But he had to do it. He’d hang out with the Mancinis tonight, and gladly. He’d show Ella he wasn’t a coward. He’d face the music, and if they threw him out, then he’d simply have to take it.
“Don’t worry,” she told him, reading his mind again. “They won’t be mean to you.”
“Hey,” he said, “if anyone is, I can’t say I don’t deserve it.”
She chuckled. “You’re actually going to have to put up with a lot of speculation, hints being dropped, people wondering if we’re getting back together, speeches about fate and love and how it never dies.”
“I can handle that.”
“And don’t be surprised if someone asks you for your autograph.”
“Really? After our history, someone might do that?”
“Oh, yeah. You’re still Hank Rogers. I mean, come on! Sometimes I forget, but other times I look at you and think, ‘It’s that guy from Shadowsfall, or Kelly’s Gang,’ and I can’t believe you’re standing in my kitchen.”
“Pammy’s kitchen.” He felt embarrassed and pushed off the counter. “I don’t want you to think of me that way.”
“It’s a compliment,” Ella said. “It means you were really good playing those roles.”
“So you saw them? On the big screen?” Somehow her answer felt important to him.
“Of course I did,” she said. “I’m still your biggest fan, no matter what happened between us. I want you to be happy. And successful.”
She was too good for him. She was a treasure.
He loved her.
Hank took a deep breath. “I was never sure if you saw them. But I always wanted to call you and ask. I wanted to know if you followed my career—”
She quit stirring and turned to him. “Stop beating yourself up. Of course, I follow your career. We were in love, Hank. We lived together. We shared our hopes and dreams. I can’t just lop you off like a bad limb from a tree, especially when your dreams came true. I needed to celebrate with you, from afar. Without contacting you, because that wouldn’t have worked. But I was there on opening day for all your films. And I always will be.”
His heart ached—with love. With regret. With pride and gratitude. And of course, with sadness. He’d had no idea she followed his career at all. He’d hoped that she’d seen every single movie. He’d wanted her opinions on them. None of them had ever felt like true successes to him because he hadn’t been able to share them with Ella.
He wanted to tell her. But how to explain that even feeling her absence keenly, he hadn’t wondered if he should try to win her back? It had never occurred to him as an option, not until this movie came up in Charleston. He might have gone on for the rest of his life not pursuing a second chance with her.
What had held him back, and what was different now? Why had he finally said yes to this movie and come here and told her he wanted another chance? He needed to know himself better before he felt able to move forward.
But time was short. Too short.
He realized he hadn’t even asked her about her afternoon on the set. He wasn’t the only one in the movie. “How’d it go today in the costume shop?”
Her face brightened. “Really well. It took way longer than I thought. About three hours. But I have four costume changes, and in each one, my hair is going to be different.”
Because the timeline in the movie spanned a decade. “In one scene, you’re supposed to be pregnant. What was that like?”
“Fun. Strapping on the belly of a woman eight months along is a bit awkward. But I loved strutting around in it. Someone who walked in thought I was really pregnant and asked me when I was due.”
They both laughed.
“Isabel wanted to speak with me about a change on one of my lines,” Ella went on, “something I totally cheered for because it makes my character slightly more complicated.”
“More stuff to latch onto.”
“Exactly. I want to play someone three-dimensional. Anything I can do to make her feel real, I’ll do. I’m flattered Isabel even asked my opinion about it.”
“I’m glad to see she’s so invested in the actors,” Hank said.
“Me too.” Ella glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “I have to be at Mama’s in about an hour. Is that too soon for you?”
“No, that’s fine. I need to bring something to her as a hostess gift.”
Ella waved a hand. “She doesn’t need anything.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, “it couldn’t hurt.”
“You don’t need to win her over. She’ll be perfectly pleasant. I promise.”
“I’m sure she will, but my mother taught me to come bearing gifts, especially when someone’s not expecting you. I’ll walk the two blocks to Harris Teeter and pick her up some flowers and wine and be right back. Then I’ll go upstairs and change.”
“If you insist. I’ll be finished with this sauce in a minute, and then I’ll change.”
They needed to stop talking about changing clothes. He was getting very bad ideas in his head. They were alone. Totally alone. In the old days, they’d indulged in quickies all the time while they were getting dressed or undressed.
He suddenly remembered something. “Hey, this morning I was in the shower when your friends came over with those doughnuts. Next thing I knew, someone opened the door. When I got out, my bathrobe was missing. Maybe it was Pammy. But I swear she was still asleep at the time. I had to run upstairs in a towel in front of everyone. Miss Thing was pretty entertained.”
Ella laughed. “The same thing happened to me. But it was because I forgot my robe.”
“I know. I saw you from the kitchen.”
“You did?”
He shrugged and grinned. “Sorry. At least you were covered up.”
“True. I saw you in a towel too.” Her cheeks turned pink. “I was in the bathroom upstairs putting on makeup with the door open and saw you behind me in the mirror, coming up the stairs and down the hall.”
“Oh.” He hoped he’d looked decent. He worked out with a couple of personal trainers. But this was Ella. He wanted to look like a god in front of her. Or close to.
She thought for a second. “It was Miss Thing. She’s just naughty enough to have reached into the bathroom and stolen your robe. I’ll bet we’ll find it hidden behind the couch.”
“I found it tossed over the back of the armchair,” he said. “Miss Thing is bad.”
“She is.” Ella grinned. “She wanted a look at you in your towel. And she probably wanted me to see you that way too.”
He paused a beat. “I like how she thinks.”
A smile danced on Ella’s lips, and in her eyes he saw the old heat. The old, familiar heat. Instantly, he could see in his mind’s eye the Ella he’d made love to was the same Ella in front of him now. But she’d blossomed even more and was alluring in whole new ways.
“I promise you, I didn’t forget my robe on purpose,” she said, and backed away a step. She picked up the spoon and held it in front of her.
He swallowed. “No, that was simply sheer luck—for me. It brought back a lot of amazing memories. The best ones of my life.”
She nodded, the spoon in her hand forgotten. It hung there sideways while she considered his words. He waited for her to say something.
And waited.
“Mine too,” she eventually whispered.
Hank took the spoon from her. And then he kissed her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hank. Ella instantly remembered everything about him from the old days. He was still in there, that guy she’d loved on and given every bit of herself to. Not only that, somehow she felt like she knew everything that was going on inside of the new Hank—who somehow felt like the old Hank. But sturdier, more sophisticated, sexier.
Was he the new and improved Hank?
She didn’t know. But he was Hank. Hank! And she was home again, back in his arms. She couldn’t believe she was letting it happen, letting Hank kiss her, really kiss her, with a hot, explori
ng tongue that didn’t bother with the preliminaries. He was all man, and he told her with his urgency that he found her all woman. And if they continued like this a minute longer, they would wind up in the bedroom. Or she might find herself on the kitchen counter.
She kissed him back: locked in, zoned out. And if she wasn’t careful, her heart was going down.
One more kiss … just one more, she promised herself.
And then she pulled away.
His pupils were huge.
Her breath came in little hitches.
“We can’t—” she said.
“We just did,” he said back, and reached for her hand.
She put it behind her back. “Hank, no.”
When she said that, he drew in a breath. “Okay. We’ll stop. But it was fun while it lasted. And I want to do it again. Don’t you?”
Of course she did. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. “People do dumb things when they’re stuck in a small house together.”
“This is a really small house,” he said.
She could tell he wasn’t going to push. He was being respectful, tuned in to her needs, and she appreciated it. In that moment, they went back to normal. “Normal” meaning that they weren’t kissing.
“We have to get out of here,” she said quickly and looked around for the lid to the pot of sauce. She also wanted a few kitchen towels to wrap around it. “I’m going to get this ready, and you can go change, and then we can stop at Harris Teeter on the way and get my mom those flowers you wanted to get her.”
“And wine,” he reminded her.
“She’ll be thrilled,” Ella said, striving to sound warm and friendly, but not overly familiar. It was how she addressed people she didn’t know well in social or business situations. She honestly didn’t know how else to act with Hank at this point. She went back to opening drawers and trying to look busy.
The post-kiss era had begun. What did that kiss mean? And how could she forget it? She’d be thinking about it all night.
“Hey,” he said, “I like being around you.”
It was such a simple, wonderful thing to say. Ella was touched. But she had to keep things real. “You know better than most that I have my moments,” she said, “and they can get pretty dark.”
“I know.” His expression was serious. “But you face things head-on and work through whatever’s bothering you. You don’t let it win, and—and I envy that.”
He was right. She didn’t run. That was a huge strength of hers. Except for that one time she ran away from New York after getting her heart broken by a man—and left her big dream behind.
She had to think for a second how to say what she wanted to say. “You’re right that I like to tackle my issues. But I’ve run before. Don’t forget I ran away after we broke up. To this day, I regret that. As happy as I am here in Charleston, I have the occasional what-if moment about leaving my career dreams behind. So don’t go thinking I’m doing everything right.”
“But Ella—”
“Wait a minute,” she said, and studied his face. “I’ve only just figured out in the last couple of years that it’s less about getting things right, Hank, and more about getting things done. Taking action, moving forward, however messy it is, however many mistakes you make along the way. That’s more important than getting things right because, honey”—she’d picked up a little of Miss Thing’s Southern style of conversing—“life’s too short for what-ifs. I still have to remind myself of that. It’s probably a lifelong challenge to stay in the present and not worry about the past or the future.”
“See?” he said, and took her by the elbows. “You’re wise. And you help people around you.”
“So do you, through your acting. What I want to know is why you don’t give yourself more credit for hitting the big-time.”
“Because I see talented people who never come close. It was luck. I know I’m not the most talented. I was in the right place at the right time.”
“Wrong,” Ella said. “You were in the right place at the right time, prepared for success. You got yourself ready. You weren’t just twiddling your thumbs. It was more than luck, Hank. You worked your butt off, and you need to own your part in it.”
His eyes gleamed. “I’ll think about that.”
“You’d better.”
He saluted her. “Aye aye, Cap’n. Whatever you say.”
She chuckled. He’d just channeled one of her favorite characters he’d ever played, a U.S. Navy ensign in World War II. “You’re lucky you can get away with being a smart aleck,” she said. “Not everyone can pull out diversionary tactics quite so unique.”
“It’s a big perk of my superstardom,” he said with exaggerated effect, “which I had some hand in.”
He winked at her, and he was so cute in that moment, she could hardly breathe. “You’re a good pupil,” she said, and turned away from him to compose herself.
“You’re a good friend,” he said back.
She turned to face him, surprised at the sweet compliment.
“Thanks, Ella,” he added softly. “You did it again. You made me feel better. Just by being you.”
“You’re welcome, Hank.” She could hardly get the words out. She was falling for him again. “You’d best get upstairs, Ensign, and change your clothes,” she said. “Feel free to dress down for Mama’s. Jeans are good.”
So, of course, when he came back downstairs, changed into a summer-weight white button-down shirt, worn Levi’s, brown Sperrys, and a belt embroidered with nautical flags—“They spell out my name in flag code,” he said with a grin, “a gift from Mom”—he reported that he was ready to take on the Mancini clan.
“Let’s get going, Charleston boy,” Ella said.
“This is a Hamptons clam bake look,” Hank insisted, and picked up the big pot of sauce. “It complements your hipster, Union Square farmers market in spring look, don’tcha think?”
She glanced down at her halter sundress. “This is not what I’d call hipster, Union Square farmers market in spring. I’m going for an Isle of Palms beach shack shop post–Labor Day sale look.”
“Whatever it is, you look fantastic,” he said.
She eyed him. “No flirting.”
“No way.” He eyed her back just as sternly.
Satisfied, she followed behind him to the front door, and tried not to look at his backside in those Levi’s. But it was impossible not to. She indulged herself while she could, and then he opened the door and turned, the delicious view gone—for the moment, at least.
Ella shut the door behind her. It was still light out, the height of summer. It wouldn’t get dark until after eight.
“I wonder how Pammy’s doing,” he said, and wedged the pot of sauce on the floor of the back seat between a few bricks they’d found in the potting shed behind the carriage house. The lid was on tight, but even so, the delicious aroma of a good meat sauce filled the car when they got in.
“I texted her to let her know where we are,” Ella said, “in case her date is over before we get back to the house.”
“That was nice.”
“She wrote back that she was killing it.” Ella laughed. “They’re walking around the Market with all the tourists. The merchants know Reggie, of course, so they’re saying hello. Pammy said she’s being treated like a queen, especially at the food stalls. She’s getting free samples right and left.”
“I’m glad she’s having fun.”
“Me too. She’s doing great. I think her nerves were more about being a little homesick. Maybe her parents can come out and see her soon.”
“I’ll fly them out.” Hank sounded relaxed. Sort of like the old Hank who used to hang out with her on a blanket in Central Park, a basket of grapes and Saga cheese and good bread between them. They’d chug wine from a Thermos.
“You mean, like on a private jet?”
He shrugged. “It’s a perk.”
Ella enjoyed the companionable silence that fell over them as she navigated
the narrow streets, so many of which were one-ways.
When they turned onto East Bay Street, she braked to let a couple of tourists with cameras cross in the middle of the street since no one was behind her. “Harris Teeter on East Bay Street is Charleston’s biggest social gathering spot,” she told him.
A minute later, they were at the door. Hank opened it for her, and they made quick work of getting a vase of Mama Mancini’s favorite, gerbera daisies. She liked all colors of them, Ella said, so Hank got her red, pink, and orange. And then he picked up a couple of bottles of the most expensive red wine in the place. When they were almost to the register, he turned back around and got two cases of the same stuff. A clerk went in the back and grabbed two cardboard boxes and loaded them up.
“So everyone can have a taste,” Hank said, “and then your mother can keep some for later.”
“Really,” Ella said, mortified, “you don’t have to do this.” She felt terrible. The bill was going to be around a thousand dollars. Harris Teeter prided itself on carrying good wine.
“I know I don’t,” Hank said in line at the register. “But let me get some pleasure out of making so much money. Most of it just sits there collecting interest.”
“All right,” she said, hating to cave in. She didn’t want to feel beholden to Hank, and now he was spending a fortune on wine for her family. She hoped he wasn’t doing it for her.
“Don’t think I’m trying to buy my way back into your good graces either,” he said, reading her mind. “I’ve gotten spoiled. I like nice wine, and I can afford it. This has zero to do with me and you.”
Me and you.
“Got it,” she said, feeling slightly relieved. And then disappointed. A secret part of her that she only reluctantly acknowledged wanted Hank to try to please her. The truth was, she was lying pretending she could be around him and not let romantic thoughts about him—about them—intrude.
She missed him. Plain and simple.
At Mama’s, the curb on both sides of the street was lined with Mancini vehicles. There was a preponderance of old Dodge Challengers from the Dirty Harry era, mainly because in New York, no Mancini had needed a car. So when they’d arrived in Charleston, Uncle Sal had bought a fleet of first-generation Challengers, built between 1970 and 1974, from the widow of a collector in Myrtle Beach who sold them at a massive discount to him because she was moving to a nursing home. Uncle Sal had gifted them to the family because “I want you all to have wheels,” he’d said. “But you need to get a license first. Even you, Mama Mancini.”
Second Chance At Two Love Lane Page 17
