Ethan (California Dreamy)

by Rian Kelley

  Shae arrived in Santa Barbara at fifteen minutes past noon. She considered the restaurants on State Street but Stevie’s words implied that the director was going to feed her—and that he wanted her on his doorstep ASAP.

  Ethan’s home was nestled in the hills overlooking the Pacific. Shae idled in front of the security gates and considered both her options and the vast stretch of manicured gardens and wildly growing foliage that made up his property. Set back from the road, the house seemed modest in size but well-maintained. She rolled down her window and eyed the coded security system with reluctance.

  She didn’t like being locked in. The grounds beyond the fence line were lush and she loved the way the greenery blended into each other, allowing space for the contained and the enthusiasm of nature. Splotches of color, in vivid oranges and pinks, gave the impression of an errant paintbrush. The place was beautiful.

  And she was being ridiculous, right? It wasn’t like passing through the gates she’d never get out again. But how did she know that? She strummed her fingertips on the steering wheel. Stevie knew where she was. He wouldn’t send her into hell and he’d certainly call the cavalry if a few days went by and he hadn’t heard from her.

  Of course, a lot could happen in a few days. Her first feature film shot to number one in its first weekend of play. Her house sold in forty-five minutes.

  And then the speaker above the security keypad crackled to life.

  “Are you coming in?” A deep, disembodied voice. A hint of humor. A wave rolling casually to shore.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Shae Matthews?”

  “At your call.” Literally. And she couldn’t keep some of her displeasure over the situation from entering her voice.

  “And sore about it?”

  His laughter was full force now and came through the speaker loud and clear.

  “Only slightly,” she admitted, and smiled. It was stunning, how quickly her irritation with him fled. It was disarming. And, she realized, it was his voice that did it to her. Husky and full of promises. Intimate. Yes, that was the word—like the man was whispering in her ear. How the hell that could be when they were delivered by a metal box was lost on her.

  “I hope to fix that,” he stated.

  Another promise. It pulled on her central line, as her yoga instructor liked to call it, and the last remains of tension unraveled and disappeared into the world.

  Damn, there was something potent about Ethan Abrams, and she hadn’t even met the man yet.

  The thought troubled her. This was not the time for her to develop interest in a man. Not only did she have a track record that put her squarely in the position of underdog, she had plans that were already in motion.

  Shae’s gaze was fixed on the speaker box, her thoughts turned inward, so she missed his arrival. She sensed movement at twelve o’clock and turned so she could and peer through the windshield. He stood on the other side of the gate, his cell to his ear and smiling, like they were playing a game with walkie talkies. Shae’s response was physical. Something tightened and spiraled, originating in the vicinity of her heart and finishing with the melting of her most private parts.

  “Damn,” she breathed. Hot. Sexy. Attraction. She didn’t get that off the pictures she’d seen of him. She hadn’t gotten it standing skin-to-skin with People’s ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ –her one regrettable affair with a leading man.

  “I’m going to hang up and open the gates,” he told her.

  She watched him punch a few numbers into his cell phone, and then the scrolled, iron gates opened, sliding into the stone pillars at either side of the driveway.

  He was tall, which was an easy impression to make on Shae. She barely skimmed the charts at five feet two inches. He had a trim waist, arms and legs that were all muscle, and shoulders that were rugged enough they fit into the landscape. He was wearing a blue t-shirt with a small, surfer’s silkscreen of Hawaii’s North Shore above the left pec. Shae instantly flashed to an image of him in a wetsuit, holding a Darren Handley board, and knew he’d be impressive. Of course, it was totally possible the man didn’t surf at all. Anyone could buy the shirt.

  He stopped at her car door and gazed at her. “You’re hesitant.” He nodded his approval. “A guy you don’t know from Adam, in a place you’ve never been.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I wish my sister had more sense.”

  “You have a sister?”

  “Two. One exercises an abundance of caution. The other,” he paused to consider his words, “is growing.”

  “I read about a brother,” Shae said, and then realized she’d given away her sleuthing. She frowned her displeasure with herself.

  His smile said he caught her. “I’m glad you checked.”

  “Well, I didn’t have a lot of time—“

  “The press always writes about my brother. They’re all about drama, as you know. My sisters are happy to be left in the shadows. My mom, on the other hand—I have one of those, too—would rather they left all of us alone.”

  “What about a dad?” she asked, since they were going through the family tree.

  “Deceased.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  He considered her with a silent gaze and it was impossible to read his expression behind his sunglasses. Shae did what she always did in a tense moment—she blurted out her biggest concern.

  “Are you in the middle of a divorce?”

  She’d surprised him, but he didn’t retreat. His mouth settled into that grim smile she’d seen in his photographs. “No.”

  “Ever had one?” she persisted.

  “Never.”

  His demeanor had definitely turned chilly, or at least distant. And on a man as big as Ethan Abrams, it was a little intimidating. Gone was the open friendliness and in its place was a prickliness that warned her to tread carefully. Shae wasn’t above explaining herself a little.

  “It’s just odd, you know? You wanting me and only me. You mentioned ‘When We Were One’ to Stevie and that’s all about the dissolution of a marriage.”

  “Exactly,” he agreed.

  And no more. The guy stood three feet away and still managed to tower over her. With his easy smile and approachable stance gone, it was like an arctic blast had moved through.

  But Shae was here as a favor. She was giving up personal time—and what could be more personal than plowing through a catalog of sperm donors? Not. But something was clearly expected of her here, and she needed to know what that was. So she stepped deeper into what she hoped wasn’t a field of battle.

  “Through divorce,” she stressed.

  “I’ve been married,” he said. “We didn’t have the chance for a divorce.”

  The admission didn’t come easily and the heaviness on his face added to his natural intensity. But Shae stood her ground. She waited silently for more. If the man wasn’t able to communicate his needs, then there was nothing she could do here and she’d rather find that out sooner than later.

  It took a long moment, but he acknowledged her stance with a nod and she watched the features of his face slowly loosen. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rolled his shoulders.

  “I like how you handled that relationship, in your screenplay,” he said. “It was a dissection. I could feel the way character decision and indecision tore away all that was good, like taking off the skin along with the band aid. I need that kind of help.”

  “For a screenplay you’re writing?”

  “Yes.” But he was hedging. He hooked his hands on his hips, opening his impressive chest, and shifted on his feet.

  Shae wasn’t intimidated. She’d swum with sharks and she was no longer a guppy in the big blue sea of Hollywood. She returned his gaze. She even slid her sunglasses off her nose and let them perch on the crown of her head.

  Ethan threw his head back and laughed. It was unexpected. It was beautiful. Full, husky and intimate, again, and she felt like he had
reached out and pulled her close.

  He nodded and removed his sunglasses, too. He tucked them into the crew neck of his t-shirt and said, “I like a challenge.”

  But she shook her head. “You’ve met your match,” she assured him. “And I’m on borrowed time.” There would be no games. And this little dance around his ‘problem’ was coming to an end. Shae would pull the plug on it herself.

  “So let’s get down to it?” he prodded.

  “Exactly. What’s up with the screenplay?” She shifted the SUV into park, but kept it idling. And watched that smile of his kick up a notch.

  He was electrifying. Sexy poured off him in waves. And the attraction was mutual. She saw it in the way his easy smile turned edgy. In the expansion of his chest as he drew an appreciative breath. She could almost see it simmering in the air between them.

  “And you’re not budging an inch until you have some answers?”

  “I’m hard to please,” she warned. “They have to be spot-on answers. I have to know why I’m here and how I can help.”

  He nodded but took a moment to find the right words.

  “There was something missing in my relationship. I don’t know what it was. . .I can’t find my way to it.”

  “The relationship in the screenplay?” she clarified.

  “That’s right. I’m hoping you’ll read through what I’ve written and be able to identify it.”

  “Like passing a magic wand over it?” She was careful to keep her tone non-judgmental, but he needed to know there were no easy fixes. Writing reflected life. And anything worth having required hard work.

  “There are people who say your writing is magical.”

  Hmmm. So he’d read some of her reviews. Watched at least one of her movies. Didn’t just pull her name randomly out of the bowl of Hollywood potpourri.

  “And that’s it?” she pressed. “I read. I diagnose. I’m on my way?”

  “Are you worried I’ll ask you to write it for me?”

  “It crossed my mind,” she admitted.

  “What would be so bad about that?” he wanted to know.

  And Shae understood the question. There was probably a line a block long of writers who would love to work with him.

  “I’m not a hired pen. I never have been.”

  He nodded. “That’s good. This project, it’s something only I can do.”

  He broke eye contact and looked back at the house. Shae followed his gaze. From this angle, she could see the front and side of the structure. A lot of Spanish charm with textured stucco and arched windows.

  “Nice,” she said, nodding toward his home.

  “Big property, small house.” He lifted his cell and began punching in numbers. “We’re not alone,” he told her. “If that makes you feel any better.”And then he spoke into the phone, “Hey, come outside, okay? Onto the front porch.” A few beats of silence, and then, “Because I told you to and right now you’re an unwanted guest in my house.” The words were softened by affection. He ended the call and explained to Shae, “One of my sisters is here. A disagreement between her and her boyfriend.”

  Shae watched as the side door opened and a young woman with long legs and hair streaked with sunshine stepped onto the patio.

  Ethan shook his head. “Rebellious,” he said. “That could be part of the problem.” He turned back to Shae and said, “So we have a chaperone. And right now she likes you a lot more than she does me.”

  “Why?”

  “I told her to go home.”

  “Ouch.”

  Emotion flickered though his gaze, too fast for Shae to get an accurate read. “Adults don’t run away from their problems,” he stated, and it sounded like a personal creed.

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-four. Baby of the family.” As if that explained her current troubles.

  “We’re not all spoiled,” Shae felt obligated to point out.

  “You’re a youngest?” he guessed.

  She nodded. “It hurts, always coming in last.”

  “I’d peg you for a winner.”

  “Now,” she agreed. “But it’s not easy growing up, dangling at the end of the birthing beads.”

  “Very little about life is easy,” he pointed out, then brought their conversation around full-circle, “You’re comfortable now? About coming in?”

  Shae glanced again at the woman, dressed in board shorts and halter, and clutching the cell in her hand. Under their gaze, she shifted awkwardly. Shae doubted she still had that level of vulnerability left in her at age twenty-four. At that point in her life, she’d finally earned enough credibility and money to afford a place of her own but the years of living out of her van, then in a service apartment, were still so close they’d burned.

  She returned her gaze to Ethan. “Yes.”

  She wasn’t entirely comfortable with the man. She was too aware of him. From the way the color of his eyes deepened when he was troubled with memory, to the flex of his muscles under his t-shirt. But the young lady on the patio reminded Shae of herself, only around age seventeen or eighteen.

  She watched Ethan jog around the hood of the car and then he was sliding into the passenger seat next to her. He dropped her purse on the middle console and snapped his seatbelt in place.

  “Maybe you should have spent more time with her,” Shae dared, as she watched his sister slip back into the house.

  His eyes turned reflective and he paused a long beat before responding. “You’re right. But how would you know that?”

  “I’m a youngest,” she reminded him. “No one wants to play with you and everyone’s always shooing you away.”

  Chapter Four

  Shae liked Ethan’s sister. She wasn’t pouting. She didn’t look at Ethan or Shae with indifference. She had none of that attitude Shae had come to expect from the age group. Entitlement. Just the thought left a bad taste in her mouth. But Eva Abrams was bold and mischievous and it was a beguiling combination.

  She extended her hand to Shae and introduced herself. “I haven’t seen all of your movies,” she admitted, “but I loved ‘Personal Touch.’ It was beautiful and painful and so right.” And then she quoted a line from the movie, just seven words, but Shae had agonized over them for hours. Maybe even days. The words had become a mantra among select groups. They were tweeted and tumbled and smashed and pinned, and words Shae had written had become urban lingo. She couldn’t help smiling into Eva’s exuberance.

  “Thanks. I love when that happens.” It was true. It wasn’t often, but when Shae was fed words she had written, it made her world spin a little faster.

  “I’ll try to come up with a few more,” Eva promised.

  But Shae shook her head. “Not necessary.”

  Eva glanced over her shoulder and Shae followed her gaze. Ethan stood back a few feet, hands stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans.

  “He’s a little nervous,” Eva confided in a stage whisper.

  “Eva,” Ethan warned.

  “He’ll start rolling back on his heels soon,” Eva predicted. “That’s his one and only nervous habit. You see, the problem is—“

  “That I have an interfering sister,” Ethan finished for her and moved close enough he could slide between them.

  Eva stood on tip-toe and gazed at Shae over her brother’s shoulder. “And no writing talent. Our sister, Emme, wrote all of his papers for him in high school.”

  Shae watched a hint of color climb into Ethan’s cheeks. A blush, on a man of his size, was, well, endearing.

  “That’s true,” he admitted. “But I paid well for them.”

  Eva nodded. “He had a job at the Chevron station.”

  Silence ensued and then Shae laughed. It was a deep, from the belly laugh, and it felt good. This was it. Exactly what she wanted to return to. Family. The squabbles and the tender moments. She wanted to be there now. She should be there tomorrow. And she had a plan. This time next year, a baby—or almost.

  A smile lifted the
corners of his lips. “Don’t encourage her.”

  “You guys remind me of home,” Shae said. “And knowing how siblings argue, I’m inclined to believe only half of what I’ve heard.”

  “What half?” Ethan asked.

  “That Eva is interfering, of course.” It was obvious, but the younger woman crossed her arms over her chest and her smile wavered. She had the grace not to protest her innocence, though. “And that you can’t write,” Shae continued. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  “I’m stuck,” he reminded her.

  “But not nervous?” Shea probed.

  “Hell, yes, I am.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ll get to that,” he promised. He turned and looked pointedly at his sister. “Eva has a few things to do.”

  “What things?” Eva asked, but her cell phone squawked then, with a few notes of a Rolling Stones tune.

  “Those things,” he said. “You don’t want to keep Dylan waiting. Men aren’t any better at that than women.” He turned back to Shae. “My office is at the back of the house. I converted the sunroom, sort of.”

  He picked up her laptop and started walking.

  “You want something to eat or drink before we start?”

  “Both.”

  “Ice tea?”

  “Sure.”

  They passed through the kitchen which was small for Hollywood standards, but then they weren’t in Kansas anymore. He had a few modern conveniences, granite and a breakfast alcove. He opened the refrigerator, grabbed two bottles of Arizona tea and a carton of turkey rollers still in their take-out packaging, and continued toward the back of the house.

  “Want to grab those paper plates and napkins?” he tossed over his shoulder.

  Shae found them on the island, already stacked, and swept them into her arms as she followed closely behind Ethan.

  The sunroom/office was all windows. Outside, clutches of fuchsia- and lavender-colored flowers bloomed in pots and a lap pool glistened under the sun. Shae glanced around the room. One desk. One chair. Desk top, printer, and a Synonym Finder that was about five inches thick and frayed around the edges. There was a pile of paper on the floor that had been printed from the computer—the top sheet had several lines crossed out and notes written into the margin.