Love on a Spring Morning

by Zoe York

  “Because you know if you need to talk or something…”

  “I know.” He definitely didn’t want to talk about moving on with the man who’d tried to save Lynn’s life. Pine Harbour was just too damn small.

  He ordered a hot roast beef sandwich, which came quickly, and they ate in easy silence. Rafe finished first, and talked at Ryan about an Army training exercise—they were reservists in the same unit—until Ryan was done.

  “You heading home?” Ryan asked Rafe as they headed out to their trucks.

  “Gotta pick up some books at the library for Liv, then yeah. You want to come over?”

  “Sure. I’ve got an hour to kill before I get Maya. I’ll follow you.”

  He drove behind Rafe, and if there had been two parking spots in a row in front of the library, he might have missed the new banner stretched across Main Street.

  But Rafe snagged the last spot, so Ryan drove down the block and turned around—only to see Holly’s face flying high above him.

  What the hell? He scrambled out of his truck after doing the world’s worst parking job on the opposite side of the street from the library, and stared at the vinyl banner. Usually that space was taken up by one of a dozen signs the town owned. Seasonal celebrations, a couple of charity runs…and now…

  “Pine Harbour welcomes Hope Creswell and Joshua Pearce,” he read out loud twice, the second unnecessarily loud.

  Rafe jogged across the street. “What’s wrong?”

  “What is that?” Ryan bit out, stabbing his finger in the air.

  “The movie sign? I don’t think the town paid for it. They got a promotional allowance or something from the production company. Liv just had it put up yesterday.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  Rafe wrinkled his brows. “I don’t think I follow?”

  “Who is Hope Creswell?”

  “Jeez, Ryan. I know you’ve got a lot going on, but how do you not recognize the movie star living at the end of your lane?”

  Mouth hanging open, probably looking like a complete idiot, he scissored his head back and forth between Rafe and the sign. Up. Down. Up… “Hope Creswell.”

  “I know you said you haven’t had a lot of complaints, but you seriously haven’t met her?”

  “I’m not sure who I’ve met and who I haven’t,” he ground out.

  “She’s nice. I met her when I visited Liv on set. And she’s gorgeous, man. You’re missing out if you haven’t seen her movies.”

  Ryan knew full well just how gorgeous she was. She glows when she runs. Of course she’s a fucking movie star.

  “I don’t watch a lot of movies,” he said dumbly. “I have to go.”

  “I thought you had time to hang out?”

  “Change of plans…” he trailed off, still staring at the sign.

  “Okay, well, I’ll see you later?”

  “Yep.” It came out as a harsh bark as he wrenched open the door of his truck, but he didn’t care. He needed to be alone right now. Somewhere he could yell and rage and maybe punch something.

  The pretty girl he’d kissed was a movie star full of secrets? Fucking hell.

  When he hit the highway outside of town, he lingered at the stop sign. Home was to the right, but the private cottage most of the filming was happening at was to the left. On the other side of the provincial parks.

  You can’t storm onto the set and demand to see her. No, but he wanted to.

  Instead, he turned right and headed home. He needed more time to process what needed to be said.

  — —

  Holly practically skipped up the lane after a quick, late dinner with Emmett.

  As soon as he headed up to his room, she slipped out onto the deck, wrapping her sweater around her with both arms, hugging a thermos of tea tight to her chest. This time she didn’t bother with the second cup.

  They could share.

  She grinned to herself as she passed the quiet cottages where everyone else was tucked in for the night, then she settled on his steps. There wasn’t any movement in the kitchen, and the lights were still on upstairs, so she assumed he was putting the kids to bed.

  She slid her phone out of her pocket and sent him a text message.

  Sitting on your porch. No rush, I have tea and stars to look at.

  Some time passed. She sent the same thing as an email, then looked at the lights upstairs. First one blinked off, then another.

  Her pulse picked up in anticipation and she stood. Through the window, she watched him move through the kitchen, picking up dishes and carrying them to the sink. He paused in front of a kitchen cupboard, his hand on the knob, and he stood there for almost a minute with his head bowed.

  Holly’s breath caught in her throat as he turned. He looked tired, but as he made eye contact with her, his face twisted and she realized with a jolt that he wasn’t happy to see her.

  For an awful, agonizing moment, she thought he might turn and walk back upstairs, but he slowly came to the door and opened it.

  “Hi,” she whispered, not daring to speak any louder than that. “Are you okay?”

  “I hate that question.” He stepped out and yanked the door shut behind him, but didn’t move far onto the deck. Just stood there in front of the door, hands shoved into his pockets. Not looking at her. “I’m never okay.”

  A stuttering noise burbled in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she finally blurted.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s going on?” But she thought maybe she knew. Say it first, show him you meant to tell him sooner.

  Hesitation had always been her Achilles heel.

  “What’s going on?” he repeated, ice dripping from his words. “‘They’re not so bad, those movie stars.’” He was breathing hard, his mouth pulled tight, the skin around it white. “That’s what you said to me, that first night in my kitchen. And then every time we talked, you let me think you were just a girl who worked on a movie set.”

  Oh, shit. “Ryan…”

  “No. You don’t get the right to look at me like that.”

  Like she’d do anything to back up and do this differently? Like she’d come to need him, like he was the best part of her day? Holly had no idea if all of that was on her face. She hoped it was, hoped something might make him see that she hadn’t meant to hurt him.

  “I never said that, exactly, and I am just…”

  “You played me for a fool.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, scalding hot tears burning her eyes.

  “What the hell did you mean to do, Hope?”

  She winced at the harsh bite of his words. “Holly. My name is Holly.”

  “That’s not what the giant fucking banner in town says!”

  Her stomach lurched into her throat at the pain and anger rolling off him in waves.

  “Hope is a stage name.” She took a deep breath, ragged on the inhale, burning on the exhale. Her hands shook as she pressed them to her midsection. She had to make him understand. “Nobody calls me Holly. Nobody tells me how to do things for myself, or looks at me like I’m an ordinary woman. That first night, it wasn’t Hope who asked you for help. That was me. Nervous and lonely and not sure of myself. Me. And I liked the way you didn’t know who I was, or treat me differently, so I gave you my real name. I didn’t l-lie to you.”

  “No?” He shot her a hard stare and twisted away, staring into the dark. “I didn’t think I was kissing a movie star. So call that whatever you want, but I feel lied to.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s not good enough. Maybe this is my fault, because I didn’t want to talk about how fucked up my life is, but I can’t…be exposed like this. I can’t risk people peering into my kids’ life because we’re a freak sideshow.”

  “I tried to tell you…” She didn’t go on because she knew that she hadn’t tried hard enough. “We both just wanted to escape—“

  “Stop!” He growled it, like he choked back a yell. “We are not the same. I’m
sorry that you wanted to escape from your fancy life for a bit, but I’m not the guy for that. You can’t be the needy one, Holly. I’m the needy one. I need stability and security for my family. I need zero fucking drama for my kids, you got that? You start kissing some single dad in small town Ontario, you don’t think my kids won’t have their picture in grocery store magazines? And then someone starts digging and finds out how their mother died? That. Cannot. Fucking. Happen. Got it?”

  Each word was like a physical blow. He was right. She’d been beyond selfish. “Got it,” she whispered.

  “You want to be treated like a normal person? Here’s a newsflash: normal people don’t always get what they want. Sometimes they need to make sacrifices, and sometimes what they want just isn’t available.”

  Even though she felt awful, that pushed one of her no-go buttons, damn him. “You don’t think I don’t know about sacrifices? Who the hell are you to judge me?”

  He shook his head. “I’m nobody. And I’m not judging you. I’m just saying, I’m not available. Not to you.”

  “You’re right here in front of me, Ryan. And I’m right here in front of you. I know I’m not going to be here forever, but we have a connection—”

  “You’re not listening.” He glared at her and she took a half-step backward. “You don’t always get what you want. Now leave me the hell alone.”

  “I never would have told anyone…” She pressed her lips together, holding back everything else she wanted to say, because she was listening, even if she didn’t like what he had to say.

  He nodded, looking at her without exactly meeting her gaze. “I know. Right now I’m pissed, but I’m not so angry that I can’t remember you’re a genuinely nice person. I’ll be more reasonable about this in a few days.”

  The unspoken but we’re definitely done doing what we were doing hung between them, and suddenly, it didn’t matter if he’d be more reasonable later or if he still liked her as a human being.

  It didn’t matter that she’d hurt him, because this hurt her.

  She’d foolishly fallen for someone who had warned her repeatedly that he wasn’t available.

  She’d done this to herself.

  Mumbling further apologies, a long, never-ending stream of alltherightthings because she couldn’t give him another chance to talk, to accidentally pierce her heart all over again, she backed up. When she bumped into the post at the top of the steps, she spun around and ran into the darkness.

  — TEN —

  “WHAT the hell is wrong with you?”

  Holly took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  She’d held it together for more than a week, but inside she’d been slowly unraveling, and blanking on her lines was the first crack that had made it to the surface. She hated Mondays.

  James whipped his script binder across the room. “Take twenty minutes, and get your fucking lines down.”

  “I only need ten. I’m sorry.”

  “Save the fucking apologies, Hope. You’re the professional one, remember? Stop fucking up my movie.”

  He stormed out and she released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Emmett held out a bottle of water as she slid past him, and she took a series of small sips as she headed upstairs to the bedrooms that had been turned into makeup and dressing rooms. He followed, and as soon as she was settled in her chair, he slipped the script in front of her.

  “It’s no more his movie than yours and mine,” Parvati said quietly as she slid into the seat next to Holly.

  Holly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Want to run the scene?”

  She nodded, and they quietly ran their lines together.

  Ten days had passed. A week and a half of self-flagellation and regretful rehashing in her head. When she woke up this morning, she’d thought she was finally fine.

  Ha.

  Fine was the last thing she was, apparently. Maybe numb and useless, but definitely not fine.

  Emmett gave her a little hug as she headed back downstairs, but that just made her think of Ryan’s solid warmth.

  She didn’t need him. Or if she thought she did, she was wrong, and in the meantime, she could damn well pretend she didn’t.

  You’re an actress. Start putting those skills to good use.

  “You get yourself unfucked?” James barked as he stomped back in.

  She took another deep breath. “Yep. Let’s do this.”

  — —

  On Thursday, Ryan scowled at the privacy fence being erected between his house and the cottages closer to the lake.

  “Stop making that face,” Olivia said from beside him. She had a clipboard and a cellphone that kept ringing, plus a radio headset.

  “You look like you’re running half of the free world with all that gear,” he grumbled. “I can’t believe this is necessary.”

  “They’re going to be doing some filming here next week. It’s not a big deal.”

  “My kids like to play on that trail! Why couldn’t this be put up after the weekend?”

  “They’re still welcome on the trail when filming isn’t happening. We haven’t turned your lane into a gated community or anything, and it won’t be up for long.” Olivia waved him off as her headset crackled. “Oh, and Emmett says that step is still squeaking!”

  Ryan crossed his arms and scowled again for good measure. One sad benefit of being a widower—nobody thought twice about him being a curmudgeon.

  — —

  On Sunday, hammering woke Holly up at seven. Bang. Bang. Bang.

  A piece of wood clattered a little louder than necessary, and then the hammering resumed.

  She lay there, glowering at the ceiling for a few minutes. There was only one person who would be doing minor construction at this hour, since the set construction guys knew better than to do that on her day off. She listened to Ryan literally beat against her house. Okay, his in-laws’ house. But still, it was her temporary cocoon and he was battering it. The imagery was clumsy and heavy-handed.

  It was also painfully on point.

  She put on her robe, went to the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee on the one-cup machine, then pasted on her Hope Creswell face and opened the slider door. “Can I help you with something?”

  “No, ma’am, just fixing the step.”

  “I don’t recall there being anything wrong with it.”

  “Your assistant told Olivia that it squeaked. We wouldn’t want the fancy movie star to be annoyed by that.”

  “Seriously?” She almost spun around and glared at the house, but something about that didn’t quite ring true, and Emmett maybe didn’t need her wrath. “No other reason why you might feel the need to take a blunt object to the space where I’m staying right now?”

  “Nope.”

  “You pushed me away, Ryan, not the other way around.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “And this is a very passive aggressive way to punish me for that.”

  He put down the hammer and glared up at her.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay, then. I’m going back to bed.”

  Inside, she found Emmett making coffee. He gave her a surprised look. “What are you doing up? It’s your day off.”

  “Ryan Howard is replacing the step. He wasn’t quiet about it. I’m surprised you slept through it.”

  “Is that what that was?” He shrugged. “It didn’t bother me.”

  Really? It had driven Holly out of her mind.

  And for the rest of the day, she wouldn’t be able to shake the memory of him looking up at her, practically vibrating with anger.

  — —

  “Go away.”

  Emmett sat on the edge of Holly’s bed and smoothed his hand down her back. “Come on, up you get.”

  “I don’t want to. I hate Mondays.”

  “I don’t think that’s an option, is it?”

  No, it wasn’t.

 
She’d pulled her shit together in the last week, as James would say, but he hadn’t stopped picking on her. She was one day away from having her agent call the producer and run interference, because it was ridiculous. “I’m being punished for having a bad day. One single bad day. Joshua’s a complete mess, and I’m—“

  “I know. Into the shower you go.”

  “It’s still dark outside,” she whined as he hauled her out of bed and shoved her toward the bathroom.

  “I’ll make you a coffee smoothie.”

  “That sounds awful.”

  “It will be.” He laughed as she groaned. “No, it’ll be good. I’ve already had one this morning.”

  “That explains the chipper. Go away, chipper man.”

  He just crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

  Fine. She shut the bathroom door and turned on the shower, but she didn’t get in right away. Instead, she stared at herself in the mirror. What’s wrong with you, woman?

  What was really wrong was that Emmett woke her up mid-dream. Mid-Ryan dream. She was hopeless, because their little encounter on the porch the day before should have been the final nail in the coffin of her crush.

  But it had done the exact opposite. Now he was in every thought, and even his anger was twisted in her head, like it was proof he couldn’t shake her, either.

  Stripping down, she stepped under the hot spray, but that only reminded her of him, too. How she’d wanted this shower that first night and how he’d helped her figure it out for herself.

  Fast forward two months and she’d shattered his trust in her. Way to repay him. So dreaming about him? That must be her penance. It was so cruel that she’d only had one brief afternoon of kissing him. Had never had a chance to press against him naked. Like that would make it better? That you didn’t get to break his heart even further?

  But it wasn’t just that she longed for what she’d never had with him.

  It was also that she’d squandered what she did have.

  Every time James yelled at her, or Joshua checked out during an important scene, she wanted to run to Ryan’s arms and tell him about it. They’d spent six weeks flirting and talking about nothing, because she was scared he wouldn’t want her as she really was.