“Your boy just ordered your special burger,” Joanne says as she slips the order in front of Tucker.
“He’s not my boy. And the special isn’t served until dinner, which we aren’t even going to be open for.”
“Your uncle insisted. Said he’d love the special sauce. I’m sure Tucker can handle it.”
“Joanne,” I say, reaching out for her arm as she tries to pass. The terror in my voice must alarm her because she immediately turns to me and wraps me in her arms. She’s not much older than me, only a decade, but right now she feels more like a mother than a friend. “What am I doing?”
“It’s okay. It’s just a week and he’ll be gone. I’m sure he’ll be too busy in his room talking with his agent or whatever it is that they do.”
“Yeah,” I murmur against her shoulder.
“It was a nice thing you did. Took a lot of guts.”
“No it didn’t, I just felt bad for him. That’s all.”
“Mmhmm. Who knows, maybe he could be some good company for the next week. Get you out of your dry spell.”
Pulling back, I smirk at her, sarcasm oozing from my veins. “It’s not a dry spell on purpose, you know. I’m just scared to put myself out there. And why would someone that looks like him, who is him, want anything to do with someone like me? He’s a celebrity for goodness’ sake. I make children cry when they see me.”
“He doesn’t look like he’s scared of you.”
“How does he look at me?”
“Like you’re special.”
“Are you drunk right now?”
She lightly slaps my shoulder as if I’ve offended her. “Don’t be silly.” Her phone starts buzzing and she looks like she wants to say more, but she rushes off to take the phone call, leaving me with a chuckling Tucker manning the grill.
“What?”
“Women are so weird.”
He shakes his head as he turns away from me, leaving me with my own thoughts.
I need to stop focusing on my new guest and focus on the memorial happening in two hours. A memorial for someone special that was taken far too soon. A few deep breaths steady my nerves and I make my way back out behind the counter. Cole’s gaze hits me first and I notice the confusion swirling in his eyes. And maybe a hint of interest?
But as a new group of locals enters the diner, I don’t have time to dwell on it. Instead, I grab a set of menus and head toward them, tugging my hair over my shoulder to hide my scar.
“Table or booth?” I ask the group, ignoring the searing stare coming from Devyn’s table as I pass.
CHAPTER FIVE – DEVYN
When Larsen brought me to the apartment five hours ago, I could tell she was nervous about being alone with me, but as she showed me around the place, she seemed to loosen up a bit. I was pleasantly surprised with the modern fixtures and furniture. It reminded me more of a two-bedroom apartment in New York City, not the middle of nowhere Colorado.
She gave me a quick tour through the space and then left just as rapidly, leaving me wondering what I’m going to do for the night. It felt like an imposition to go to the memorial service, even though Jeff invited me himself. I didn’t want to take any attention away from a woman that deserved it all. During lunch, he had regaled me with stories of his love, how wonderful she was, how she opened her arms to everyone. After sitting with him for an hour, I felt like I knew her just as well as everyone else.
Once Larsen left, I immediately grabbed a towel from the linen closet and took a steaming hot shower to wash away the day. I felt like a new man.
The one thing I forgot about was dinner. With the town closed for the memorial, I hadn’t thought about how I would eat. I remember seeing a market and a convenience store on the walk with Jeff earlier.
Taking a chance, I leave the apartment, making sure to grab the key on the glittery pink keychain that Larsen had handed me when she showed me the apartment.
The convenience store boasts a closed sign as I pass, but I luck out when I find my way to the market store. The young cashier stares at me as I make my way toward the deli meats and cheeses, bread, and frozen meals. The place is small but well-stocked.
Out of instinct, I wait for the onslaught of fans and paparazzi. In LA I don’t go anywhere without Tessa, and if it’s necessary, I can hire a security detail. My star has fallen enough that it’s not needed as much as it had been when I was younger, plus the laws have become more stringent, at least in California. New places are always hard to gauge, but strangely, I feel safe here. Protected.
Walking back to the apartment, the skies have darkened. I didn’t realize how long I had stayed in the market, but I haven’t gotten to roam grocery aisles in a long time. I took the time to savor the experience. The streetlamps cast a yellow light onto the concrete and the locals that pass under its glow. I’m surprised to see so many people milling about, but I’m guessing that the memorial service has ended and people are heading home.
I draw closer to the building and something draws my eyes to the side window on the top floor. A light flickers on, and through the fabric of the curtain, I see a silhouette reach upward as if stretching. I know whose room it is and I feel like I’m invading Larsen’s privacy, no better than a Peeping Tom, but for the life of me, I can’t turn away. Something about this woman intrigues me. I watch as she pulls something over her head, I’m guessing it’s her shirt, then she reaches to her waist, my eyes losing the shadow of her hands, and then shimmies her hips working her pants down her legs.
A cat’s meow sounds across the street and I break my fixation from the window. I adjust the grip on the bags in my hand and continue toward the apartment, trying my hardest not to look toward Larsen’s door next to mine as I unlock my door, but I fail miserably.
My frozen dinner is as unappetizing as I imagined it would be. Nothing like the meals Tessa makes for us. My cell phone glares at me from the table, urging me to reach out to my cousin, who, no doubt, is worried sick and trying to track me down. Knowing the way she jumps to conclusions, she’s probably already contacted the police. I haven’t had the nerve to power it back on since I left Tahoe. Heaving a breath, I reach for the metal contraption and turn it on, waiting a full five minutes for the onslaught of pings and vibrations to end. I don’t waste time reading any of the messages, knowing they’re from Tessa and my agent. Instead, I type out a text message to my cousin telling her that I’m safe, not to worry, and that I’ll be in Chicago next week for the read through, then quickly power it back off. I should probably call her, let her hear with my own voice that I’m not injured, or kidnapped, but I can’t bring myself to do it just yet. The news of my parents’ return is still fresh in my mind. So much so that I haven’t slept since I left my hotel in Tahoe. The pull toward the bottle is strong, an urge I have to beat down with a hammer, but I’m succeeding. This new film role is far too important to getting back in the Hollywood limelight. I don’t want to mess it up for me, for Tessa, or for Quinn. They’re all counting on me.
A screeching clatter sounds from outside the window in the bedroom and I jump from my chair in alarm. I grab my phone and a vase from the table, just incase someone is trying to break into the apartment. The vessel being the first weapon that I find.
Slowly I make my way to the window and look through the glass, but I find nothing.
“Shit.”
Placing the vase on the floor by my feet, I slide the bottom half of the window up the track and stick my head outside. Larsen sits on the metal grating that composes the floor for an emergency stairwell; it connects both of our apartments like a balcony.
I’m about to close the window to give her some time alone but hearing my name leave her lips stalls me in my tracks. Sparing another glance in her direction, I realize that she’s leaning against her legs with a phone pressed to her ear. And not a sleek cell phone. No, Larsen cradles a piece of tan-colored plastic with a coil stretching through her window. A freaking landline. I haven’t seen one of those in years. This girl
is unlike anyone I’ve ever met.
“You don’t have to worry about Devyn, Uncle Jeff. I probably won’t even see him until he picks up his car. You realize that I’m an adult, right? Fine. Yes, I’ll be careful. And please, Uncle Jeff, I know you’re still grieving, but I can’t lose you too so please stop it with the alcohol. Un-huh. I love you. Goodnight.”
Larsen gently places the phone back on the receiver, but instead of heading inside her apartment, she wraps her arms around her legs and rests her chin on top of her knees. Her gaze is transfixed on the bright full moon dangling high above the city. I never understood the saying about lassoing the moon for someone, but in this moment it absolutely rings true.
Though it’s summertime, a chill lingers in the air, which explains the long-sleeved shirt and lounge pants that Larsen wears. I can barely make out her body amidst the shadows and darkness of the night. The moon and the ray of light coming from her window are the only illuminations. Like a spotlight designed just for her.
I’m not sure what possesses me to do it, because she obviously wants to be alone at this moment, but I crouch through my window and step onto the platform. Her gaze immediately darts to me as the stairwell creaks and screeches in protest.
“Thought maybe you could use some company,” I explain to her as I walk to the corner that she’s claimed as her own and squat down to take a seat beside her.
Immediately she reaches up and pulls a section of hair over her shoulder and face, blocking her right side from my view.
On its own accord, my hand reaches up and tucks the hair behind her ear, Larsen’s body instantly stiffening at my contact. It’s as if she’s forgotten what it feels like to be touched. And that’s a shame. My fingertips barely brush the side of her cheek, but they’re left tingling from the connection.
“I wish you wouldn’t hide your face. I like looking at you,” I tell her, my voice thick and husky to my own ears.
“You’d be the only one,” she retorts, her defensiveness about the serrated scar evident in her sharpness.
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
She blows a puff of air in exasperation.
“So, do you have a boyfriend?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. Larsen is stunningly beautiful, the scar weaving down her face and arm doing little to distract me from her appearance. I’ve worked with, dated, and slept with some of the women that the world claims to be the most beautiful, but they don’t hold a candle to this innocent female before me.
Her blonde hair is mixed with hints of white and light brown, giving it a perfect mix of highlights. It’s soft and silky with a slight wave hanging to the middle of her back where her waist is the smallest. She’s petite, almost a foot shorter than me, but what makes her seem even smaller is when she caves into herself. I only witnessed it for a few minutes, but she shrinks in a crowd, not wanting to draw unwanted attention.
She turns her big brown eyes toward me, the glisten of the moon shining in their depths. “No. No boyfriend. Anyone in the age range of thirteen and fifty rarely pay me any mind.”
“Why is that?”
She rolls those beautiful eyes at me and then returns her gaze back to the sky as if I should know the answer to that question.
“Am I missing something?” I ask.
“People my age look at me with pity or they’re grossed out. No one wants to be with a monster.”
Anger wells up deep inside me and it’s so hot I could boil water with it. “Excuse me?” I bellow. “Is that how you see yourself? I don’t even know you but you are anything but a monster.”
“It’s hard to think of myself as anything else when I’ve been called that and worse.”
“By whom?”
“Does it matter?” she quietly inquires, a sheen on her lower lids shimmering in the darkness from the reflection of the moon.
I want to tell her that it matters to me, but I’m not certain she would care. I’m no one to her, just someone passing through for a few days.
“There has to be someone you’re interested in.”
Again, she doesn’t respond, but her eyes flicker down to her bare toes and I would swear, even in the darkness, that she is blushing.
Bingo.
“Who is it?”
“Please stop. He’s not interested.”
Well, then he is an idiot, I tell myself.
Not one for awkward silence, I inquire about the memorial service, but I should have known that wouldn’t go over well. She immediately breaks down into heart-wrenching sobs. Crying isn’t something I’m comfortable with unless it’s staged. But for some reason I find myself reaching out and tucking her small frame against me. And by God, she fits flawlessly in my hold, her figure a perfect alignment to mine, like a puzzle piece fitting expertly next to its match.
She turns her head toward my chest and continues to cry, the wetness of her tears seeping through my shirt, but I barely notice. Instinctively I rub my hand down her back and arm until she soothes herself, letting her know that I’m here offering my solace.
When she finally calms down, she apologizes for ruining my shirt. “This old thing? I’m pretty sure I have hundreds of them. I can give it to you as a souvenir, and maybe you can sell it on the internet.”
Her answering giggle warms me, a perfect tinkling sound cutting through the silence.
“Tell me about her,” I push, taking a cue from my therapist.
She shifts under my arm and I’m fearful that she’s going to pull away. Luckily, she just repositions her head against my shoulder allowing me to drop my arm around her waist. I wonder what her bare skin would feel like, if it’s as soft as her hair.
“Susan was the most selfless person in the world. Everyone loved her. Everyone. She saved me. I’m not sure where I’d be if it weren’t for her.”
“She was married to your Uncle Jeff, right?”
“Yeah. They had been together since they were fourteen. Uncle Jeff is not family by blood, but he’s family in every other sense of the word.”
Ah, so the plot thickens.
“Want to tell me about how you got your scar?”
“Not today. Want to tell me what you’re running from?”
Damn beautiful and smart.
“Who says I’m running?”
“Considering the registration for your car isn’t in your name, you have no valid insurance, and you don’t seem to be in a rush to leave, there really is only one conclusion to draw.”
“True.”
Larsen’s head tilts upward from its position on my shoulder and I look down at her, our noses and lips only separated by a few inches of space. The moment is far too intimate for two strangers. But nothing about Larsen feels like a stranger.
“So, what are you running from?” she repeats. I watch her lips move, vaguely hear her words, but I’m focused on what she will do if I kiss her right now. The pull is strong, too intense to resist.
As if a silent voice calls to her, she turns her head and pulls her body out of my reach as she stands. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about it. I’m going to head inside. Have a good night.”
She ducks into her window but something bugs me about our moment, something inside that doesn’t sit well.
“Hey, Larsen,” I call and her head pops back out, her eyes landing at my feet and not my face. I’ve made her too uncomfortable with the eye contact. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Working.”
“Maybe I can take you out after your shift? Dinner? Movie? I saw a bowling alley, I think.”
“Oh.” Her brows rise in surprise, the soft yellow from her room casting beautiful shadows on her profile. “Um. . .are you sure?”
“Yeah. Maybe we can work on how to get you to talk to that guy you’re crushing on.”
“I’m not crushing on anyone!” she yells, and I’m certain if I peeked my head past her window, I’d find her stomping one of her adorable feet.
“Sure you’re not. Come on, it
’ll be fun, like a date.”
“A date?” she screeches and I have to fight against my chuckle. I’m not sure I’ve ever had such an alarming reaction to me asking a woman out on a date. But then again, I’m not sure I’ve ever had to actually request one.
Something to ponder about later.
“It’ll be good practice and I can give you some insight into the male mind. What do you have to lose?”
I watch in fascination as she slouches, almost as if she doesn’t have anything within her body capable of keeping it upright.
“Yeah, okay. I get off around five tomorrow. I work a double shift.”
“Cool, I’ll pick you up at six.”
Larsen doesn’t say anything more, instead, she slips fully back into her apartment and slides her window closed while I’m left staring after her retreating form.
I follow her lead and head back inside my apartment, enjoying the comfort of my surroundings as I lie on the couch and scroll through the channels on the television. It doesn’t take me long to realize what has me so pumped up, I’m excited for the date. I haven’t been excited for anything other than filming a scene since I was five and I went to Disneyland for the first time. Just the thought of going out with someone that has zero interest in my celebrity status or social level sends a spark of exhilaration straight through me. Even if all I do is help show Larsen that she is more than her scars and help to build her confidence, then the date will be successful. Hell, just seeing her smile will be worth it.
~
My morning is wasted sleeping in and trying my damnedest not to pick up my phone and scroll through the internet to find out if any media outlets were reporting my mysterious disappearance. But despite my desire to stay in the public eye, it’s been nice to simply relax and enjoy the peace and quiet. Or as quiet as my head would allow. I kept conjuring up images of Larsen until I couldn’t stand it any longer.
The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance Page 5
