Catch a Falling Star (Second Chances Book 3)

by Farmer, Merry

  Yvonne watched him until he disappeared around the corner. “It looks like someone is having a nice vacation.”

  Jo hummed. Seeing Ben at home in her house was like being smothered by playful kittens—awesome, but still smothering. He moved with a languid grace when he was relaxed—the kind of body language that made her want to rip his clothes off and reenact every love scene she’d ever written. Too bad doing that would keep her from writing another love scene ever again.

  “So how exactly did the two of you meet?” Yvonne asked when Ben strode back into the room.

  “Coffee shop,” both Ben and Jo answered at the same time.

  Their eyes met at the simultaneous answer, and they burst into tandem chuckles.

  “I see.” Yvonne arched one carefully painted eyebrow.

  Ben headed back into the dining room to finish helping Nick set things back in order.

  “I accidentally sat at his reserved table in the coffee shop in his building,” Jo explained as she scrubbed the last of the silverware. “We got to talking, and the rest is history.” She handed the forks over to Yvonne, then pulled the plug in the sink, blushing, eyes averted.

  “That doesn’t look like history to me.” Yvonne dried and polished the silverware as if it were her mission in life. “That looks very much like the present.”

  Prickles of anxiety broke out along Jo’s skin. She hid them by rinsing out the sink. “I don’t know what it is. I like Ben. He’s smart and sexy and funny. He kind of makes me feel like I’ve been missing something in my life.”

  Her throat tightened at the admission. Something told her Yvonne wasn’t the kind of person she should go saying those things to. Tasha Ellis and Jenny Mercer, yes. They’d been the best part of the night—fast friends in the making. But Yvonne was more inquisitor than friend.

  “Hmm.” Yvonne eyed Ben as he came back into the kitchen with another load of drinks. “Funny, if you were to ask me, I’d say all those things mean Ben has been acting out of character.”

  “Which character would that be?” Ben called from the pantry. “The one who no one likes at the moment?”

  “Exactly,” Yvonne replied.

  Jo shook her head, feeling like she’d walked in on a conversation that had been going on for years. As much as she liked Yvonne and—well, she wasn’t ready to put a label on how she felt about Ben—she had to remind herself that they’d known each other for far longer than she’d known either of them.

  “You were the one who told me to take a vacation,” Ben went on as he crossed back to the dining room. “I’m still trying to decide if you were right. Blissful though Maine has made me—” The sarcasm in his voice didn’t match the spark in his eyes. “—somewhere right now in New York, that character that you say I’m acting out of is being assassinated.” He disappeared into the dining room before Jo could figure out how he felt about that.

  Yvonne wasn’t so cagey. “Do you really care?”

  “Of course I care,” he replied from the other room.

  “So what are you doing to fix things?” Such a serious question, and yet Yvonne asked it while drying off a serving platter.

  “I’ve made some phone calls,” Ben answered, still out of sight.

  “How did that work out for you?”

  No answer.

  “About what I expected,” Yvonne murmured.

  Jo chewed her lip. “How bad is all that stuff that was in the news anyhow?” she asked, hoping Ben couldn’t hear.

  Yvonne peeked at her, then kept working. “It’s bad. Our boy Benny made the wrong enemies. If I knew who they were, then I’d jump into the fray and help him.”

  “Would you?”

  “You better believe it, honey.”

  Jo grinned. She knew there was a reason she liked this woman. “Do you think he did all those things they’re accusing him of?”

  Yvonne’s power-grin tightened. “How much do you know about him?”

  Jo swallowed. Every rumor Diane had hinted at and every article she’d read came back on her. It would have been fine, except they brought the undeniable knowledge that she was a fool with them.

  “I’ve read the articles. My agent, Diane, called him a man-whore.”

  Yvonne snorted. “Ever notice how the term ‘whore’ gets tossed around whenever people want to stick it to someone who’s sex life they’re jealous of?”

  Jo paused her work and pivoted to Yvonne. “So he is a man-whore?”

  Yvonne arched a brow. “Jealous?”

  A beat passed, and Jo went back to work. Was she? Being jealous of everything someone did before you met them was about as pointless as sunscreen in a submarine, but it was also one of those weird paradoxes of human nature.

  When she didn’t answer, Yvonne, asked, “So, you two are serious?”

  Jo shook her head. “We’ve known each other for less than a week. I don’t have time for anything serious. I have a book to write, a house to take care of.” A life to keep together.

  “Hmm. That was a fast answer.”

  Jo’s face flushed. She was spared having to argue that she did not have feelings for Ben—a total lie—as Ben walked back into the room with the last of the soda bottles. “The dining room is back to normal. Nick says to tell you he’s going to bed.”

  “Good night, Nick,” Jo called into the hall.

  “’Night, Jo,” his reply came from the stairs.

  Jo finished with the sink, then searched for a dry towel for her hands. She kept one eye on Ben as he strode to the pantry. He’d changed into his own clothes, which included jeans tight enough to show off his assets. Here she’d just finished a gigantic dinner, and she was hungry already.

  “Careful, honey. You’ll get drool all over the nice, clean dishes.” Yvonne winked.

  “I was not drooling.” Much.

  Yvonne chuckled. “No harm in it. Anyone with eyes would drool at the sight of him. Ben’s always had sex appeal. If you ask me, that’s half his problem.”

  Interesting. “Oh?”

  “I’ve been in this business long enough to see that the people who ooze honey tend not to see how many flies they’ve attracted until they’re covered in them.”

  “That’s an…interesting metaphor.”

  “You’re a writer. I thought you’d appreciate it.” Yvonne grinned. She nodded to the pantry, keeping her voice low. “Our boy Ben may not be the villain everyone says he is, but he did dig himself a hole.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Everyone wanted to be his friend once his star shot into the sky, but he wasn’t as careful as I wish he would have been about picking which of those friends to stick with.”

  Ben walked back into the kitchen. “You’re talking about me, I know it.”

  “Of course we are, sweetheart,” Yvonne said without missing a beat.

  “What were you saying?” He attempted to coax an answer from her.

  Jo blinked, startled that she could see exactly what Yvonne was talking about. The spark in his eyes, the way he leaned toward her, even the way his shoulders were angled. He was trying to charm Yvonne into getting what he wanted.

  So what did he want from her? And why was she so eager to give it to him?

  “We were wondering what Charles said to you,” Yvonne went on, smooth as glass.

  Ben’s charming veneer dropped. He was instantly someone else. Jo blinked again. Everyone played parts once in a while, but this was uncanny. At least she was learning how to see Ben’s different masks now.

  “Nothing much,” he answered, honest—nervous, even. “He wanted to know if the rumors were true and if I was going to bring shame to the Second Chances family.”

  Yvonne blew out a breath. “I could have told him you wouldn’t do that.”

  “You could have?”

  Yep. There was a light of genuine affection in Ben’s eyes at Yvonne's comment. The friendship between the two of them went beyond whatever mistakes Yvonne had implied he’d made in the past. A fond grin pul
led at the corner of Jo’s mouth. Seems like her instinct to trust the woman was right.

  “Honey, you and I both know that when it comes to your real friends,” she sent a knowing look Jo’s way, “you’re wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

  “Or a fly?” Jo suggested, lips twitching.

  Yvonne broke into a smile so wide that Ben looked genuinely worried.

  “No, the flies he can hurt all he wants,” Yvonne answered.

  Jo chuckled. Man, it felt good to be on the inside of this tight circle.

  “Which brings up another issue.” Yvonne’s smile was gone. She folded the towel she’d been drying with and faced Ben fully. “You told Charles that you would never do anything to put Second Chances in jeopardy, I assume.”

  “I did.” Ben nodded slowly.

  Yvonne shrugged. “There’s your answer to everything, sweetheart. You have a perfectly good basket in front of you to put all your eggs into. Let Broadway do what it wants to do for now. Throw all of your effort into Second Chances. Screw them.”

  Not only did Ben not jump on board with Yvonne’s suggestion, his posture shifted to something downright hostile. “I spent more than twenty years working to get to where I was on Broadway. I’m not going to shrug it all off now.”

  Instead of facing his hostility, Yvonne turned to Jo. “What do you think?”

  “Me?” Jo’s brow rose. A Hollywood talent agent was asking for her opinion on the course of someone’s career.

  “Yes, you.” Yvonne nodded. “It’s always good to get an outsider’s opinion on this crazy world we sacrifice our souls to.”

  Jo bit her lip and studied Ben. Damn, he was hot. But hadn’t Yvonne just told her that that was the thing that had landed Ben in so much trouble in the first place? It was like deconstructing a character in a book who wasn’t quite falling into place. What was this man, aside from a smoking body that knew exactly what it was doing between the sheets?

  “Well, he is smart,” she answered both herself and Yvonne aloud.

  Ben’s wry grin was both flattered and wounded. “Thank you for that assessment.”

  “No, I mean it,” Jo assured him, holding out her hands. “You have to be smart to make it in any sort of creative business. Lord knows I know that.”

  “You do?” Yvonne asked.

  Jo shrugged. “It’s the same thing with writing. Talent is one thing, but the truly successful authors also have business savvy, an adventurous spirit.” Which was probably why she was struggling to keep her head above water now.

  What a crappy thought.

  “So, you think I should put all my effort into Second Chances too.” Ben saved her from the downward spiral her thoughts were pushing her toward.

  “Well, yeah.” She held her hands out in a gesture of surrender. “I met all your friends from the show tonight. They’re nice. They actually seem to care about you. I can’t say the same for these people down in New York. And I know you worked hard to get to the place you are on Broadway and that that was your dream,” she cut him off before he could speak over her. “But sometimes we need to build new dreams. My agent has been telling me the same thing.”

  He closed his half-opened mouth, then he lowered his head. His arms were still crossed in front of him, but all of a sudden, it looked like he was hugging himself for comfort. Good Lord, she’d broken him. That’s not what she’d been trying to do.

  “I don’t mean that you should give up on Broadway entirely.” She stepped forward, reaching for his arm and squeezing it, then shifting to lean against the table with him. “But Yvonne has a point. Do what’s working now, and maybe later Broadway will come to its senses and come after you.”

  “Is that how you intend to solve your own problems? By giving up what you know works and chasing after something new?”

  Jo tensed. Was that a cheap shot, or did he actually want to know?

  And if he really did want to know, how could she do anything but help him and reassure him and hold on without ever letting go?

  “Hey, if I can do it, you can do it,” she answered after too long a silence. The truth was, she didn’t want him to be some jerk who lashed out at people when he felt insecure. She wanted him to be good at heart, to be open to new ideas, open to her.

  She was a blind fool running headlong off a steep cliff.

  “Sorry,” he muttered at last, letting out a breath and dropping his arms so he could rub his face. “I shouldn’t let everything get to me so much. You’re right.” He glanced across the kitchen to Yvonne, who was watching the two of them with narrowed eyes. “You’re right. I should focus on what I have right now, not on what I may or may not have just lost.”

  He glanced to Jo once more, a soft smile forming on his lips that took her breath away.

  The pause that filled the kitchen went beyond the silence of no one talking.

  “I suppose I should figure out how to get into town so you can head up to bed.” Yvonne broke the silence.

  Jo’s throat went dry. She turned to Ben, brow lifted. His expression was more wistful than seductive, though.

  “Stop fishing, Yvonne.” Ben’s mask of dry humor was back. He pushed away from the table and from Jo. His face was tinted pink.

  “What?” Yvonne shrugged. “I wasn’t fishing. I was asking a simple question.”

  “I’ve trespassed on Jo’s hospitality long enough,” Ben said. “It’s about time I stop bothering her and find somewhere else to stay.”

  Cold panic shot through Jo’s gut so fast that she had to grip the table to steady herself. “You don’t have to leave and find someplace tonight.” She prayed that she sounded casual. “It’s too late for that, and you don’t have a car.”

  Ben’s mouth twitched up at the corners, but whether it was a smile or a wince was hard to tell. At least his eyes held warmth. He shifted his weight, as though he might come back to the table to sweep her into a kiss…or might dash for the kitchen door to flee into the woods. Talk about mixed signals. Did he want her or not?

  “In fact, why don’t you stay tonight too, Yvonne,” she rushed on before the undercurrents of the situation could float any closer to the surface. “Heaven knows we have enough rooms in the house.”

  “I noticed.” Yvonne leaned back and rested her hands against the counter behind her. “In fact, the house is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Really?”

  Even Ben seemed surprised by the comment.

  “All through dinner, ideas kept popping through my head,” Yvonne began, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “This house is perfect. It’s got character, scope. A lot of the furnishings are original, or at least antique, right?”

  “Yvonne,” Ben cautioned. He crossed his arms, the powerful director back in place. “Don’t overstep your bounds.”

  “I’m not overstepping anything.” Yvonne crossed to Jo’s side. “This house would make a perfect location shoot for Second Chances.”

  “Don’t disrupt Jo’s life any more than you already have,” Ben scolded. “She needs to be able to work. She’s a talented writer who needs to get books written.”

  “Sweetheart, why don’t you let Jo speak for herself?”

  Ben’s glance flickered away, and his jaw tightened.

  “It’s all right,” Jo reassured him. “What do you mean a location shoot?” she asked Yvonne.

  “Have you watched the show?”

  “Yeah, a few times.”

  “Then you know that each episode contains a flashback to sometime in the early or mid-twentieth century.”

  “Yeah.” Jo drew out the word.

  Yvonne held her hands up. “Exactly like this place. It’s big enough to get all of the equipment and crew in here too.”

  “Yvonne.”

  Yvonne held up her hand to silence Ben. “I’ve got enough pull with the producers to get them to come out and take a look at this place,” she went on. “Hell, Charles was telling me earlier that he thinks the place is outstanding. I c
an name half a dozen episodes that could start filming here as early as next week.”

  “Second Chances. Filming here?” Jo had never imagined anything like it.

  “Sure.” Yvonne shrugged. “It would be convenient for us, and profitable for you.”

  Ben frowned, but Jo said, “Profitable?”

  “Of course.” Yvonne smiled. “We have a sizable budget, now what we’re one of the top-rated shows on television. I’m sure we can come up with a figure that would be agreeable to compensate for your time and accommodation.”

  Tax forms swam in front of Jo’s eyes. And the bill for the tree company. Not to mention the improvements that needed to be made to the roof and the stonework on the north face. She glanced up at Ben. Uncertainty hung on his shoulders like an overlarge sweater. If Second Chances filmed at her house, he would be around. A lot. Which meant she could get to know him much, much better.

  Which meant he could become an even bigger distraction than he already was. Would she be able to get any writing done at all?

  But Ben would be there. They’d have time together to figure out whatever this was. And if stuff with Broadway got worse, she could be there to support him.

  “I’ll have to talk to Nick about it,” she said at last, letting out a heavy breath. “It’s his house as much as it is mine.”

  “After the way I saw your brother talking to Adelaide Townsend earlier, I’m pretty sure he’d be open to the idea.” Yvonne winked.

  Jo let out a breath, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “He probably would. I still need to talk to him, though.” And she would need to have a long, long talk with herself while she was at it. A talk about taking risks versus being a hormonally-charged idiot. A talk about meeting deadlines and breaking through writer’s block versus taking the easy way out.

  Still, if Ben was close for the next few weeks—months?—then maybe she could get to know the real him. Maybe she could get him out of her system.

  “Okay, I’ll definitely think about it,” she said, releasing the tension from her shoulders. She caught Ben trying to hide a smile. “But you have to promise me that you’ll stay here, at least for tonight. It’s too late for you to figure out how to do anything else right now.”