Finding Haven

by Foster, T. A.

  He rinsed the soap off his chest, turned the water off, and grabbed a towel. Haven’s was still hanging next to his.

  He hadn’t bothered calling the store this morning about work. With the firestorm of reporters, he didn’t think Denton would be looking for him to show, but he was going to have a talk with the man. Just not today. He couldn’t take it today.

  He reached in the fridge for a beer, but left it on the shelf. It wasn’t a beer-drinking day. All he wanted was to protect and shield the most amazing girl from his life. Instead, he had wrecked her.

  He heard a knock on the Silver Belle door. He looked through the window. Emmy. What in the hell?

  He held the towel tightly against his waist and cracked the door. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hey to you too.” She smiled.

  “Cut it. There aren’t any cameras here unless you invited them.” He closed his eyes. If she had brought the paparazzi onslaught to the campground, he might have to strangle her.

  “Oh, Evan, what has you all pissy about everything? Can I come in?” She eyed the hipbone where the towel edges came together.

  “No. You can’t.” He sighed. He wasn’t about to let her into the only sanctuary he had left—her perfume filling the place.

  “Can’t we at least talk?” She pouted.

  “Give me five minutes. I’ll be out. But if I see one damn camera, you are going to regret showing up here.” He wanted to scare her, but not physically. He would never hurt a woman, but Emmy was making him so mad that it was hard not to take her by the shoulders and shake her.

  “Ok, baby. I’ll just sit right over here.” She pointed at the chairs by the burned-out fire.

  Evan closed the door behind him and rushed to the bedroom. He hated she was here, but if he played his cards right, he might get some answers. He wasn’t the most sought-after actor for nothing. If he turned on the charm and the dazzling smile, he might turn this around.

  Three minutes later, he emerged wearing an Owen’s General Store T-shirt, khaki shorts, and his flip-flops. He carried two cups of coffee.

  He handed one to Emmy. “Here you go. Half a teaspoon of sugar, just how you like it.”

  “Aw, you remember that?” She was sitting in the seat that was designated as Haven’s. He gritted his teeth and refrained from saying anything.

  “Of course. I remember a lot of things.” He settled into the chair next to her. The coffee was piping hot. “Like your love of white roses and puppies.”

  “That’s sweet.” She took a sip. “Wow. This view is gorgeous. Have you been here since June?”

  “Yep.”

  “And what do you do in a place like this? It’s kind of remote. Quaint, but remote.” She eyed Silver Belle. Evan knew Emmy wasn’t a camper kind of girl. She was a five-star resort kind of girl.

  He tilted his head toward her. “I’ve been keeping busy. There’s more to do here than you think.”

  “Oh right, with the girl.” She sighed.

  He caught himself before he slugged her with a tirade of nasty words. He couldn’t believe she would even dare mention Haven after what had happened yesterday.

  “I like the blond; it looks good.”

  “Really?” She twisted a curl through her fingers. “It’s part of my new image. Blondes are apparently more relatable right now. At least, that’s what Kelly Saint-James tells me.” Evan didn’t agree. There was a girl with gorgeous sun-kissed auburn hair that he couldn’t get enough of.

  “Kelly knows her stuff. You look good.” He winked, his stomach turning sour. “How is she?”

  Emmy turned to him. “Perfect and brilliant. You know she has so many incredible ideas, Evan. The hair being the first.” She giggled. “The other will be clearing up this whole island girl mess.”

  He nodded as if he understood what she was talking about. Somewhere in this conversation were the answers he was looking for. He needed to keep it going until Emmy revealed them.

  “About that, Emmy, how did anyone find out about Haven?” He rested his palm on her knee. He was cringing on the inside, but he had to do it. Emmy had to believe he was trying to reconnect in some way.

  She grasped the mug with both hands and took a deep sip. “God, Evan, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I’m starting to feel a little guilty, you know?”

  He twirled a circle on her knee with his thumb. “Em, it’s you and me. You can tell me.”

  She leaned over. “I know I can. And you won’t get mad, right? Promise you won’t get all Texas cowboy mad at me.”

  “Darlin’, I promise.” He smiled. “No cowboy here, just a beach bum hanging out with you.”

  He and Emmy had never had a smooth relationship. When he first met her on the Masquerade set, they had clashed immediately. She needed coaching, and when he tried to guide her, she flew off the handle. However, she was beautiful, and when she wanted to be, she was sweet. There was a sort of innocence about her that was hard to resist. He had lost that battle more than once.

  “Have you heard about Red Lines?” Her face was excited.

  “Maybe. Isn’t that the book that’s been number one all summer?”

  “It’s not just number one. It’s the book. It’s the hottest thing that has ever been.”

  Evan knew she liked to exaggerate. He sat and listened.

  “I think it’s sold seventy million copies or something. It’s hot. And the story is unbelievable.” She had that look. He had seen that look.

  “Ok, Emmy, so what does all of this have to do with Red Lines?”

  “Archie Preston is going to direct it, and they are going to start casting soon. But it has to be the perfect couple. That couple that has fire and passion and will take over the series. This is life changing. It’s the kind of role that will define us.”

  “Us? What in the hell are you talking about?” Evan took his hand off her knee.

  She looked confused. “I’m talking about you and me being cast in the most epic erotic love story ever written.”

  Evan shook his head. “So, all of this publicity crap is to drum up an endorsement for us to be the stars of some romance movie?”

  “It’s not just a romance. It is the biggest love story of all time. And we could do it. We could totally do it.” She bit her bottom lip. “We were pretty amazing in bed together. Imagine transcending that on the screen.”

  This was unbelievable. He wasn’t campaigning for any roles, and if he were, it wasn’t going to be this one. “Emmy, I don’t think you’ve talked to Allan. I’m out. I’m done with movies. Sorry, sweetheart, but this isn’t going to happen.” He stood to stretch his legs.

  “What are you talking about? It was all Allan’s idea.” She stood to match his gaze, barely coming up to his shoulder.

  “That can’t be. Allan knows how I feel.”

  “Wake up, Evan. He did all of it. You think you can just check out of Hollywood? Don’t you know how many people depend on your brand? Your name? Allan saw our makeup as an opportunity of a lifetime for you and me both. If everyone thinks things between us are volatile and passionate in real life, they are going to want to see us act that out in Red Lines.”

  He heard the words, but he couldn’t believe it. Allan had screwed him over royally.

  “Allan? As in the guy on my payroll Allan? He worked with you to set me up?”

  “Babe, don’t be mad. He was trying to protect you, your foundation, and me. Red Lines will be worth it.”

  “I am not going to be in Red Lines.” He seethed. His teeth clenched and he felt his neck tightening.

  “You promised we wouldn’t fight.” She stuck her lip out.

  “I’m not fighting with you, Emmy. I can’t believe this shit. He was the one person I trusted. And you. I know we had our problems, but why would you do this to me? If I wanted to be in the damn movie, I’d be in the damn movie.”

  Emmy stepped closer and placed her hand on his forearm. He recognized the gesture and closed his eyes. “Baby, don’t get m
ad. Allan was trying to take your career to a new level. He had your best interests at heart.” She tapped him on the chest, where it was pounding the hardest.

  “It’s time you go.” He stepped back.

  “But—we haven’t figured out how to get all the endorsements we need. Don’t you want to take me out on the beach? Maybe go for a swim? Like we did in Acapulco?”

  “You heard him. He told you it’s time to leave.” The voice was husky. Evan turned to see Charlotte in her favorite leopard bikini.

  Emmy looked at him and then at Charlotte. “And you are?”

  “I’m his friend and his neighbor. We don’t like strangers around here. So I suggest you pack your little designer purse and take your tight little ass out of here.” Charlotte was now in Silver Belle’s yard.

  Emmy huffed. “We aren’t done talking, Evan. I’ll call you later.” She reached down and pulled her bag from the chair.

  “Oh, we’re done, Emmy. Very done.” He gritted his teeth.

  He watched as she climbed into her car and steered out of the Perry Campground.

  “Thanks, Charlotte. Didn’t know I needed rescuing.” He laughed; it felt odd at a time like this.

  “Well, I can’t very well have my movie star neighbor upset, can I?” She winked.

  “Wait. Did you know?” He looked at her.

  “Of course I knew. I’ve seen every one of your movies—some of them three times.”

  “But you never said anything.” He was stunned.

  “I figured if you wanted us to call you Evan, you wouldn’t have introduced yourself as Jay.” She picked up her beach bucket.

  “Charlotte, I hate to ask, but did you tell anyone?” He winced.

  “Honey, your secret has been safe with me since you moved into Silver Belle on day one. Shug and Harry too.”

  “What?” Evan felt like he had been living in a movie when the plot twists in a whole new direction.

  She laughed at his surprise. “You didn’t think the biggest star in the world could just waltz in here without as much as one person knowing? Shug has one of your calendars. Maybe you could sign it for her.” She waved. “Going for my walk. See you later, baby. If you want to come over for a beer later, I’ve still got your favorite.”

  Evan watched her sashay toward the beach. “Hey, Charlotte?”

  She turned in the sand. “Yeah?”

  “How about five o’clock?” Suddenly, he realized what a friend he had in his cougar neighbor.

  “See you then.”

  Evan walked into Silver Belle. Now he knew Emmy’s angle, Allan’s level of greed, and that friends were sometimes disguised in leopard print. He ran his fingers through his hair. But how was he going to fix the rest of this mess? Haven. He had to get to Haven.

  “THEY’VE BEEN sitting by the mailbox for two days.” Maura looked out the kitchen window toward the cove. “What’s so interesting about my tomatoes?” She laughed and sat next to her daughter.

  “I don’t think it has anything to do with your tomatoes, Mom, and everything to do with me.” She sighed as her mother refilled a tall glass of ice tea. It was too hot for anything else.

  “Your father did say that the store is doing really well. All of these reporters have stocked up on souvenirs. It’s like they’ve never been to the beach before.”

  Both women looked at the three guys sitting across the street from the Owens’ driveway. They were equipped with cameras, sandwiches, and bottled water.

  Maura continued, “You know, I would have gladly driven over to the Jordans’ to see you. You didn’t need to come over.”

  “I couldn’t stay cooped up any longer. Besides, Travis is hovering.”

  “But didn’t Evan want you to stay put?” She looked at her daughter.

  It was strange how everyone was so comfortable using his new name. It was Jay. His name used to be Jay. “He doesn’t dictate what I do. If I want to see my mother, I’m going to see my mother.” She huffed, realizing she had reverted to her teenage rebellion voice.

  “Of course, honey, but he knows this stuff much better than we do. He’s used to all the cameras and the questions. Maybe you should listen to him.”

  “I’m not interested in what he has to say.” She also wasn’t interested in listening to anyone defending him. “Do you mind if I check my email?”

  “Oh, sure. Use Dad’s computer in the study. I’ll start on some lunch for us.” Maura cleared the ice tea pitcher and placed it in the refrigerator. “Dad should be here in thirty minutes or so.”

  “Thanks.” Haven watched her mother bustling through the kitchen, setting out the preparations for her homemade chicken salad. She looked content, calm, and most of all happy. She was making lunch for her daughter and hard-working husband, oblivious to the lies their relationship was built upon.

  Haven turned for the study, pushing the parallels her mind was drawing between her and her mother out of her mind.

  When she awakened for the second morning at the beach house, she remembered the email Bruce Fisher was supposed to send. Since the paparazzi invasion, she hadn’t checked her email once, and if there was a contract, she needed to print it out and read through it. Nothing was certain anymore. She didn’t know if she would sign, if she wanted it, or if any of it was real. However, she did know that, regardless of Evan, she did want to write music again and she couldn’t start that by burning a bridge with Blue Steel Records. Bruce would need an answer.

  She hit print on the document and waited for the pages to feed through her father’s printer. They landed lightly in her hands as she watched the twenty-page document materialize.

  “Oh, hi, sweetheart. Mom told me you were in here.” Her father stood in the doorway of his study. “How are you holding up?”

  Haven sighed. “Ok. I guess.” She shuffled the edge of the contract against the desk, evening up the edges.

  “What do you have there?” He pointed at the document.

  Haven knew her father wouldn’t understand much less support an endeavor with the recording company. He always pointed out what a waste of time it was spending days off writing music. Suddenly, she felt reckless. She felt the need to push back.

  “It’s a contract with a company in Austin. They want to buy three of my songs and hire me as a full-time writer.” It was the slap she had wanted to deliver to her father for months.

  Taking his time, he walked to the leather recliner in the corner of his office and lowered into the seat. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, and Carly Stone wants to record them.” That was the best part, but her father wouldn’t even know who Carly Stone was until her songs landed on the adult contemporary station.

  He rubbed the armrests of the chair as if that would help him digest the information. “And you’re going to sign the contract and move to Austin?” He didn’t sound angry.

  Haven was confused. Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he annoyed that she was trying to leave?

  “I’m thinking about it. I haven’t even read it yet.” She held up the pages.

  “And how much of this has to do with the guy?”

  Haven lowered her eyes. She was slightly relieved he hadn’t given him a name even though they both knew which guy. The contract had everything and nothing to do with him. She wrote the songs, they were hers, and she knew Carly Stone wouldn’t record something if she didn’t love it. However, the demon on her other shoulder told her it was all smoke and mirrors. The only reason that contract was in her hand was because Evan called in a favor with a football buddy. Maybe Carly was all part of the plot to reel Haven in farther.

  She wiped at her eyes; her father could not see her cry. “I don’t know. I don’t know if any of it is real.” There. She said the words out loud that she had slammed behind a trap door.

  “Let me take a look.” He motioned toward her hand. “I’ll look it over.” He reached in his front pocket and slid his reading glasses over his nose.

  Haven handed him the Blue Steel contract
and slumped into the seat.

  “Hand me my pen. Top drawer.”

  Haven searched the desk for the blue ink pen monogrammed with Denton Owen and passed it to him.

  Her father circled something on the first page, flipped a few pages, and made an X. She stretched toward him, trying to identify the parts of the verbiage he was marking.

  After fifteen minutes, he stacked his glasses on his head. “All right, so it looks like a pretty good deal, but I’ve made some notes for you. The first is that you should have a base salary, and then a stipend for each song you produce instead of paid per song. I don’t want you in Austin without steady income in your pocket. That’s just too damn stressful.”

  Haven’s eyes widened like saucers. “Wh-what?”

  “And then, I marked on here where you need to have full control over the artists who perform your songs. It’s your music. You get to decide. Anything less than that and I don’t think you’d be happy.”

  He handed her the contract.

  “But—you’re ok with this?” She looked at the pages in her hand with her father’s notes scribbled in the margins. “Where is the lecture?”

  “Your mother and I talked.” He sighed. “Ok, your mother talked and I listened. But I heard her point. She’s right. She always is.” He chuckled. “I know you’re not happy at the store. You’ve never been happy at the store. So, maybe you can go do this and work it out so you spend summers at home or travel back and forth. Or maybe in a few years, after you have number one hits out there, you’ll come back to the island and retire so you can be the music teacher at the school.” He smiled at her. “This is the time in your life to figure those things out. Haven, I didn’t get that chance. Your grandfather had me training and working in the store. It was a given that it would be mine one day. I don’t know if there is something else I could have done or been good at doing.” He paused, heavy with words. She had never heard her father speak like this before. “This is what your gift is. And we—um—I’m not going to stop you.” Haven thought his eyes looked misty. “It’s a legitimate contract. I think you should get those changes made and sign it.”

  Part of her wanted to sit and hear more of his thoughts. He never opened up about the store or the choices he made at her age. It was hard to think of your parents being twenty-three.