My Star, My Love

by Natasha Boyd

  Swallowing, I stared out the window to the parking entrance. This was insane. I thought it had been crazy back home. The feel of Jack’s warm hand on my cheek had me peeling my wide eyes away from the back window to look at him. He’d removed his sunglasses and gently took mine off. “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded and leaned into his hand. “Are you?”

  He sighed. “Yes. No. God, I hate it here.” His hand left my face, and he turned to face forward. The driver got back in and we started moving. “Welcome back, Mr. Eversea,” the driver said with a curiously amused tone. He was maybe mid thirties, portly, with slicked back brown hair.

  “Nigel,” Jack greeted him. “When are you going to start calling me Jack?”

  Suddenly aware of the delicious smell of warm coffee, I leaned forward inhaling loudly. “Coffee. Well, that’s just cruel.”

  Jack’s shoulders relaxed and he chuckled. “Nigel. This is—”

  “Keri Ann, I know. Lovely to meet you, finally. I see this boy finally got ’is heart back.” Nigel, craned his thick neck up and winked at me in the rearview mirror.

  I turned to look at Jack and he looked at Nigel, avoiding my silent question. “Nah, she still has it. Owns it. Doubt I’ll be getting it back anytime soon.”

  “Ah well, at least it’s next to you and not on the other side of the world.”

  I folded my arms, amused. “I’m right here, guys. I’m not an inanimate vessel.” Huffing, I pretended to be annoyed but was ridiculously warmed that Jack had obviously spoken of me the last time he was here, which was back when I thought he’d moved on and forgotten me.

  “Cranky,” Jack teased.

  “If we don’t stop for coffee soon, Nigel will get to experience just how cranky I can get.”

  Nigel reached down with his left hand and pulled up a carry container. “Oh my God,” I squeaked. “Is that coffee for me? I love you!” I leaned forward, carefully taking the carrier with two paper cups from his hand.

  “Bit fair weather with ’er heart, this one,” Nigel said to Jack with a laugh.

  I handed a cup to Jack and took the one that said milk, two sugars. “Thank you, both,” I breathed, touched that Jack had even told Nigel how I liked my coffee. Taking a careful sip, I leaned back and closed my eyes, savoring the taste. I’d always liked coffee but had become a bit of a junkie since I started college and had to work at crazy times to get studio time and projects done.

  The time change to England was a killer. My legs felt like lead. “I could sleep for an epoch,” I muttered with a sigh.

  Jack reached over and smoothed my hair off my temple. “We have to try and stay awake ’til this evening, otherwise jet lag will kick our asses, and it’ll be worse tomorrow.”

  “I’m guessing you’ve both known each other a while?” I asked, looking between Jack and Nigel. Maybe Jack used the same driver on all his trips here.

  “Turns out I’ve known this runt since he was eight,” Nigel answered my question with a chuckle. “Though, only found out he’d become this Hollywood hotshot earlier this year. I’ve been working for a car service for about seven years now and was just back from holiday last January and staying with my aunt, and she says to me, ‘you remember little William and ’is mum what came to live with us all them years ago? You’ll never guess who he’s become,’ she says. I says, ‘don’t tell me… a car salesman.’ She’s like, ‘guess again.’ And I do. It bloody goes on for about twenty minutes, doesn’t it?” He checked the mirror and changed lanes.

  I glanced at Jack with a bemused smile and he winked. “Is he talking about Mrs. Eversea whose name you borrowed?”

  Jack nodded.

  Nigel went on. “Then she’s like ‘warmer, colder.’ ‘Cor blimey,’ I says. ‘The bloody Easter bunny, I don’t know.’”

  I busted out laughing and Jack snorted.

  “‘Just tell me already, I’m getting irritated now, you know?’ She says, ‘… well, he’s that chap what’s in the films in’t he?’” he mimicked her high pitched voice. “So I says, ‘but Aunty, could you narrow it down a bit?’ She says, ‘you know the one about the dreams and the twin brothers, they’re like these gladiator types, but not. You know,’ she says. And bloody hell, if I didn’t. ‘Jack Eversea,’ I say, like she’s half a biscuit short on ’er tea. ‘But he’s a yank,’ I say. ‘And that’s your surname. You telling me that’s not a coincidence?’ Thought she was finally off her rocker, I did.”

  Jack laughed. “Well, I knew Mrs. Eversea’s nephew was a driver for a car service,” he said to me. “And I needed someone I could trust. So… here we are.”

  “Yep. Here we are,” Nigel echoed. “Even if he’s not an Everton supporter like me. You can’t be too perfect, now can you?”

  Jack rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

  “Everton?” I asked.

  “A soccer club,” Jack filled in, then looked back at Nigel. “Funnily enough, I hear people are calling them Eversea though, now that you’ve gone and bought all those Chelsea players. Can’t find your own talent then?”

  I felt the brakes tap on the car. “You better watch your mouth, William, or I’ll turf you out on the side of the M25,” Nigel shot back, using Jack’s real childhood name.

  “That was low, Nigel. Watch it or I’ll tell your aunt about—”

  “All right, all right,” Nigel groused.

  The misty, drizzly morning made it hard to see much outside beyond the highway, though I saw glimpses of green fields and the odd line of semi-detached row houses here and there.

  “So what are we doing then? Are we going straight to your mom’s?” A sign said we were leaving the M25 and taking an exit toward the M4. The mist was clearing in patches. It was true that everything in England was really green. It was a deep wet green made more vibrant for being set against the grey overcast sky.

  “We’ll go tomorrow. I’m having Nige take us to the Four Seasons in Hampshire.”

  Nigel cleared his throat. “You know she’s expecting you.”

  “I know.”

  I turned back to the better view of my superstar boyfriend. How did he possibly look this good after traveling for twenty-four hours? He had to be tired.

  “Let’s go, Jack,” I said, my tone low. I knew his mom must be so excited to see him. “Besides, if we stay at a hotel, we have more chance of being discovered, and we might accidentally lead them to your mom when we leave tomorrow.”

  Jack placed a hand above my knee, the heat radiating through to my skin. He leaned in close to my ear, his breath tickling my nerves and raising bumps on my flesh. “But I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “And there’s things I want to do with you that are probably going to make you scream.”

  My body’s reaction was instantaneous and overwhelming. I flicked my eyes to Nigel in the drivers seat. He was oblivious, thank God. If he’d looked up right then, he’d see a girl with her blood beating thick and heavy, causing flushed skin and glassy eyes. I squirmed on the seat and pressed my lips closed to avoid emitting any sound whatsoever, earning a chuckle from Jack.

  “You see?” He arched a cocky eyebrow over teasing but heated eyes, and his hand ran slowly up my thigh.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Arrogant, I said in my head.

  Confident, his green eyes argued.

  Regardless, I still thought we should go straight there. Nigel turned the car, and we all chatted as the vehicle ate up the miles.

  I was nervous about meeting Jack’s mom, but part of me couldn’t wait. I just hoped she liked me.

  “She’s gonna love you. Stop worrying,” Jack said.

  “I’m not.”

  “You are,” he said and brushed his thumb over my bottom lip, releasing it from the grip of my teeth.

  I scowled. “I’m not worrying, I’m hopped up on caffeine, have hardly slept, swoon-effect, and I’m hungry.”

  “Swoon-effect?” Jack inquired, not missing how I’d snuck that in there.

  He didn’t need to know what happened ins
ide my body every time I saw him. “Long story,” I muttered.

  Jack grinned impishly. “Do you want your gift for day five of the twelve days of Christmas?”

  “You have a gift with you right now? Uh, sure. Wait, not to be a spoiled brat, but what happened to day four?”

  Jack winked and shrugged. “That was me. My presence is your present and all that.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shook my head, laughing. Nigel was doing the same.

  Jack briefly rubbed his hands together and leaned forward to get something Nigel was handing back to him. “Day five. Something you’ve been craving, apart from me—” he added.

  I let out a snort.

  A box. A white bakery box with a familiar red logo on it.

  Ooooh, heaven.

  “Oh my God, if this is what I think it is…” Taking the box gently from his hands, I laid it on my lap and opened the lid to a view of golden brown, perfectly flaky pastries sprinkled with toasted almonds and powdered sugar. It was. “Mmmmmm,” I breathed. “Thank you.” I offered one to Jack, and Nigel, then finally bit into one myself, feeling the flaky pillow give under my teeth and warm almond filling and fresh buttery croissant surround my taste buds. So good. I let out a long, deep groan.

  Opening my eyes, I found Jack staring at me, his eyes dark. Chewing quickly, I swallowed. “What?”

  “Nigel?” he raised his voice, his eyes not leaving me.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you have any music you can put on? I’m about to snog my girl here, and I doubt you want to be listening to us.”

  “Jack!” Hot embarrassment pumped blood to my cheeks.

  “Blimey.” Nigel chuckled. “You’d think you hadn’t seen each other instead of just arrivin’ together.”

  “Er, we haven’t,” Jack said with a smirk, his eyes settling on my lips. “I’ve been in California, and Keri Ann’s been busy at college in Savannah.”

  “Ah. Other side of the country is it? Right-o. I’ll put some Coldplay on.”

  “You do that. Make it loud.”

  I glared at Jack, mortified, but with a sting of anticipation swirling through my lower belly.

  “Relax, baby,” he soothed. “Snogging is just slang for kissing.” He leaned forward and moved the box off my lap to the floor before sliding his hand around my head and into my hair. “With tongue,” he added.

  WHEN JACK KISSED, it was a melody rushing through me. The build of a chorus that thrummed in my blood and beat in my chest, my body at one with the resonance as it built, layer upon layer, like a song one could feel more than hear.

  I didn’t just taste the sweet almond and coffee taste on his tongue that rode like white caps on the flavor that was uniquely Jack. I was in the cathedral of Jack. His presence surrounded me with perfect architecture to take the burning want he created with every slide of his mouth and every tightening of his hands holding me to him, soaring and whipping around me until I was trembling with the force of it. And flying along side it. Along side him.

  “Christ on a broomstick, do you think you could tone it down just a bit?” Nigel’s voice tore through the music like the needle off a record. “It’s not one of them fancy cars I can just raise the partition and turn the bloody noise off. Don’t you think that was enough to tide you over?”

  My chest heaved, and Jack exhaled a rough laugh.

  “Anyway,” Nigel added, shaking his head, “we’re here. So straighten yourselves up and think of England. The green and glorious land.”

  I WAS IN a storybook. There were fields as far as I could see in the grey misty morning with low, stone walls and small skeletal copses of bare winter trees here and there. The car had left the highway and meandered up a narrow tarred lane that passed through a village consisting of a pub, The Goat in Boots, one or two other businesses, a small church, and a shiny bright red cylindrical “post box.” Christmas wreaths and pine garlands adorned doors and lampposts. Then the “village” was gone and the fields stretched out again.

  Rising up a small hill, we slowed by a break in the stone wall with a wooden sign that read “The Grange.” We turned in and drove down a winding gravel driveway, bordered by strategically high hedges until we came out in front of a pretty two-story but small rectangle building. I couldn’t make out the masonry, not quite stone or brick, but not stucco either; it was tawny brown in coloring. A wild tangle of thorny limbs covered most of one half of the facade and eased around the doorframe.

  “Roses,” said Jack. “They’re incredible when they bloom.” I’d bet they were. The whole place was so very pretty despite the miserable day and the bare winter feel. A large fir wreath with a red bow hung on the wooden door that suddenly flew open.

  A short and slender lady, with dark glossy hair, dressed in jeans, green rubber boots, and a cream knitted sweater, came bounding out of the house, her mouth cracked wide with a huge smile.

  Jack squeezed my hand, then opened the door and climbed out just in time to catch the woman in an airborne hug that had him swinging her round to the side with her momentum. His “mum.”

  I smiled at her excitement and the sound of Jack’s rumble of a laugh while my heart pounded with nerves. Cold, damp air hit my bare arms as I shifted to Jack’s seat to exit after him.

  He set his mom down and turned back to me, reaching out a hand. His smile was the most brilliant sight. It was clear he adored his mother. I glanced at her nervously as I climbed out.

  “Mum…” Jack seemed to have lost his words.

  We all seemed stuck in a moment.

  I swallowed nervously as she gazed at me. Exactly my height, her eyes were just like Jack’s but darker, and she was absolutely beautiful. So much like Jack but softer. Her face bore pale smile lines and crows feet at her eyes that told me they crinkled often. Her dark hair was glossy and softly pulled back. Then she reached out and took my hand, pulling me into a tight hug. The scent of warm cooking and Christmas spices surrounded me, her sweater soft under my arms, and I squeezed my eyes closed at the sudden rush of emotion—relief and love for a lady I’d never met before flooded my system. After a moment, we pulled apart, and she held me at arms length. “Keri Ann,” she said in a stunning British accent, and I wanted to melt. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Charlotte.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I smiled, my eyes suspiciously watery and my nerves evaporating into the morning mist.

  Jack, smiling, took my hand again, threading his fingers through mine.

  Tiredness and lack of warm clothing made me shiver in the chilly winter morning.

  “Gracious, it’s freezing, and you’re both in T-shirts. Where on earth is your luggage? Hurry inside. Go sit by the Aga and warm up, and we’ll have a spot of tea. I can’t believe you came straight here! I’m thrilled. Go on with you.” She motioned toward the house then turned to Nigel who was waiting quietly by the car after taking our hand luggage out. “Hi Nigel, darling. Will you stay and have some tea?” Well, now that we’d had a split second of awkward silence it seemed Charlotte was making up for lost talking time.

  Jack let go of my hand and slung his arm around my shoulders. Pulling me in tight, he kissed the top of my head and then guided me toward the front door. “Come on.” He was positively radiating giddiness, and I nestled into his glow and let him lead me into another part of his life.

  Stepping through the low front door, Jack had to duck slightly.

  “People used to be way smaller in the old days,” I surmised. “How old is this place?”

  The flagstone floor was worn and uneven, even undulating into smooth dips that were almost bowl-like in their shape. The smell of wood polish and waxed rain jackets met us just inside, and the walls were a mix of gleaming wood paneling in parts and whitewashed plaster in others.

  “I don’t know. A couple hundred years maybe? It was a farmhouse. Kind of still is, if you count my mum’s chickens and her gardening. Most of the fields that used to be with this house were sold to surrounding farms though.”

&nbs
p; Walking farther into the dim glow of the interior, the smell morphed into something deliciously edible, spiced with cinnamon and clove. The lighting came from a few leaded glass windows and some lamps, as there didn’t seem to be any overhead lights anywhere. I had stepped back in time almost. It was so cozy and comforting inside, I felt like I’d crawled into a gorgeous warm blanket at the end of an icy trek.

  Jack led me down a short hall to a large spacious kitchen that was lighter than the front part of the house. The back wall was a series of windows, obviously newer but in keeping with the style of the home. A large farm table dwarfed the room. On the other side of it stood the source of all the heat: an old-fashioned Aga oven with a warm cream finish stood proudly against the far wall.

  “Wow,” I said, letting go of Jack’s hand and walking around the table. “I think this is an original.” And the source of the delicious Christmas smell, I believed.

  “It looks like it. But I bought it for Mum last year when her old one finally gave up. She almost refused. Didn’t want me spending that on her. But, I won.” He grinned.

  “It’s stunning.” Having looked at them online over the last few years while dreaming of Butler family home renovations, I knew how expensive they were. I saw the kettle off to the side and placed it on the burner closest to me.

  Jack came around and stopped close behind me. His hands settled on my waist and then slipped around my belly.

  He dropped his head forward onto my shoulder. “Thank you,” he breathed.

  “For?” I asked, folding my arms over his to keep him against me as I settled my head back against him.

  “Making us come straight here.” He turned his face and pressed his mouth under my ear, making me shiver. “Being here with me at all. Doing all of this with me. Being in my life. Being you.” His mouth found my skin again, his voice husky.