I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s sad and I feel sad for the characters. But, I guess I just see Nicolas Sparks’s stuff as a little truer to life than most romantic stories. He’s all about hope and small moments, which is great, but he also shows that the reality is, it doesn’t last. Bad things happen, people get their hearts broken, and somehow, they have to learn to live on. Learning to be happy on your own is inspiring. Getting married and living happily ever after isn’t real.”
My mother looks at me with her mouth agape. "What has made you such a cynic at your age? I thought things were going well with your chef"
"What chef?" my father asks.
My mother waves him off with her hand. "I'll tell you later, Tony," she says before turning her attention back to me. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," I say as I stand up and get ready to head to my room. "I just think that Nicholas Sparks is right. Life and love can be devastating and there isn’t always a happy ending.”
My father is the one who sucks in his breath like I just swore at him. “How can you say that? Your mother and I are living proof.”
“Dad, not everyone finds what you two have, and that’s ok. You’re the lucky ones. I’d love to find what you have. But the reality is, it’s just not always the case for most people. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m yet to find one man who makes me feel like I belong. All I’ve found so far, are good looks and shallow hearts. This whole soul mate search could take the rest of my life, so I have to be happy with who I am when I’m on my own.”
“What has happened to you?” my mother repeats again.
I wave my hand, as if the action will clear my words from the air between us. I’ve obviously said way too much, and I really don’t want my parents worrying about me when I’m just working through how I feel about Jonathan Masters’s presence in my life. If it wasn’t for his attentions, I’d probably be feeling quite happy seeing Brad on occasion while still living my own life and having plenty of time to work on my career without feeling bad about fitting in a relationship. Brad and his lifestyle, works for me and my lifestyle.
But then there’s Jonathan, and to be honest, I don’t like the way he makes me feel. When I’m around him, I feel like running and staying at the same time. It’s as if his body has a pull on mine and it frightens the hell out of me because logically, I know that if I give into that, then I’m going to get my heart broken, and I’m going be that girl, who is sitting there, crying over a movie star, just like I did over Marcus Bailey, and I can’t be that person again. I can’t be the girl who hopes that she’s that one special person who captures a playboy’s heart. That’s the stuff of books and movies. It isn’t real life, and I need to protect myself from such ridiculous ideas–they’ll only end up breaking my heart.
I move over to my parents and kiss them both on the head. “Nothing is going on, I’m just tired. It’s been a really long day. Goodnight, you two. I’ll get my stuff after work tomorrow then head back to my place if that’s ok.”
And they nod, looking a little disappointed in my lack of whimsy as I head to my room, laying in bed, wide awake, and thinking about two different men and their pros and cons. And the more I think about it, the more one far outweighs the other…
***
“You are not going on that roof!” my mother yells the next morning; it’s her voice that wakes me before my alarm, and I head into the kitchen to see what the fuss is about.
“I’ll do what I bloody well like,” my dad counters, placing his hands on his hips as he argues with her.
Seeing me, my mother tries to rally my support. “Sandra, tell your father he can’t climb up on the roof to fix the leak in the laundry. Tell him we’ll hire a roofer.”
“Is there such a thing as a roofer?” I ask.
“Of course there is. They’re the men whose job it is to climb on roofs and not fall through,” she insists.
“Yeah, and they’ll charge us a thousand bucks just to fix a cracked tile that I can easily glue myself,” dad argues.
“Tony Haegan! I don’t want you up there. I’m putting my foot down.”
Dad laughs and kisses her on the cheek. “You worry too much, Mad Maddie. I’ll see you when I get home from work,” he says, giving me a wink and walking out the door, effectively ending the argument but leaving mum fuming like he always does. And I wonder if they’ve ever had an actual fight because I’ve never really seen my dad angry. It’s like he finds everything my mother does adorable–even her temper.
“Can you please talk him out it?” she asks me when he’s gone. “He might actually listen to you.”
“I’ll do what I can, mum. I’ll make a few calls and find out how much this roofer guy will be, and then I’ll have something to convince him with. I doubt it will cost a grand.”
“He’s such a tight arse with home repairs. Thinks he can do it all himself. Well, I’ve got a pile of bricks out there that is supposed to be a barbeque. He’s as bad as bloody Homer Simpson.”
“OK, mum, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll sort him out.”
She thanks me then I make my way to the shower to get myself dressed and ready for work. And when I get there, I find yet another gift waiting for me on my desk. It’s a small white box with a blue ribbon tied around it, and the sight of it makes me stop in my doorway and immediately pull out my phone.
“This needs to stop, ” I mumble to myself with an annoyed shake of my head as I pull up Jonathan’s number and dial. He picks up within two rings.
“Good morning, Red,” he chirps.
“Why are you calling me ‘Red’?”
“Because I like the way your cheeks go all red when you’re annoyed with me,” he explains.
“You like the way my…ok, whatever,” I repeat with a sigh. “Will you stop sending me things, please?”
“You’ve got the wrong guy this time; whatever you have, it wasn’t me. Maybe it was from that pretty boy you were kissing in the papers the other day.”
“He’s not a pretty boy. You’re a pretty boy.”
“That’s very sweet of you to say,” he jokes.
“Well, I’m a sweetheart, what can I say. Listen, sorry to attack you. I should have checked the card first.”
“You can call me anytime. I won’t hold it against you.”
“Ok,” I laugh. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Alright, you do that. But, Red, when am I going to see you again?”
“I haven’t decided on that yet.”
“You’re hurting me. I just want to be your friend and you’re putting up road blocks.”
“I’m totally not buying this friend act.”
“You should. Because it can’t be more unless you want it to be. Besides, we have a good time together. We get along. You want fun in your life, right?”
“You’re trying too hard, Jonathan. I’m going now.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “Bye, Red.”
Hitting the end call button on my phone, I walk over to my desk and pull the blue ribbon on the box to get to the card.
For your tastebuds.
Call me.
Brad
Smiling, I open the box and find a red velvet cupcake inside that I bite into–and yes, I eat it immediately–and it’s the softest, most flavour-filled baked treat I have ever had the pleasure of eating. And I’ve eaten a lot, so I know what I’m talking about.
“You’re very popular lately,” Erin, our receptionist, comments on her way past my office. “You’re getting more deliveries than anyone else here. And the guy who dropped that off was H-O-T. Oh my lord, you are one lucky woman.”
“He was here?” I ask, pointing at the box as I talk through a mouthful of cake.
“I think so. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Tatts all over his arms. He was wearing a white bonds shirt and a pair of jeans and some Vans. He didn’t seem like a courier to me.”
“That’s him alright. How long ago?”
“Maybe an hour? I
told him you don’t get in until nine, sometimes ten.”
I swallow the last of the cake and lick the crumbs off my fingers and my lips, apologising that there was only one in the box as I do. Then, I thank Erin for dropping by, and when she leaves, I turn to my phone again, this time ringing the correct person for a thank you instead of a berating.
“I was hoping you’d call,” Brad says when we connect. “Did you get the delivery?”
“Thank you. I did. And I ate it already. It was sooooo good, I was in tastebud heaven again. Otherwise I would have called sooner.”
Letting out a chuckle, he says, “Obviously. I was a little worried it wouldn’t get to you. Your receptionist had a bit of a hungry look in her eyes, and I thought she was going to nick it on you.”
“Oh, I think that hunger might have been for a certain tattooed chef. She just left my office after telling me all about her crush on you. I believe the letters h, o and t, were spouted quite emphatically.”
“I’ll bring her a cake next time too,” he says.
“It’s quite possible that I’d just eat both.”
“I don’t doubt that,” he laughs.
“Listen, I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier when you dropped in. I would have liked to have seen you.”
“That’s alright, I was in the area so I wanted to drop in with a little something and maybe make plans to see you again.”
“I see, you used the old bring-a-girl-a-cupcake-and-she’ll-say-yes-to-anything trick, huh?”
“Did it work?”
“I believe it did. Just tell me when and where and I’ll make time.”
“Here’s the thing. Remember how I said I travel a lot? It will have to be next month. Things are crazy at work because we’re working the new menu for spring. On top of that, I have to go to Paris for two weeks for some patisserie research. So, if you can be patient, it will be in four Fridays from today. Can you handle that?”
I admit that I’m a bit taken aback by the length of time between dates, but I can understand a work commitment. “Yeah, I’d love to.”
“Great. I’m so sorry it can’t be sooner, but I hope the cupcake scored me some brownie points there.”
“Brownie points, cupcake points, either way, it definitely worked,” I smile, even though he can’t see it through the phone, I hope he can at least hear it in my voice.
“OK. Can I call you while I’m away? I’d like to still be able to talk to you if you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?”
“Well, there was a picture of you with that movie guy online again today. So I’m just making sure I won’t be interrupting anything,” he says, his words probing for some sort of an explanation.
I close my eyes, the sweet taste in my mouth suddenly becoming sour as I realise that as long as Jonathan is in my life, then everything I do in public will end up being photographed.
“I’m not dating him, Brad. He was trying to get me to write an article on him but I said no. He does seem a little insistent on trying to be my friend though,” I explain, feeling bad that he had to hear about it from a news source.
“Like I said the other week, we aren’t exclusive so, really, you can see whomever you like. I do however, want us to be honest about this kind of thing. So if things change between you two, just tell me, and I’ll back off.”
“I don’t want you to back off, Brad. I’m not dating him. I can promise you that. If I was, I would tell you, I don’t like stringing people along.”
“OK. Well, I’ll call you, and when I get back from my trip, I’ll see you,” he says, moving the conversation back to more pleasant territory. “I’m thinking we can go to the Botanical Gardens. There’s an open-air movie that happens every spring, so I’ll return in perfect time for it. I thought we could take some food, have a picnic, watch a film, you know, have fun.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Ok. See you then.”
Then I hang up the phone and look into the empty box, moving my tongue around my mouth as I wish there was another cake inside to get that sweet taste back that I had before Brad brought up the subject of Jonathan. As I place the package in my waste paper basket, I pull up the search engine on my computer and search for the popular celebrity news sites, and sure enough, there is an image of Jonathan and I having brunch together at the Hyatt yesterday.
Rolling my eyes, I scan the caption below it, wondering what lame story they’ve come up with this time, but instead of becoming annoyed, I end up smiling when I read, Official sources comment that no relationship exists between Masters and Haegan, insisting they are only friends. I don’t know that anyone will actually believe the official comment, but at least he’s putting it out there–that’s one more tick in the very short pro column for Jonathan.
Chapter 13
So, what was inside the box?
I find the text message from Jonathan waiting for me on my phone when I check it after work. I’d spent the entire day getting the boy band article finished since I’d lost so much time the day before at the hands of Mr Tinseltown on the receiving end of my next text.
Me: a severed thumb
Jonathan: Ouch. Just wait. Tomorrow it will be an ear.
Smiling, I tuck my phone into my bag then head home to my parent’s house to collect my things and head back to my place. Besides the secret photos that are being taken whenever I go out, I haven’t actually noticed any paparazzi hanging around these days, so I’m feeling a lot safer about being there on my own.
“Your father won’t be here for dinner again,” my mum tells me after I’ve walked in the front door. “So if you’d like, we can get some take away and eat it at your place just to make sure everything is fine there. I’m still a little worried about you and those awful pappies,” she states.
“Paps,” I correct with a laugh. “Not pappies.”
“Oh, whatever,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I can’t be hip all the time.”
“I’ll go pack my clothes up and then we can get going. You want to order so we can pick up on the way through?”
“Chinese? Indian? Thai?”
“Thai.”
I move around my childhood bedroom and collect my things, always loving that this room is here waiting for me whenever I need it. I’ve heard from most of my friends that the moment they moved out of home, their parents turned their room into a study or a guest bedroom or home gym. The idea of that makes me sad.
When I’m done, we get into my Astra and drive over to my place where my dad will pick my mother up and double check that my house is safe on his way home from work.
“You really should get a housemate you know,” my mother advises, as we unpack the takeaway containers from their plastic bag on my new dining setting. Another thing I forgot to thank Jonathan for. A pang of guilt hits me. Despite his faults, he has gone above and beyond what was necessary after Marcus destroyed my house.
As if reading my mind, my mother speaks. “Have you heard anything from Lisa yet?”
Moving into the kitchen, I take down two wine glasses and grab a bottle of white from the fridge. “No. Not a thing.”
“Would she go back to her family do you think?” she asks, accepting the glass and taking a sip after I hand it to her.
“I don’t think so.” I take a seat next to her and slide my wooden chopsticks out of their paper packet. “She never spoke about any family, and from what I know about her now, they’re all estranged.”
“Well, she has to be somewhere… I’m just really disappointed. She seemed like a really nice girl.”
I reach for the bag with the thin spring rolls inside it and slide one out, biting into the pastry with a crunch, thinking as I chew. “She’ll make contact when she’s ready, I suppose.”
We eat in silence for a while before my mother decides it’s time to pump me for information again.
“So tell me about this chef of yours. I saw the picture of you smooching outside that restaurant and he looks a bit of all
right to me. Not a fan of those tattoos, but I understand they’re pretty popular these days because of all those Ink shows. Maybe you could call him to come and stay with you for a little while?”
“No mum. Stop trying to get me in bed with the guy. He’s nice though. We’re going out again in a few weeks.”
“A few weeks? Why so far away?”
“He’s got some work thing he has to go to overseas, which I don’t mind. I travel for work at times too. So if he has a schedule that’s up and down, he’ll understand the demands of my job.”
“Fair enough. And what about this other man you’ve been spotted in the papers with. The actor. What about him? What’s happening there?”
“Jonathan Masters. Well, that is…I don’t know what that is. I had coffee with him, and if he wasn’t so famous, and known for using his fame to bed women, then I might be interested. But…”
“But you’ve been down that road before. Is that why you were so down on the idea of love last night? Because you let yourself care for that musician fellow?”
“Marcus Bailey. Yeah. I suppose. But you remember how that was mum. I got caught up in the whole thing and I believed him when he said I was special. It was so stupid.”
“You were a twenty year old girl then. You were barely out of university and you got a little star struck. I don’t think you should let that colour your judgement of other people.”
“He’s been engaged twice though, mum. And both times he was unfaithful. I don’t think he’s capable of anything more than a hook up and I’m not that girl mum. I can’t do that kind of thing. I think we learnt that when I broke down over a fucking rock star.”
“OK, so let’s break this down. You have two men in your life and both seem quite interested. One is nice and can obviously cook, and the other sets your heart aflutter and leaves you all angsty and twisted up inside.”
“I never said any of that,” I argue.
“Sweetheart, you didn’t have to. I’m your mother–I can read you like a book. You have feelings for him and you just don’t want to admit it.”
A Beautiful Star (Beautiful Series, Book 5) Page 7
