by Liz Durano
"I've been there a few times, usually for work," he says as he leans back in his chair. He's wearing a white t-shirt beneath a chambray button-down shirt and jeans, his feet bare. He stretches his arms above his head, and I can see the contour of his torso, his six-pack abs, through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.
"That's it? Work? Do you do anything else to relax?”
"Contrary to popular belief, Billie, I’m not all work and no play. I do sail, and fish, even if it's not from the pier. I also ride, run, hike, and rock climb."
"No way!" I laugh. "No freaking way do you rock-climb. I'm sure your hands are as smooth as a baby's butt. Or you climb in one of those indoor climbing things where they have you in a harness anyway, and you've got your spotter at the bottom."
"I can see you're a tough one to impress," he says, leaning forward over the table and bringing his hands towards me, his palms up. "Here, check them out."
I touch his palms and his fingers with my hands, surprised to see that instead of smooth baby-butt hands, he's got hands that seem used to hard labor, even calluses at the base of his fingers. I look at him incredulously and pull my hands away, but Heath traps my fingers with his, his thumb moving along my knuckles.
"Look who's talking," he murmurs. "You've got hands as smooth as a baby's butt."
"That's because I own a souvenir shop and the only work hazard I know is inhaling too much Nag Champa," I say as he lets go of my hands. "Sure, I go swimming in the river sometimes especially in the summer, and I hike and ride my bike, but I don't climb rocks. Besides, that's a hobby, not something you have to do for a living."
"You're right," he says. "It is just recreation. I should have warned you that I'm not perfect."
We chuckle before settling into silence as if the joke between us had run dry. I can see lights below me but have no idea whether they're of Los Angeles or some other city. I'm wearing a blue sleeveless summer dress with white trim along the hem, along with a matching cardigan. If Alicia packed any jeans in my suitcase, I've yet to find one.
"So...who's Andrew?"
I stare at him. ”Have you been spying on me?"
"You talk in your sleep."
"Oh," I say, sinking deeper into my chair.
"So who is he? Is he someone you're currently seeing? This guy with the bong perhaps, and a burnt nose."
"No," I reply. "But what does it matter if I'm seeing someone or not? It's not like it's going to affect whatever we have together, at least not this charade as a couple."
"I don't want to take any more chances than we already are. Who knows? He could be your husband."
"Hell, no!"
"Then who is he?" Heath asks, eyeing me knowingly. "Are you seeing him?"
"No, we broke up three years ago," I reply, frowning as I try to remember my dream. Vaguely, I see the Yuba River in my mind, and along with it, the feeling of being young, stupid, and madly in love enough to allow Andrew to talk me into skinny dipping and then, giving up my virginity to him right there on the river. I'd been seventeen then, about to go to college in Sacramento, and I would have done anything to keep him from straying.
"Three years is a long time to be still dreaming of someone," he says.
“It’s only because of my conversation with Blythe this morning. Otherwise, I don’t usually dream about him, or anything.”
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"In person?"
"Alright, let me rephrase the question," he says, chuckling. "When was the last time you saw him, whether in person or elsewhere? Heck, social media, for all I care. Maybe America's Most Wanted."
"Ha ha," I smirk though I'm smiling. "I last saw him in person a year ago, when he walked into my shop with his new girlfriend, Allorah Shane or something."
"The fashion model?" Heath looks at me incredulously.
"Yup, that's her," I reply, rolling my eyes. "He's pretty active in social media. He's a painter now, and he posts his work online. And he also travels with her wherever she goes and posts all these fantastic pictures of his travels."
"So you're virtually stalking your ex?"
"No, but Norah's one of his followers on Instagram," I say. "She is one of my employees who thinks Andrew Tennyson's the most amazing man to have emerged from Nevada City."
“And is he?”
“Definitely not!”
I wonder how much I should tell Heath about Andrew and how I'd let Andrew take away, not just my virginity that day at the river, but the bond I'd had with Blythe when he called out her name instead of mine. I still hate myself for not walking away when I should have then, instead allowing myself to overlook the many signs of how he saw Blythe instead of me whenever we were together. I was so determined never to let it happen again that I'd just about sworn myself from dating anyone from town.
"He's the reason Blythe left Nevada City," I finally say, looking out the window.
"You don't have to talk about him if you don't want to," Heath says.
I turn away from the window and look at him. "I do want to talk about it. Or rather, I'm finally ready to talk about it—only you're the wrong person to talk to about it or anything for that matter. It should be Blythe I should be telling these things, not you."
"Tell me anyway. Get it out of your system because it will only drag you down, if it hasn't already."
And he's right, of course. I'm tired of carrying the load alone—the mistake of blaming the wrong person for it all, the same person I'm trying to get to now.
"I've always been jealous Blythe for being more popular in town, at school...growing up,” I say. "I always treated it as a competition, one where I always felt that I was always second best—until Andrew."
I sigh, interlacing my fingers together in front of me, my right thumb rubbing the palm of my left hand repeatedly. "I thought I hit the jackpot with him, but what did I know? I was only sixteen. I thought that for once, I got myself a serious boyfriend before my sister did, and that he happened to be the school jock and was perfect in every way. We dated on and off for about three years, until the accident—"
"What accident?" Heath searches my face, his brow furrowing.
"A drunk teenager hit our car on the 49,” I say, and Heath covers my hands with his own, slipping his fingers into my palm and thumb as if stopping me from rubbing my palm raw if I could. "They say Mom broke her neck from the impact of the airbag, and Dad, well, he died then, too. They didn't find us till two or three hours later because we'd rolled off the embankment, and it was raining. And the kid, well, he just fled the scene. Didn’t even know she got into an accident, drove home and slept it off."
"Billie, I'm sorry."
"I heard she had a good lawyer who argued that she'd lost control of her car in the rain and that it was us who'd been driving fast because it was one of those sharp turns. I don't remember much from that day, even with all the therapy. I was in a coma for two weeks, and the last thing I wanted to know was what happened on that road that night, the same route I have to take whenever I have to go anywhere—which is probably the reason I don't go anywhere."
"Was Blythe in New York then?"
I nod. "She was studying Fashion Merchandising, and she took a leave of absence so she could come home and take care of me. Kathryn, our neighbor, took care of everything else with my parents—the memorial, the cremation, the estate."
Heath still holds my hands between us. Thankfully, I'm no longer rubbing my skin raw, not when he's squeezing my hands reassuringly.
"I don't want your pity, Heath," I whisper, drawing my hands away but he holds on.
"I'm not pitying you, Billie. I'm listening."
"Blythe was supposed to pick me up from the hospital and get me home. We had to call someone else because she never showed. When I got home, I heard these footsteps upstairs, and I saw her run into the bathroom." I pause, swallowing as I remember the sight that greeted me that day. "Andrew was lying in her bed, naked. He said Blythe had been coming onto him the whole time, a
nd that she was rarely at the hospital. And when she was at the hospital, it was because he was there, too. He said that she'd asked him to come over that day, and well, one thing led to the other. And stupid me, I believed him. Maybe it was all the painkillers in my system, but I can’t use the same excuse three years later. I shouldn’t have believed him, but I did, even when Blythe told me he was lying."
"But he was the one in her bed."
"With Andrew, he could have told me the earth was flat, and I'd believe him—I was that crazy about him and that insecure about my sister." My voice grows hoarse, but I force myself to continue. “I kicked Blythe out that day, and she didn't fight it. She asked Kathryn to take care of me and left."
“Three years?”
“And now, just when we finally get together after three years of emails and tentative phone calls, this happens,” I say, shrugging. "Sad, isn't it? That I let a man drive a wedge between us for three years, all because it sure as heck wasn't my name he called out when he, you know, did it with me that first time—" I pause, horrified. “Oh God, that was TMI. I’m sorry.”
I pull my hands away from the table and rest them on my lap. “So there you have it. This whole thing between Blythe and me is because of that damn moment when I allowed some idiot jock to stand between us. And now, apparently it's another man that I'm using to drive a wedge between us again—you."
“I hope you know that whatever is standing between you and Blythe isn’t me, Billie,” Heath says slowly as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “And that’s something you can’t allow standing in the way of trusting me. Because as far as I can see, the only enemy is you battling with who you once were—crazy about some guy and willing to put him before family—and who you are now, a woman who I hope can tell fact from fiction...or her own fears from the truth.”
His words sting, and I feel my face burning. “Has someone ever told you that your sensitivity chip is missing?”
“It’s called moving on, Billie. And now that your sister is in trouble, you both have to start trusting each other again.”
"Oh, really? You mean like the way you and Ethan trust each other—or your sister—who hasn't returned your calls in days? Maybe you should be the one to take your own advice, Heath."
“Maybe,” he says, his blue-gray eyes pinning me. “But then I’m not the one still dreaming of someone else three years after he betrayed her.”
14
Mi Casa Es Su Casa
It doesn't take me long to learn that the Santa Barbara I know from my past is nothing like the Santa Barbara that Heath knows. Immediately upon landing, we're greeted at the airport by two bodyguards sent by Tyler Crow.
From there, we're driven to Montecito where Tyler owns a chateau high above a hill. Though we have full use of the main house, Heath chooses to stay in the detached guesthouse that's separated by a pool and a lush garden. He doesn't want staff fussing over us, he says, though they do anyway, each one of them familiar with him as they welcome him back with warm smiles until he bids them all good night and shuts the door.
"I hope you don't mind we stay in for the night and tomorrow we go to the country club," he says as he shows me to my room. "My body clock is saying it's one in the morning, and I'm exhausted. Tyler always says, mi casa es su casa, so this house is your house, too. Feel free to roam the grounds in the morning. You can't miss the view."
It's not until the following morning that I see what Heath means though it's the ringing of his phone at 5:30 that first wakes me up and gets me out the door to watch the sunrise. From the detached meditation house where I force myself to do some stretches and breath work, the view of Santa Barbara from the Pacific Ocean to the west and the Santa Ynez mountains to the north and east of me is so breathtaking it makes me cry. I wish my parents were alive to experience all this with me, and not have to settle for the cheap motel and picnics in the park because of our tight budget when Blythe and I were kids.
By the time I make my way from the meditation house back to the guesthouse, I see Heath doing laps in the pool between the main house and guest house. As I stop to watch him from the guest house patio, I watch his body slice through the water effortlessly. I'm struck by how tanned his body is, and toned. Perfect.
"I hear he was captain of the water polo team in college," says an older woman coming towards me, her sandaled feet crunching against the white pebbles that line the path from the pool and the garden. Wearing a white summer top and pants ensemble, she's tall and lean, a row of perfect white teeth against luminous dark skin and her hair is pulled back in a bun. Large hoop earrings frame her striking features, and her hazel eyes hypnotize me. They seem hard and intense, and I feel like she's been watching me for some time.
"I'm Tyler, by the way. Tyler Findley-Crow, although I like going by Crow these days," she says, extending her hand. "I just got in minutes ago and wanted to welcome you personally, and I gather you're Billie Rose. Very pleased to meet you."
"Same here," I say as I stare up at her and shake her hand. I wonder if she was ever a fashion model because she could have very well floated towards me on her very own traveling catwalk.
"I just came from your meditation house," I say. "You've got an incredible home."
She beams. "Thank you. My mother hired Feng Shui experts to make sure that chi flowed effortlessly throughout this property before she passed away nine months ago."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," she says, smiling as she admires the jasmine flowers growing on the trellis. "This guest house just happens to be in the relationship corner, so hopefully, it will be smooth-sailing for you two lovebirds-"
"We're not dating."
"-while this whole thing involving Blythe and the fraud situation settles down," she continues, without missing a beat. "Word's gotten around that Heath is dating someone new, so I have to warn you that all eyes will be on you.”
Behind Tyler’s almond-shaped eyes and her friendly smile, I can sense there's a razor sharp woman underneath the facade. I can see now how she totally fits into Heath's corporate world. Even with her casual wear, she exudes confidence, though I'm not too thrilled about her knowing way too much about Blythe and the alleged fraud. I wonder if she knows about the letters, or is that just between Heath and Ethan?
"How close are you to Heath?"
"Close enough. I met him when we did our Masters together. He was young, straight from earning his BA and I, from a few years of working at a credit company but needing that MBA on my CV. It's hard enough to get anywhere in the corporate world with just a Bachelor's degree these days, especially when you've got your eye on the highest rung of the ladder. Harder still when you're a woman, and you know that the only reason they're considering you is because they need diversity on the board — after you've beat out every other man first with your track record."
"Is that how it really is out there? At least for women?"
"Behind closed doors, yes. It’s also what I tell myself each morning when I wake up, so I never let my guard down, not when there’s always someone else gunning for whatever position I have,” she replies. “I’m on the board of four companies, Billie, for two reasons. First, for my brain that gives me the drive to go after what I want, and then the plumbing between my legs, because God knows they’re in desperate need to get caught up with the times, and it looks good to the public. And while there's nothing I can do about the second, there's much I can do about the first. After all, I wasn't born rich like some people."
Like Heath, you mean, I want to say but keep my mouth shut. I have a feeling that it's best not to get on Tyler's bad side.
"You make it sound so bad, being around people like him," I say, forcing a smile.
She chuckles drily. "I didn't mean to, not when I'm now one of those people. But the point I was trying to make is that I got here through hard work—very hard work and a lot of sacrifices, like setting aside having children so that it won’t interfere with one’s current work trajectory
.”
Her expression hardens then. “So the last thing I want is to see everything I've worked so hard for crumble because Heath decided to protect his brother's girlfriend when his first duty was to the company. I hate to be blunt here, Billie, but I'm not a fan of your sister at the moment, not when I risk losing everything I’ve worked so hard for.”
“I’m sorry.”
"You look so much like her; it's so uncanny."
"So is that where your loyalty lies, with the company?” I ask. “Are you going to throw my sister under the corporate bus because you don't want anything to ruin all the hard work you've put in to get where you are now?"
"Wouldn't you, if you were me and you start off from nothing?"
"No, I wouldn't, but that's only because I'm not you," I reply, tired of playing nice. I just have to accept that through no fault of my own, I'm on Tyler's wrong side, and there's nothing I can do about it. "And I definitely won't do it to my sister, not unless she is embezzling all that money. But until then, while everyone else is busy protecting their asses, I'll do what I have to do to protect my sister's."
I'm so annoyed by Tyler’s line of questioning that I don't notice that Heath has emerged from the pool, and as water slicks down his body, he's like Greek god come to life. I should admire it, after all, I'm supposed to be his girlfriend. But the last thing I want to do is pretend we are a couple in front of Tyler Crow, who probably would rather call the Ethics Committee and Feds herself than spend another minute with the doppelgänger of the woman who could cost her everything.
"I can see now why he likes you,” she murmurs. “You’re nothing like all the women who go after him, every one of them just after his money and his name.”
In the distance, Heath sees us and waves as he dries himself with a towel.
