. I can’t.
Can I?
Nine
Christian
“What’s with the stupid grin, Boss?” Penny asks me the next morning. We’re in my home office at our usual stations: me behind the desk, and my assistant on the other side in her leather chair. Me telling Lana I had to be on a plane this morning was a white lie to spare her the embarrassment of not inviting me in. I could sense she wasn’t ready.
Anyway. Today Penny is presenting me various brands’ proposals to hire me as a spokesperson.
Christian Slade, the new face of… yet to be determined.
“Nothing,” I say, pursing my lips.
Penelope, the nosiest assistant on Earth, doesn’t fall for it. “So the mysterious picnic basket for two Jeff prepared last night was for some other smiley dude?”
“That man needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut.”
“And you need to learn how to share more,” Penny says. “I manage all aspects of your life, public and private. If you’re dating someone I need to know who, when, where, for how long… what to tell the press, and what to keep confidential…”
Technically, she’s right. But still…
“Oh, so yours is merely a professional interest…” I tease her.
Penny sighs, frustrated. “Do I have to beg? I’m dying here; you haven’t dated anyone in a year. Who is this mystery woman?”
“Tell you what.” I lean my elbows forward on my desk. “Wednesday night, I need a location for a cooking lesson, somewhere nice but private. Jeff will be the teacher. Find the right spot, and I’ll tell you two horrible gossips everything.”
When I first devised this plan, I thought of having the lesson here, but as per the flashy mansion problem, I ruled out the idea.
“You want to learn how to cook?” Penelope raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you playing a chef in a movie I know nothing about?”
“The class wouldn’t be strictly for one.”
“So how many people would be involved?” She jots down a note on her agenda, the image of a professional assistant.
“Two students,” I say with a grin.
Penelope beams back. “All right, Boss, I’ll find you the best kitchen for hire in LA.” She stands up. “In the meantime, review those proposals and let me know if you’re interested in being the new face of something.”
I watch her go and smile to myself. When Lana invited me to take a cooking class, my first reaction was to think, There goes another normal thing couples do that we never could. But the more I racked my brain to find an alternative to a public lesson, the more learning to cook seemed like the perfect opportunity for another undercover date.
Dates.
To learn our way around the kitchen, we’re going to need more than one lesson. And if Penny finds the right location, we won’t risk the paps—or anyone else—crashing in. Perfect to protect my secret.
Yeah, mate, but how long do you plan to keep your real identity hidden? a tiny voice whispers in my ear. You’re being dishonest.
Technically, I haven’t lied.
No, but eventually you must tell her.
True.
If I want to keep dating Lana, and I do, I won’t be able to conceal my real life from her.
But is it so wrong to enjoy this newfound anonymity a little longer?
I haven’t had a relationship untainted by my public persona since I was eighteen, and I’m so damn tired of interactions that reek of hidden agendas.
Lana is the first woman I’ve dated in years who I’m one hundred percent sure is genuine, so I’m not ready to give up the authenticity of our connection. Not yet. Hopefully not ever.
Seems like I’m sporting a bad case of “like me for me” syndrome.
But that doesn’t make it right to be shady with Lana, that same voice adds.
Today my conscience is hell-bent on calling me out.
“Okay, okay,” I say out loud to the empty room. “I’ll tell her.”
When?
Soon, I promise myself.
Very soon.
>
***
“It’s not fair,” Penny protests on Wednesday evening. “Why does Jeff get to meet The Girl and I don’t?”
We’re at home in the entrance hall; I’m about to leave to go pick up Lana, and I really don’t have time for my assistant to throw a tantrum. But I listen to her anyway. I owe Penelope. Without her help, tonight wouldn’t be happening.
Penny found the perfect location to host a cooking course: a real restaurant available to rent on its closing night. A solution that delivers the professional kitchen, a place to eat afterward, total privacy, and saves me from showing Lana my house.
Unfortunately, getting all this set up meant telling not only Penelope that I’m dating someone, but Jeff as well. And I had to explain to both of them that Lana has no idea who I am—publicly. Privately, Lana knows me better after one date and one afternoon spent in a closet together than most of my supposed friends here in Hollywood.
“Jeff’s the teacher,” I reply to Penny’s objection. “Can’t have a lesson without one.”
“Why can’t I come as a student?” my PA asks. “As your driver?”
“Three’s already a crowd.” I’m merciless. “And I can’t have a driver; Lana thinks I’m only a mid-list actor, remember? Or that I act in soap operas, or worse, that I’m that guy hopping jobs while I wait for my big break.”
She snorts at that. “Yeah, right. It’s still not fair.”
A stab of guilt slashes at me. Penny really went out of her way to organize this date for me. She found the right space, rented it, typed and printed the class syllabus and recipe book, and delivered to the kitchen all the ingredients Jeff bought for tonight’s demonstration. And I don’t want to sound like an ungrateful bastard, but…
“Come on, you’ll meet Lana soon. And I’m sure Jeff will give you a blow by blow of the night.”
Jeff’s enthusiasm about tonight has been so off-the-charts I almost regretted asking him—not that I had another choice. I hope he’s a decent actor and won’t get us caught.
“It’s not the same.” Penny pouts.
“Sorry, but for now, you have to stick to Google stalking.”
“I didn’t stalk Lana on Google.”
I arch a skeptical eyebrow at that.
“Okay, I might’ve looked her up once or twice. That’s hardly stalking.”
“If you really want to see her, you can drop Jeff off and wait in the car for us to arrive. But that’s creepy.”
“Totally creepy,” Penelope agrees. “I’m not doing that.”
“Then you’ll have to wait to meet Lana.” I drop my hands on her shoulders. “But I want you to, because it’d mean she’s still going out with me and I like this girl.”
Penny smiles at that. “You make me so proud,” she says.
“You sound like my mom now.”
“All right, kiddo.” She smirks and wriggles away, pushing me toward the door. “Go have fun.”
I grab the Tesla’s key card and I’m out of the door. “I will.”
Lana
I text Winter.
Do I need to buy a camera for your class?
No
I’ll bring you one of my old ones
You’re the best
I’m super excited about the course
You should be
Besides an awesome subject and teacher
70% of the students are males in their thirties
Mmm, about that…
I’m already dating someone
What?
I mean W.H.A.T?
I go away for a week and you turn your life around
Yeah, that’s the spirit
I’m dating someone new
I have a new friend
I’m learning to cook
And how to use a camera
Meet the new me
How was Hawaii BTW?
Fantastic
Best volcano shots of my career
Should I be jealous?
Of the new friend, not the date
And who are you dating?
Closet Man
My screen lights up with an incoming call the second my last message is marked as read.
“Hi,” I pick up.
“Closet Man, huh?” Winter says in a sultry tone. “Do tell.”
“He called last week and asked me on a date, and we’re going out again tonight.”
“I need specifics,” Winter demands.
So I tell her about the ocean-side picnic and the cooking class Christian has invited me to tonight.
When he proposed it as our second date, I was surprised. On the beach, I had the impression he thought taking cooking lessons together would be lame, or that he wasn’t interested at all. I never expected him to find a course and book a class for us less than a week later.
“This guy sounds like a keeper,” Winter says when I’m done.
“Oh, you know,” I say vaguely. “It’s only early days. I’m not sure I’m ready for something serious so soon after…” I pause for a second, undecided if I want to ask the next question. “Have you… Have you seen her? Them?”
“No, sweetheart, I’m sorry. My sister is hiding from me as well. Bet she’s too ashamed to show her face around these days.”
I sigh. “No, of course. At least she isn’t flaunting her relationship with John.”
“Are you okay?” Winter’s tone has turned serious.
“I am,” I say sincerely. “But is it weird I still miss Summer, but not John?”
“We were in your life way before he was. We’ve known each other basically all our lives… But, Lana, if you want to forgive Summer, it’s your choice, no one will judge you either way. You don’t have to be tough on principle. Do what’s best for yourself, and yourself alone.”
“I want to forgive your sister, I really do.” I bite my lower lip. “Maybe not right now, I’m not ready yet… but eventually. Even if she hasn’t asked to be forgiven or said she’s sorry.”
“I can’t believe we came from the same womb.”
“Same egg,” I correct her. “You’re identical twins.”
“Please don’t remind me. Why couldn’t I share most of my DNA with you instead?”
“My cells aren’t artistic enough for you.”
“At least they’re not evil. But really, about Summer… If you’re only waiting for her to apologize, I can nudge her. She’s probably gone into hiding because she’s too scared to face you. But if I were to tell her you’re open to a reconciliation…”
“No, I still need time. But even if the wound eventually heals, the scar will always be there. Say I forgive Summer, how could I ever trust her again? And what’s a friendship without trust? She broke that bond between us, and it will never be like it was before…”
“I know, and it makes me so mad I want to bitch-slap my sister so bad. I really don’t understand what possessed her.”
“Neither do I.” I sigh into the mic.
“Hey, enough with the sad topics,” Winter says. “I don’t want you to go to your date all mopey and wistful. Let’s talk about the important stuff… What are you wearing tonight?”
Ten
Christian
Lana hops down the steps of her house wearing a golden yellow T-shirt, jeans, and white sneakers. Her hair is tied high up in a ponytail. If I thought she was sexy in a dress, this girl-next-door style is a TKO.
“Hey,” she beams, hugging me, sapphire eyes alight in the late afternoon sun.
I’d like to keep her in my arms forever, but the urgency of getting back into the car before someone recognizes me is more pressing. So I let go, give her a quick peck on the lips, and open the passenger door for her.
Once we’ve pulled away, Lana asks, “Do you know what we’re going to cook tonight?”
“Err, no. I booked a beginner class, but didn’t ask for the specifics. Any preferences?”
“No, not really. I’m a
good fork, I can eat almost anything.”
“Yeah?” I tap the wheel.
“Yep, but I draw the line at crispy insects.”
“You know many people who regularly eat bugs?”
“There’s a huge environmentally conscious movement that advocates for cricket flour and such, but that’s too green even for me.” Lana shifts in the passenger seat and adjusts her seatbelt. “I try to walk everywhere and don’t use a drier to limit my carbon footprint, but crickets in my food? Sorry, can’t get past that.”
She really cracks me up.
“I’m confident crickets won’t be on the menu tonight,” I say.
At least, I hope not. Otherwise I’ll have to find a new cook, ’cause mine will be dead.
***
The restaurant’s kitchen is a medium-sized room crammed with stainless steel appliances, pots, frying pans, and obscure cooking tools.
On a shiny steel counter, an orderly row of ingredients is already set: vegetables, ground meat, tomato sauce, cheeses, pasta, eggs, and flour—hopefully not crickets.
“Ah, Christian.” Jeff does a grand show of meeting me for the first time as he extends his hand. “We spoke on the phone; nice to meet you in person.”
“Jeff.” I shake his hand. “This is Lana.”
“How wonderful to meet you,” Jeff says, a bit too eagerly.
I hope Lana takes him only for an over-enthusiastic teacher.
She must, because she gives him one of her big smiles and shakes his hand, not a hint of suspicion on her face.
“Welcome to our beginners cooking course,” Jeff intones. “Our approach will be a learn-by-doing system that I prefer to lengthy explanations. So… here.” Jeff hands out aprons. “Who’s ready to get their hands dirty?”
“Aren’t we waiting for the other students?” Lana asks.
“No, dear.” Jeff shakes his head. “This is our special a deux lesson plan.”
Lana turns to me. “You booked a chef only for us?”
I nod. “I thought it’d be more intimate.”
“But you must be spending a fortune! We should split the cost.”
Such a simple but significant offer. I’m so used to being surrounded by freeloaders that Lana’s words bear more weight than they would with a regular person.
To the Stars and Back: A Glittering Romantic Comedy (First Comes Love Book 4) Page 7
