Not easy at all.
In fact—Ella swiped at her eyes—it had been a not-so-good day so far. First, the show was over, and she felt the usual exhaustion that came from it. She’d need time to recover. And she’d already been reeling from getting those flowers from Hank. Then she met Pammy, who simply showed up on her mother’s doorstep, and then she was moving out of her own apartment into Pammy’s for a week, and then Roberta was having dating issues, and now Ella was leaving Pammy’s to live with Miss Thing and her guinea pig because—
Hank was coming to town.
For a week!
Oh, God. Ella needed a vacation. Or to hide her head in the sand.
Bump, bump, bump to the bottom of the stairs she went with her suitcase. And landed against a block of warm human. She knew before she turned around it wasn’t Pammy.
It was Hank.
He smelled like Hank. Masculine. Sexy.
Dear God, what was she supposed to do? Ella closed her eyes, swallowed, and turned around. “Hank,” she said, “fancy meeting you here.”
That was so lame. It was a line straight out of her latest show—word for word, and he’d recognize it. But at least she’d said something.
He did. She could tell from that amused glint in his eye and his grin. “Ella,” he said, as if he hadn’t seen her in ten years, which was true. The flowers he sent to her dressing room didn’t count for anything.
Was that just two nights ago?
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
He was still hard to look at head-on without wanting to swoon from lust and longing. Ella glanced anywhere but at him and noticed the front door was wide open.
Where was Pammy?
Ella smiled as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “I was moving in with Pammy because I needed a place to stay for a week, and I was also going to keep her company. But now you’re here, I’m moving out again. No big deal—I didn’t even get a chance to unpack.”
“Wow.” His eyebrows flew up. His voice was scratchier than usual. Or maybe it had simply gotten deeper since they were together. “Pammy didn’t tell me, but I didn’t really give her a chance—I was on a private jet with no admin assistant. One’s sick, and one’s on vacation.”
“You have two?”
“Yeah, and I think I need a third.” He said it without bragging. Hank wasn’t a bragger. Never had been.
“Oh,” she said, thinking how different their lives were. Like worlds-apart different. She didn’t even have the right to brush a speck of lint off his collar. She had no idea which bank he used, what his favorite TV show was, how his parents and siblings were, or whether he had a great car or valuable art.
He’d always wanted a Maserati and a Murakami. Did he ever acquire either?
“You never called me,” he said. “Did you get my flowers?”
Do not blush, Ella told herself. But she felt heat creep up her cheeks. “I did,” she said, “and I didn’t call you. But the favor was about Pammy, right? She wound up finding me the next day. So I felt a call was unnecessary.”
Neither were thanks. His reason for sending the flowers had nothing really to do with her.
“You’re right,” he said, “it was about Pammy. I was hoping to connect you two. I didn’t know it then, but I’m going to be here this week. I’d love to have lunch. Catch up.”
Catch up?
He had a lot of nerve acting as if they were old friends who only needed a breezy lunch to catch up!
“Oh.” Ella didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing else.
“So anyway”—he grabbed the reins of the conversation again—“this morning I was trying to set up my schedule here, and I didn’t have time to chat beyond telling Pammy I wanted to stay with her this week.”
“Where is she now?”
He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “At Beau and Lacey’s. Working on a wobbly stair bannister.”
“Okay,” said Ella. She gathered her courage to have a heart-to-heart with him. “I’m actually glad she’s not here. We need to talk. Pammy’s really sweet to offer me a place to stay, and I think it’s because she’s lonely. I told her she needs to give it more time. She also needs to explore her social options more. With Beau and Lacey gone for a while, she can focus on that.”
“Agreed,” said Hank.
“But even with you here,” Ella said, “she wants me to stay. She thinks you’ll be working—and partying—night and day.” That was awkward to say, but she had to.
Besides, he could party all he wanted to. It was his life. She had hers.
“I will be busy,” Hank said, not elaborating on Pammy’s conjecture about him working and playing. “But of course I’ll be here to hang out with her, every chance I get.”
“Good.” Ella pulled her suitcase down the last stair step, forcing him to step aside. “I have to go now,” she said, trying not to hang onto this last, close-up look at him. Her plan was to stay as far away as possible from then on. “Best of luck with your movie.”
“Thanks,” he said, and his grin just about did her in. He still had that tiny scar near his left eye that he got surfing when he was thirteen. “But now that I know you were planning on staying here, Ella, I want you to stay too.”
He said it so seriously. She was freaked out. A strange, silent tension hung between them.
“Please think about it,” he insisted. “We can do a lot more catching up here than we could at a lunch at some restaurant. It’s going to be really hard for me to break away from the set during the day. Besides, Pammy would be so lucky to have you as a friend.”
He’d said that with such conviction. Such passion. But which “you” had he meant? The amazing girlfriend he’d once loved heart and soul? Or the new Ella, the successful woman he wasn’t emotionally attached to anymore? The Ella he didn’t even know?
She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or hurt. “Pammy and I can definitely hang out after you leave.” She settled on sounding friendly and warm but professional with him. “I won’t abandon her.”
His handsome square jaw clenched just a tad. “Having you here at the house, though, would be great for her. I know I’m being overprotective, but she’s my cousin.”
“She’s the same age we are,” Ella reminded him.
“I know. But she’s in a new place far away from home.”
True. Everyone had their own little internal battles to fight, and who was Ella to judge Pammy? “Tell you what,” she said, “you move out, and I’ll stay.”
“I can’t do that,” Hank said right away. “I promised her I’d live here. It’s only until Saturday morning.”
So not even an entire week. “Would you have stayed if you’d known I’d be here too?” Ella asked him.
“Not until I talked to you about it, to make sure you were okay with it.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re honestly telling me you would have considered living with me in this tiny house?”
“Sure,” he said with a happy shrug. “We could have worked it out. And it’s a week! That’s nothing.”
“Hank,” Ella said, not a little frustrated, “I get where you’re coming from. You’re a loving cousin. But honestly, this is not a good idea. I don’t want to live in the same place as my ex-boyfriend, the one I thought was going to be my fiancé, even for a week. Okay?” She’d raised her voice a little. She wasn’t going to mince words. “It might not be hard for you to live in the same house as your ex-girlfriend. But I have some pride.”
There was a half beat of silence. “Of course, you do, and rightly so,” he said eventually. “I don’t blame you.” He didn’t give a hint to how he was feeling, but at least he was being straightforward. “You have no reason to do this.”
“Exactly,” she said, her heart sore. She remembered holding his face in her hands, running her hand down his stubbly cheek when they made love. It hurt that she had meant so little. She wanted him to be freaked out at the idea of living with her. What had she bee
n? A blip on his romantic timeline?
Apparently.
“Pammy will do great with you here this week,” she said. “And I’ll check in on her as soon as you go. I’ll show her around my favorite places and I’ll even have a dinner party and invite people over to meet her.”
“That’s so nice, and I appreciate it, but what if I could make staying here worth your while?” His tone was hopeful. “What if”—he paused and took a breath—“what if it actually benefited you?”
What was he suggesting? That he’d pay her?
“I’m not interested in your money,” she said curtly, her heart breaking all over again. Where had her old, warmhearted Hank gone, the one she’d known when they were together? “Excuse me. I have to go.”
“But I’m not offering you my money,” he said hastily. “I’m offering you an opportunity. I can get you in the movie. Forever Road.”
The movie?
Ella couldn’t help it. She hesitated when she heard that. The actor in her always considered her opportunities.
And then she came to her senses. “I’m no ingénue,” she reminded him. He might still think of her that way—the last time they’d seen each other, she was a bit naive, desperate to jump on chances to advance her career. Not all of those opportunities she’d taken had been particularly wise moves. “I’m beyond being dazzled by unlikely movie prospects. If I can’t have a healthy speaking part where I can really practice my acting skills, I’m not interested. Plus, I have my own business, and it’s not part-time.”
If he’d Googled her, he’d know what that business was. She pulled her suitcase over the front door step.
“I can get you the part of Samantha Drake’s cousin,” Hank said point-blank. “It’s a very small part. Maybe ten lines in all, and they’re not very significant. You’d only have to film in Charleston. But you’d work with her, at least. Remember, Ella? How we always wanted to work with Samantha? You’d be in a couple of scenes with her. You’d exchange lines.”
“Hank. This is crazy.”
“Just listen,” he said. “They still haven’t cast the part. The person taking it fell through at the last minute. I heard the director talking about it this morning. You’d hardly have to be on set. You could keep your day job.”
“Do you know what that day job is?”
“Of course I do. You’re a matchmaker at a very successful agency. I keep up with you.”
“Oh,” she said, a little embarrassed she’d asked—as if she cared whether or not he kept up with her. She didn’t!
“You might have to do some juggling with your colleagues, but I’m guessing it won’t be any worse than taking a few vacation days here and there.”
“I don’t know.” She really didn’t.
“This gig with Samantha could be yours,” Hank said. “We both know full-time matchmakers in Charleston don’t often win roles with Oscar-winning actors. When will this chance come again?”
They had a little staring contest.
Ella let go of her suitcase. “I’m interested,” she said. “I know it’s a ridiculous notion, but I am. If you can make the thing with Samantha happen, I’ll stay here. But I have to know something else.”
“What?”
“Why’d you take this movie in Charleston? For your career? Or to keep an eye on Pammy? Or both?”
He looked at her for a long time. What was he thinking? Ella’s heart was in her throat. It had taken a lot out of her to ask that question.
“No,” he finally said. “I didn’t need the movie. And I was perfectly happy to help Pammy from afar. It’s about you.”
Ella felt lightheaded, hearing that. It was a huge shock. Yet she deserved this crazy scenario to be about her too. Not just Pammy and the movie.
But the unexpected truth was, it was all about her.
Well, then.
At one time in her life, she’d given this man her entire heart and soul. She’d always thought that gift had better have had an effect on him. Apparently, it had. It was a sweet acknowledgment.
But it had come far too late. She was almost positive about that. Yet a tiny, very stupid part of her was dancing.
“Why ten years later?” she asked him.
“Because we never resolved anything, that’s why.”
“According to you, maybe. So you’re here to … what?”
“I don’t know. Say hi?”
“Hi,” she said.
He laughed, damn him. “Maybe we can get to know each other again. Be friends.”
Be friends? Was he kidding?
And accomplish that in a week, no less?
She had plenty of friends, and yes, friendships mattered. Her friendships had made her life rich. But she’d had only one true love—him!
He was asking too much.
One of his eyebrows shot up. “Are you up for it?”
“No, I’m not.” She gripped the handle on her suitcase. “My life is great, and I don’t need you screwing around with it. I’ll stay here at Pammy’s, and you’ll get me that part because yes, bucket lists should be attended to. You’ll be on your best behavior around me and take good care of your cousin. And you and I will get along fine, for Pammy’s sake. But I’m absolutely not interested in resolving anything with you. In my opinion, that was done when you left. And I still don’t blame you for it. We both vowed to put our careers first. You did that. Kaboom. End of story. We’ve moved on.”
He came closer to her, close enough that his frame in the doorjamb cast a shadow over her. “I hear you,” he said quietly. “Consider the deal made. I’ll get the movie people to call you later today.”
“Fine,” she said.
He bent down, picked up her suitcase. Gave her a good long look in the eye. “I got this,” he said.
“Fine,” she said again, her nose in the air. “Now I’m going to the office. And after five, if you’re available—”
“I’m available.”
“—I’ll run to the Harris Teeter and pick up some wine and pimento cheese. We’ll have a little get-together tonight, the three of us. Lay down some house rules.”
“House rules, check. But what the heck’s pimento cheese?”
“You’ll see. I’ll take the bottom shelf of the fridge.”
“Okay,” he said.
She turned around one more time. “And I’m serious, Hank. You’d better take me at my word.”
“I always have.”
“Hmmph,” she said, and could feel his eyes boring into her back.
She kinda liked it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hank did the deal over the phone in the privacy of his tiny room upstairs at the carriage house right after he talked to Ella. She was in. She was going to play Samantha Drake’s cousin. He spoke to Isabel, who immediately agreed without even seeing an audition tape. Hank vouched for his “old friend,” as he described Ella to the director. He also said he wasn’t going to see anyone from the movie until the following day.
“My first day here is about family,” he told Isabel.
“Samantha wants drinks and dinner with you tonight,” she said.
“I’m flattered, but sorry. We’ll have to talk tomorrow.”
“You sure about that? I mean, she’s Samantha Drake.”
“Positive.”
“All right then. We’ll see you and Ms. Ella Mancini tomorrow.”
Isabel was great. Hank was excited to be working with a female director. He saw big things in her future, and he wanted to be a part of making that happen for her.
“Stop thinking about Ella,” he said out loud to the oil painting of three boys in Little Lord Fauntleroy outfits in a portrait over the tiny fireplace. The frame was carved and gold-leafed, very old. A horse and carriage was painted in the background. So was the carriage house.
It had been ten years, but did people change that much? He thought he still knew Ella well. And the best thing he could do was go along with what she said—not try to resolve anything.
&nb
sp; So be it. He wouldn’t try to resolve anything. He’d coast.
He had a card up his sleeve. He knew from their time together that Ella didn’t like when he immediately challenged her about any sort of proclamation she made. Her proverbial dukes went up. That woman could stand her ground and fight for what she wanted better than anyone he knew.
At the same time, she also hated when he went along with her a hundred percent. Pushovers bored her. Eventually, if he could maintain his patience, she would start poking at him in hopes that he’d fight back. Which, of course, he would. All in his own time. It was a fun game. A power play.
“Waiting her out,” he said out loud again to the three little boys in the portrait. “That’s the strategy.”
And when that day came—when Ella got bored by calling all the shots—then all bets were off. He wasn’t sure which way she’d want to go, but he knew that he wanted a second chance, an opportunity to say, “Let’s see what we have here. Let’s just see.”
But he didn’t have time to be patient. A week was nothing.
“Crap,” he said as he peered frustrated and panicked out his bedroom window at the little backyard garden. He tried to concentrate on something else for a minute. He loved the modesty of the whole set-up of this little house. It was a relief not to enter a plush but sterile hotel suite. Neither did he have to worry about living in some luxurious home the movie people would rent out for him, where he was always afraid of knocking over the owner’s priceless figurines or spilling wine on the fine French sofa.
This old place belonged to Beau and Lacey, dear friends, and it was elegant—but in a faded, friendly way. He could see himself putting his feet up on the coffee table downstairs, and he had no worries about spilling coffee or wine on the sofa. Not that he’d ever done that, but if it happened here, he just knew it wouldn’t be the end of the world to the Wilders. The sofa downstairs was over-stuffed, pink-and-brown plaid, with a million pillows on it, all mismatched with slogans like, “QUEEN OF EFFING EVERYTHING,” and “LET’S SAIL AWAY.” You wouldn’t lose too much sleep if you lost some cracker crumbs in the cushions or accidentally splashed some wine on it. You’d just stick a pillow over the stain, and if you had a dog, you’d invite it to jump up there and snarf up the stray cracker crumbs.
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