Reality Blurred

by Aven Ellis

  Hayes nods as we climb out of the van. He goes around to the back to gather up his camera and the audio equipment.

  “I agree. Although I still don’t understand what the hell a seasonal decorator does,” he teases.

  “That’s where we come in,” I say, grinning. “We get to tell viewers what the hell a seasonal decorator does.”

  My phone buzzes, and I retrieve it from the pocket of my cream, wool swing coat, one perfect for the mild, mid-fifties that will be the temperature today. I swipe my phone and smile when I see it’s a text from Maxime:

  Good luck today with your first feature. I know you’ll do great.

  I’m so besotted with this man, I think smiling down at my phone. I begin to type back, but another message comes through from him first.

  I miss you so much. I can’t wait to come home.

  Forget besotted. I’m so in over my head for Maxime, there’s no hope of ever going back.

  I don’t want to go back.

  I text him back as Hayes slams the back door shut on the van.

  I miss you, too. So much it hurts. About to shoot seasonal décor. I’ll ask if she has any tips for creating a cozy theme for our date on Saturday night.

  Hayes and I begin walking up the winding sidewalk to the house, and Maxime gets in one more message before I turn my phone off:

  All I need is you.

  Same, I think as I stare at his words.

  I shut off my phone and drop it into my pocket, tucking his words inside my heart while my brain gets ready to go to work.

  ***

  “So, Whitney, why don’t you show me what things you have done in this home to bring in a spring feeling?” I ask, smiling brightly at her.

  The light of the camera is shining on me and Whitney, a young, beautiful red-haired woman who is one of the decorators for Décor Bliss Boulder. The homeowner, Suze Joyce, is standing by with a giddy look on her face, pleased that her home is going to be featured on TV. I will interview her as soon as I’m done shooting with Whitney.

  After a brief chat about on-camera basics—look there, don’t be nervous, act like you are talking to a friend—Whitney is practically a pro.

  “Sure, I’d love to,” Whitney says, leading me over to the expansive dining room table. “One place I love to bring in the elements of spring is at the table. We often think of tablescapes for big holiday gatherings or parties, but I say, use the place you share your meals and make it seasonally beautiful.”

  I gaze down at the table, which reflects the bounty of spring with rustic wooden boxes filled with tulips and peonies in gorgeous shades of peach and pink. A cake stand holds a stack of artfully arranged apricots. A white-and-red-ticking-striped runner lays across the length of the table, with orange and cherry jams in mason jars, each tied with elaborate bows to coordinate with the flowers, anchored at each end. The place mats are the same ticking stripe, and a full place setting sits in front of each of the eight chairs.

  “This is gorgeous,” I say, picking up one of the mason jars. “This is such a cute idea. This is jam, right?”

  “Yes, I sourced those from a local farm stand and added the bows,” Whitney explains, her green eyes lighting up.

  “And if someone hires you, you come in and make all this happen?”

  “Absolutely. Our job is to do décor tasks, big or small, and make your home seasonally beautiful. We can work with what you have, or we can bring in everything for you.”

  “Even the plates?” I ask, picking one up.

  “Of course. We can source plates for your table or lanterns for your living room. We can do it all, no matter what the occasion or holiday. The items are rented to you for as long as you want the décor up.”

  “That’s fantastic. You make it so easy to give your home a refresh.” Then I give her a skeptical look. “Okay, Whitney. The next holiday is St. Patrick’s Day. What do you have up your sleeve for that?”

  Whitney laughs, and I can’t help but notice how much she loves her job. She’s completely at ease talking about it, and her thoughts and words never waiver.

  It’s a dream interview to get me out of the gate with Boulder Live.

  “I do have some things up this bell sleeve of mine,” Whitney says, gesturing so her sweater sleeve swishes. “If you will follow me over to the living room, you can see I have done up a St. Patrick’s Day mantle.”

  Hayes and I follow Whitney to the mantle, where she has placed a beautiful collection of bright green bottles filled with fresh white flowers.

  “You can go whimsical, with shamrock bunting or garlands, but in this case, I wanted to capture the color of the holiday,” Whitney explains. She moves over to the coffee table and picks up a stack of books. “Another way you can infuse a season into a room is through curated collections, like these books on Irish legends and the scenic countryside of Ireland.”

  “That’s smart,” I say, nodding.

  I go on to ask her a few more questions, making sure I have more than enough footage to edit together a great segment, and then I move on to Suze, who has a frozen smile in front of the camera. I have to stop a few times to make her laugh and loosen up before I’m able to talk to her about why she hired Whitney and how she feels about the result. Then we call it a wrap.

  “I’m going to shoot some close ups,” Hayes says, moving around to the mantle.

  I thank Suze for opening her home to us and tell her I will email her as soon as I know when the segment will air.

  “Would you mind signing an autograph for my daughter? And taking a selfie with me? She’s a senior in high school, and she loved you on Is It Love?”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  “Thank you. Our whole family loves you, Skye. Tom was an idiot.”

  “Things worked out the way they should have,” I say, thinking of Maxime’s messages on my phone.

  Whitney walks out with us, and once we’ve stepped out into the sunny February morning, she pauses and clears her throat.

  “Is it hard talking about your ex all the time?” she asks.

  I shrug. “When the show first aired, and my feelings were raw, it was. But now? Nah. I’ve moved on.”

  Whitney nods.

  I get the feeling she is thinking of an ex.

  “My heart hasn’t gotten that far yet,” she admits, stopping next to her car. “I hope to be where you are someday. I thought coming here to Boulder might help. I’m here to launch the branch, and hopefully, by the time I go back to Seattle next December, I’ll be where you are.”

  I don’t know her story, but I see a bit of myself in her. There’s a vulnerability in her voice when she speaks of her ex. I don’t hear sadness or longing, but she’s not fully healed, either.

  “I think this temporary move will be good for you,” I say, nodding in assurance. “I know it was for me. Time is a great healer.”

  “Thank you,” Whitney says. “Knowing your story, and seeing how happy you are now, I believe it can happen for me, too.”

  “I have a pretty good feeling you’re not only going to be fine but better off,” I say, thinking of how things turned out with Maxime and me.

  As I did with Suze, I promise I’ll let her know when the segment airs. We say goodbye and part ways, and I get in the passenger seat while Hayes reloads the equipment into the back of the truck. I retrieve my phone and turn it back on.

  I text Maxime back:

  Interview is done! I think it’s going to be great. The décor consultant was very good on camera. Have a good nap this afternoon and know that I can’t wait to kiss the cut on your cheek better when you get home. Which can’t be soon enough.

  Maxime replies:

  I can’t wait to see it. I know you did a fantastic job. Not much longer, two more nights, but it seems like forever until I can see you. I’ve got some news. Gavin is being released from the hospital and flying home tomorrow morning. Would you mind checking on him for me? I’m worried about him.

  Maxime is such a good man, I thi
nk. How did I get so lucky to have another chance with him?

  While I might never know the how, I do know I will never, ever, take it for granted.

  I send my response:

  I’ll be first up in the dinner rotation. I’ll see if I can get him to talk. I know from experience burying your heartache only makes it worse. I’ll bring something with sprinkles for dessert. That will make everything infinitely better. Just kidding!

  Maxime types back:

  You make everything infinitely better.

  My heart fills with happiness. While he’s been physically gone these past eleven days, we’ve been more connected than ever. Our video dates have allowed us to get to know each other on a deeper level as we talk for hours every night.

  I can’t wait to take our relationship to the next level when he comes back in two days.

  In the meantime, however, I need to take care of Maxime’s friend, and that’s exactly what I’ll do tomorrow night.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Celebrate Life with Sprinkles—The Blog

  Inspirational Quote of the Day:

  “Experience is the teacher of all things.” —Julius Caesar, Roman politician

  I remember reading that famous quote by Julius Caesar and saving it into my OneNote file on my laptop as something that should be my mantra.

  I stare at my face on Dishing Weekly, with an outlandish headline above it, my hands frozen on the grocery store cart handle, trying to remind myself I learned things from my experiences on Is it Love?

  One of them is that the tabloid media will rear its head from time to time.

  But seeing the words splashed across my face—and Maxime’s—makes me sick with fear. Of course, I saw it online this morning, and even shared a picture with Maxime, but seeing it in person is much worse. It makes it more real.

  Why today? I think, anxiously biting my lip. I’ve signed my book contract. Maxime is coming home tonight. I should be on top of the world, but all I can do is stand in front of the magazine rack, regretting that my past is now toying with my future in a sidebar picture on the tabloid.

  IS SWEET SKYE HITTING THE PENALTY BOX WITH BELGIAN HOCKEY HUNK?

  Is It Love for real this time? Page 12.

  I pull a copy of the magazine from the rack with a shaking hand. The article is going to be painfully cheesy and humiliating. I quickly thumb through the pages, dread increasing with each flick of the page as I get closer to “my story.” Finally, I find it: a two-page spread filled with photos of Maxime and me at breakfast last week. There is one snapped of me leaving the TV studio, and another of Maxime leaving the rink on the day he left for the road trip, with this hideous caption underneath it:

  Looking sullen at the thought of leaving his luscious reality show love, Maxime Laurent prepares to jet out for a long road trip.

  I swallow hard. The rest of the WAGS don’t drag their boyfriends and husbands into this quagmire of crap. I feel horrible, inferior.

  Because I know the article is always worse than the headline. If this one isn’t, one full of hurtful things and absolute lies will be coming.

  I chuck the magazine facedown into my cart. I’ll read it at home. The last thing I need is for people to take pictures of me reading about myself in the store. Then the headlines would be “Spotlight-loving Skye can’t stop reading about herself! We caught her flicking through our article on Friday!”

  Maxime can handle this, I reassure myself as I keep my head down and begin to push the cart through the store. He told me the tabloids didn’t matter. I remind myself it’s temporary interest, and as soon as the next season starts, they will shift their attention to the new contestants, but I know he won’t like it. I also know it won’t be enough to unravel what we have.

  At least that is what I have to believe, or I’ll go mad with worry.

  I begin shopping for the dinner I’m making Gavin tonight. He is getting my one specialty; in other words, the one thing I can make without it ending in complete failure: my mom’s chicken, broccoli, and rice casserole. You make it in one pot, and at the end, pop it into the oven for browning. My mom had it growing up, and she made our housekeeper add it to the menu when I was young.

  It’s the only thing I can make. Besides cupcakes from a mix.

  I go through the list I neatly organized on my phone, acting like I don’t notice people staring at me while I shop. It’s an acquired skill. It’s not easy to pretend you don’t notice when someone is obviously gawking at you.

  Bleurgh.

  I work through the items on my list, throwing in a rustic loaf of whole-wheat sourdough bread, a bag of organic salad mix, and a bottle of natural low-fat dressing. I head to self-checkout so I can move quickly and get out without more people noticing me.

  I head outside into the sunshine, purchases in hand. I open the passenger door and place my bags on the seat, then shut it and slip behind the wheel. I say a little prayer for my car to start, and it does. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I retrieve the tabloid out of the bag. I pass royal gossip and Hollywood scandal to get to my love story:

  It looks like America’s Reality Show Sweetheart, Skye Reeve, is no longer crying over Tom Broaden, who broke her heart with his declaration that he did not, indeed, find love with her on the season finale of Is It Love? last season.

  Rather, our stunning blonde, sporting her hair in a stylish braid and looking casual chic in a cozy, pale gray V-neck sweater with a crisp white shirt sticking out underneath, seems to have found love with a dashingly sexy hockey hunk from Belgium.

  Maxime Laurent, the model-like looker with cheekbones that could chisel stone, is the alternate captain for the Denver Mountain Lions. He only had eyes for his own reality star during their intimate breakfast for two on February 16th in Boulder, Colorado.

  According to sources close to the couple, they connected when Reeve landed a job on the TV show Boulder Live this year.

  “Skye has never been so happy,” raves one source close to the TV personality. “She’s already planning for a lavish wedding in Belgium next summer.”

  I stop reading. What fresh hell is this? Wedding? Just a few weeks before, the tabloids had me drowning myself in donuts over Wanker Tom; now I’m running off to marry Maxime in Belgium?

  I sigh and continue reading:

  Laurent, for his part, has been quiet on the Denver dating scene and at Mountain Lions functions, never attending with a date.

  Apparently, all he needed was for the skies to open up and drop Reeve into his life.

  The two looked at each other with tenderness and adoration over breakfast, sharing not just pancakes and bacon, but also sweet whispers, hand-holds, and kisses—right in public!

  While making out in front of the world isn’t new for Reeve, it is for the quiet, off-the-radar Laurent.

  “He couldn’t keep his hands off her,” says a patron who was at the restaurant that morning. “It was so sweet!”

  The sexy hockey hunk, looking deliciously disheveled with rumpled hair and stubble across his jaw, also brushed tender kisses across Reeve’s knuckles, gazing at her lovingly in the brief time they had together before he went on a brutal road trip through Canada.

  While Laurent hated to leave his new love so early, insiders close to the hockey-playing star said he’s confident in what they have.

  “They are a true team,” says a Laurent insider. “These two are meant to be together.”

  Friday is his last game on the road, and we look forward to seeing a happy reunion with our new favorite lovebirds!

  Okay. Rather cringe-worthy, especially the wedding bit, but as far as tabloid fare goes, this isn’t awful. It’s actually favorable to us, and while I have a feeling his teammates will give Maxime shit about knuckle kisses and having chiseled cheekbones, I know Maxime will survive it.

  And come home to me later tonight.

  ***

  “I hope you are in the mood for retro home cooking,” I say, carrying my casserole dish into Gavin’s
luxurious, modern kitchen. “Because I brought a broccoli, chicken, and cheese casserole. Canned soup is included in the recipe.”

  Gavin hobbles on crutches behind me. “It sounds perfect. I can’t thank you enough for doing this. You spared my mom a trip from Toronto. I love her, but her fussing over me would have been way too much for me to handle in my current mood.”

  I place the casserole dish and the bag of groceries on his vast kitchen island. It’s covered with stacks of folders and papers and a calculator. I bite my lip as I see there are piles and piles of credit card bills.

  I know it’s the Veronica mess staring me in the face.

  I move to the state-of-the-art Viking wall oven and turn on the temperature I need. I face Gavin, who has dark shadows under his eyes and the start of a golden-haired beard on his face.

  “Why don’t we sit down? I’ll let the oven pre-heat, and then I can bring everything to you.”

  He moves slowly on his crutches to a large, sectional, theater-style sofa and eases himself down, gently propping his broken leg onto a huge square ottoman.

  I follow him and take a seat not too far down from him.

  “It seems stupid to ask you how you are feeling,” I admit, “but since I’m a TV reporter, I get to ask the dumb and obvious. How are you feeling?”

  A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s see. My girlfriend never loved me and robbed me blind because I’m a clueless sucker. Now I’ve busted my femur, and it hurts like hell, and I’m out for the season. Other than that, I’m fantastic.”

  “We’re going to argue on that first comment,” I challenge. “You are not a clueless sucker. You fell in love. You took a risk. It ended badly, but you will come back from this and love again; I promise you that.”

  “Oh, hell no,” Gavin says, setting his jaw determinedly. “I’ll never be this stupid again. I’ll hookup, and have fun, but I will be dammed if I’m ever this weak again. Do you have any idea how humiliating this is? She loved my money, Skye. Veronica had me wrapped around her finger like a—” he pauses, and I can tell he’s searching for an appropriate word to use in front of me, “a fool. We’ll go with that. A damn fool.”