“You too.”
Jenny gave her one last hug, then spun to click her way down the front stairs to her car. Tasha smiled in spite of herself. Maybe she should just pretend she was Jenny for the summer. It would be much more interesting to act like she was carefree and determined to enjoy life. It’d be a change from her usual planning and organizing. Lesson plans were useful for teaching second-graders, but not so useful when it came to living a spontaneous life. Brad had proved that.
She waved one last time to Jenny as she backed her car up and drove around the rose bushes, then out of sight. The tranquil sound of the waves and a few sea birds filled the silence that was left. Tasha closed her eyes and breathed it in. The tang in the air soothed her in spite of everything.
It wasn’t so bad. Spencer Ellis had said he would stay out of her hair. The house was huge. She didn’t have to talk to anyone or explain anything if she didn’t want to. Brad was done and gone, and without friends and family around to keep picking at the wound by telling her how sorry they were or how she had dodged a bullet, she might get a chance to move on. And there would be fewer opportunities for her to make a fool of herself. This could still be the vacation she’d dreamed of after all. It could be the vacation she needed.
She let out a breath and opened her eyes, turned and picked up her suitcases to haul them inside. Two months’ worth of clothes and shoes and essentials took up more space than she would have thought. It didn’t help that one of the suitcases was half full of books, in spite of the e-reader in her purse. She lugged both suitcases as far as the staircase, then left one downstairs while she took the other one up to the second floor.
“Are you sure I can’t help you?” Spencer Ellis’s voice echoed through the open staircase. It had the kind of sexy male resonance that was more suited to reading poetry than making small-talk.
“Nope, I’m fine,” she dismissed him when she reached the top of the stairs. She’d cried in front of him. Sobbed like her grandma had died. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes now. Instead, she poked around the corner to check out the bedroom closest to the stairs. It was beautifully decorated in blue stripes and sailboats and virtually untouched.
“I’ve taken the bedroom at the end of the hall down there.” Spencer came in from the porch, pointing to the opposite end of the stairs. “It’s got a nice view of the south beach. I can clear out if you want it.”
He stopped beside her in the hall, leaving her plenty of space. When the original Victorian structure had been badly damaged in a storm in the ’90s, the house had been rebuilt for space and light. The upstairs hall had windows at one end and the double doors at the other, and the walls were painted pale yellow. But with Spencer standing right next to her, easily eight inches taller and warm from the late-morning sun, things felt decidedly snug. And whatever cologne he was wearing was enough to make Tasha’s mouth water. If it even was cologne. Maybe superstars smelled divine as a matter of principle.
Nope. She didn’t need to let her mind wander down that particular red-carpeted slippery slope.
“No, it’s okay,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. She prayed hers weren’t still red from crying. “Stay where you’ve put your stuff. I’m sure there are other great views.”
She pushed on, dragging her suitcase with her. The air seemed to lighten as she stepped farther away from him. She turned to slip through the open door closest to the porch on the beach side and found herself in a cheery room done in sea-foam green with sand dollar patterns stenciled near the ceiling. Perfect.
“I get the impression that you’ve stayed here before?” Spencer asked from the doorway.
“Not exactly,” she answered, lifting the suitcase onto the double bed.
She stole a look at him. Yep. Spencer Ellis. Did he always look that…that nice, or did he feel sorry for her after her outburst? She whipped her eyes away, not sure she could take it if he pitied her.
“My family always stayed in one of the motels at the other end of the beach,” she went on. “Every summer from age eight until about sixteen. I always used to look up at this house and dream that someday I would be rich enough to stay here.”
“Nice.”
He was smiling at her. Her. And what a smile. Straight, white teeth against lightly-tanned skin with just a hint of scruff. Not to mention sparkling blue eyes with long lashes. There was a reason Spencer Ellis was always cast as the hero. Although he’d cut his dark hair much shorter than the last film she’d seen him in.
“I was inside the house once,” she found herself saying in spite of wanting to run and hide.
“Only once?”
She edged past him into the hall and back down the stairs to fetch her other suitcase. He followed.
“The hotel where we always stayed had bicycles for their guests to rent. You can get them in town too, but the hotel ones were cheaper. My brother and Jenny, Brad and I would ride all over the place. We came out this way one day and got caught in a downpour. Dave, my brother—he was the oldest—had the idea that we should ask if we could hang out on the porch here until the storm passed.”
“Smart guy,” Spencer said as they headed upstairs again, down the hall, and into the bedroom.
“He is.” Tasha nodded. She circled the bed to plop the second suitcase at the foot. “He’s an orthopedist.”
“Good for him.”
Tasha stole a look at Spence as she unzipped her suitcase. He was listening to her like the ramblings of a humble teacher were interesting. That made something tender coil in her chest.
“Anyway, Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaro, the old couple who own the house, then and now, happened to be there that week. They wouldn’t hear of us hunkering down on their porch in a storm that bad, so they asked us inside. Mr. Cavanaro lit a fire and Mrs. Cavanaro fed us all lemonade and cookies.”
She paused and hugged herself with a smile, the memory warming her as quickly as that fire had.
“I had always liked the house, but that afternoon, I fell hardcore in love with it, and with the Cavanaros. I’d never been anywhere so fancy in my life. The Cavanaros had money, and we most certainly did not.”
She glanced up at Spencer, who now leaned against the doorframe with his hands in his shorts pockets, watching her with a smile. Her smile dropped to a blush. He must think she was provincial, talking about bikes and lemonade. She shook her head and flipped up the top of her suitcase to start moving books to the windowsill.
“I swore right then that someday I would spend the entire summer in this house, being fancy,” she finished.
“And here you are,” he said, still smiling.
“Yes, here I am.” She returned his smile with a sheepish look. “Renting a house like this on a teacher’s salary wasn’t easy. I saved for twenty years. You probably think that’s silly.”
“Not at all.” He stood straight and took a step into the room. “It’s admirable. You’re a teacher?”
A flush of self-consciousness heated Tasha’s cheeks. “Second grade.”
“Teachers are great. The world needs teachers.” He nodded as if he was impressed, even though she knew he couldn’t be.
She was a boring, dowdy teacher who couldn’t even keep a guy from cheating on her.
No, that was Brad the dick talking, not her. She was here to get past that kind of thought.
“My students think so.” She forced herself to see the bright side before he caught her hating herself. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of unpacking, and I don’t particularly care to have a movie star looking at my underwear.”
Her heart thumped to her stomach. Had she actually just said that?
Spencer laughed. “Okay, but since you were kind enough to tell me your story, don’t you want to know a little more about me?”
Yes.
No. No, if she pried, he’d think she was one of those crazy fangirls.
“I already know everything about you,” she said, circling the bed. He backed into the hallway. “You’r
e Spencer Ellis, born April 16th, 1980 in Portland, Oregon. You attended school at Washington State where you majored in Theater with a minor in Philosophy, which I thought was cute. You worked in Seattle regional theater for a while before heading to Los Angeles, where you got your first big break in Catch in 2007. At least that’s what the websites say.”
“I hate it when people do that, you know,” he said, his smile a little more forced.
“What?” Crap. What had she done now? Couldn’t she go two minutes without making a mess of thing?
“When they recite my CV back to me as if they’re on intimate terms with Google.”
Prickling embarrassment swirled through Tasha’s gut. She couldn’t hold his gaze and dropped her chin. “I’m sorry. You really don’t have to talk to me just to be nice if you don’t want to. I should finish unpacking anyhow.”
Awkward silence blossomed between them. Tasha had the feeling he was studying her, but she was too chicken to find out.
“Well fortunately, we have the whole summer for me to tell you all of the things that the internet doesn’t know.”
She did peek up at him then, only to find him smiling at her. Dammit, was she being rude? Should she leave the unpacking for later and chat with him now? How was she supposed to spend an entire summer with the man when one little smile turned her into Miss Nerdy Loserpants?
“Yeah, okay, that would be cool. I should probably get this done now. Thanks. Talk to you later.”
Without waiting for his reply, she shut the door. As soon as the doorknob clicked, she winced. Smooth, Tash, she scolded herself. Now he’s going to think you’re a goober as well as being weird and boring.
With a sigh, she slogged around the bed to finish unpacking. Whatever mess she’d gotten herself into, Spencer Ellis was right about one thing—they had the whole summer to figure it out. If she didn’t implode first.
She shut the door on him. Spence stepped back and blinked at the solid surface of the closed door. Tasha the teacher had closed him out.
A smile spread from one ear to the other. He liked her. He hadn’t had a door slammed in his face since…since his days of pounding the pavement running from one audition to another, really. It made him feel like that normal schlub that he hadn’t been for years. Man, he missed that schlub. Granted, she wasn’t being rude. She was unsettled. She had other things on her mind.
With a quiet chuckle, he turned and headed back out onto the porch, reaching for his cell in his back pocket. The sun was well overhead now, and the north side of the porch was shaded after being bathed in sunlight all morning. He walked to the far end, away from Tasha’s window, before swiping his phone on.
Two missed calls from Yvonne. He’d only felt his phone vibrate for one of them. Tasha must have had his attention for the other. Two voicemails too. He ignored them both and hit return call.
“You know I hate it when you ignore my calls,” Yvonne said by way of greeting.
“And you know I hate it when you pull strings that shouldn’t be pulled for me,” he answered. “We’re even.”
There was a fraction of a pause from the other end before Yvonne said, “I can get rid of her by tomorrow. Give me an hour to find another—”
“No,” Spence cut her off. “She stays.”
“Spence, sweetheart, you don’t need to be all noble and heroic until the cameras are rolling. If you want her gone—”
“I don’t. I like her. Besides, I really did wreck a lifelong ambition of hers. She told me the whole story.”
“I’m sure she did.” Yvonne’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Spence clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his hair. He glanced out over the beach. Low tide. Kids playing in the water, the older ones skittering across waves on skim-boards. Parents and grandparents napping in the sun or under beach umbrellas. He breathed it all in.
“Not everyone makes things up for a living,” he scolded Yvonne. “Some people are what they appear to be.”
“Not in your line of work, sweetheart.”
“Tell me about it,” he muttered. “I’m fine with Tasha staying here for the summer. It’s the least I can do. Everything will be fine. Call off whatever dogs you have waiting in the wings to go after her.”
“Are you sure? It won’t take much.”
“I’m sure. Besides,” he glanced back along the side of the house as Tasha opened her bedroom window, “I like her.” He lowered his voice. Tasha’s pale green curtains swirled out through the window. “I’d like to get to know her better.”
His comment was met by tense silence, then. “Spence. Don’t do anything stupid.”
A spike of anger hit his gut. Who did Yvonne think she was? His mother?
Actually, yes. She did think she was his mother. Had for years. And his actual mother approved. She was good at it.
“I won’t,” he assured her. “It’s just the summer. I’m here to relax, to deprogram, and to figure out which move to make next.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, of course,” he laughed.
“I’m not going to see topless pics of you in the tabloids with that nobody?”
“No, Yvonne,” he sighed. “No topless pics. No tabloids. I promise to be on my best behavior.”
“I’ll start damage control,” she answered.
“Thanks, you do that,” he drawled. “Goodbye.”
“Bye, hun.”
He ended the call and dropped his hand to his side. Tasha’s curtains continued to billow. She’d opened another window too. The whole thing made a pretty sight, wholesome and artless. It was about time he had a little artlessness in his life.
Chapter Three
Making friends and getting people to notice him was something Spence had never had to worry about. For as long as he could remember, people had gravitated to him. It came in handy when you were building a career in possibly the most competitive business in the world. It was the kind of thing you took for granted after a while.
Tasha wanted nothing to do with him. She’d quietly shut him out that first day, and did her utmost to avoid him for several days after. He had the uneasy feeling she was ashamed because she’d broken down when they met. He just wished she’d poke her head up from one of her books long enough for him to prove he didn’t hold it against her. Being in the same house with someone who wouldn’t talk to him, an attractive woman at that, was a unique form of torture. He told himself he would give her space, let her get comfortable and forget what had set her off on her own time. Somehow, that space ended up translating to him spending his every waking moment wondering what she was doing and when she would come around.
When she didn’t show up in the kitchen for lunch on Thursday, Spence decided now was the time to venture into Summerbury. He refused to admit that his decision to grab a bite at one of the local lobster shacks had anything to do with the need to look for Tasha. He was just hungry, not curious and never lonely. He found her sitting at a small table on her own outside of Pete’s Clam Hut with her e-reader in one hand and a lobster roll in the other.
“This seat taken?” he asked, sliding onto the bench ringing the small round table. Its wide umbrella cast enough shade for him to take off his sunglasses.
Tasha glanced up from her book, stopping mid-chew. She swallowed and put her roll down, blushing as dark as if she’d been in the sun all day.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Thought I’d come out for a bite to eat. I’m glad I caught you sitting here. Is this place good?” He should not be sounding like a middle school kid in the lunch room. He was a grown-ass man, more than capable of talking to a woman.
Tasha stared at him, unblinking, for several seconds. Then she took a breath and reached for her soda, avoiding his eyes. “I like it. They’ve got a sign up claiming that they serve the best lobster roll in Summerbury, but then again, every restaurant in town has a sign up saying they’re the best as voted by someone or another.”
�
�Are they really the best?”
Tasha shrugged as she sipped her drink. She glanced to the line leading up to the tiny shack with its wide service counter. A few people were trying to steal looks at Spence without seeming too obvious. He ignored them.
“I like these guys,” Tasha went on. She snapped away when one of the people in line met her gaze, her shoulders hunching as if she didn’t want to be seen. “We used to come here when we were kids and sit back there where you can see a slice of the river and watch the tide. It hasn’t changed much.”
“Who is we?”
“Me and my brother Dave, Jenny and Brad.”
She was talking. He was getting somewhere. “Who’s Brad again?” he asked.
Her whole face changed from shy to thunderstorm-level wrath. “Brad is exactly what I came here to not think about or talk about.”
Ex-boyfriend.
“Ah,” he said aloud, holding up his hands, then drumming them on the edge of the table. “Well, hold my spot. I’m going to grab lunch.”
She frowned at him briefly as he stood, then went back to her e-reader as though he’d never been there. Well, it was a baby step in the right direction. She’d given him the time of day, at least.
He joined the line leading up to the counter, studying the menu. There was something paradoxically reassuring about a menu put together with small plastic letters and numbers pushed into a plastic board that had yellowed with age and grease. It was quaint and summery.
“What can I get’cha?” the cashier asked in a thick New England accent. He was in his fifties and dressed in a t-shirt with the words “Pete’s Clam Hut” and a picture of a bunch of clams having a good time in a tiny house. Everything about him was as far from the spit and polish of L.A. as could be. Just the way Spence wanted it.
“I’ll have a lobster roll, medium fries, and a medium root beer.” Yvonne would kill him for all the sugar and calories, but he was on vacation, and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
“Twelve-fifty,” the cashier told him. Spence grinned at the tourist price, then reached for his wallet. The man blinked. “Say, you’re not Spencer Ellis, are you?”
Summer with a Star (Second Chances Book 1) Page 3
