The Holly Hearth Romantic Comedy Collection

by K B Cinder

I dropped the whisk against the side of the bowl, its metal handle clanking off the rim. “So you knew who I was when I showed up for an interview?”

  “Obviously.” She cut another blondie from the pan before plating it carefully, the woman a natural when it came to eating with your eyes. I envied her skills.

  “And you were fine with that?”

  She scooped a generous heap of the banana mixture on top of the blondie before adding a dusting of powdered sugar. “Why wouldn’t I be? They said you left the guy, and after that season of face-sucking, I assumed it was because he was an ass. And the way you chopped those bananas? God good.”

  “You knew who he was when he showed up here!” Oh, I didn’t know if I wanted to hug or pinch her.

  “Duh.” She moved both plates of banana confection to a tray.

  The timer went off on the oven, so I grabbed a pair of mitts to rescue the spanakopita and our ears from the shrieking buzzer.

  “And you still let me go out there?” She was unbelievable. What if things had gone differently? What if I started screaming at him like a raving lunatic?

  Her laughter echoed off the metal cabinets. “Honey, the man was looking for you like a man after his favorite jeans. The worn-in comfy ones. He wasn’t looking to hurt you. He was looking to keep you.”

  * * *

  After work, Theron and I had takeout at home, not wanting to try our luck at blending into the crowd again. So far that weekend, only two people had recognized him, but a quick autograph sent them away before they drew too much attention. According to him, that was a record-low number, and I didn’t want to tempt fate more and risk ruining our good fortune.

  Besides, I didn’t mind eating in.

  The food from the Haitian place on Marks Avenue was phenomenal, and it was nice not having to worry about getting dressed up after work. A lack of a bra made anything better. Well, everything but jumping jacks.

  Theron didn’t get dressed at all after taking a very naked nap, and I loved having dinner with a view.

  So much so that we shared an appreciation of the sites together, and I climbed his peak twice before it time to leave for the airport.

  “I can’t wait for filming to be over.”

  I eyed him as he stared blankly ahead at I-95, his eyes dead-tired despite his earlier nap. He hadn’t shaved all weekend, and a permanent stubble darkened his jaw, but it didn’t hide how hard he was clenching it.

  I squeezed his knee before returning my hands to grip the wheel, not trusting my one-handed driving skills on one of the busiest roadways in the tri-state area. “Try to have fun with it.”

  Filming the Fix Up sucked, but it was a reality show. Sinners had all sorts of cool stuff—special effects, stunts, sexy times. Ok, maybe on-screen sexiness wasn’t my favorite for him, but the other stuff sounded awesome.

  “Easier said than done,” he breathed, massaging his temple lightly. “This new director wants my balls on his mantle.”

  I eased onto the airport loop, holding my breath as a bus got a little close for comfort. I could practically taste its tires as it passed. “To be fair, most women and a hell of a lot of guys want your balls on their face.”

  He didn’t laugh or even crack a smile, his departure looming like a storm cloud.

  “It’ll be next weekend before you know it,” I affirmed. “And I’ll be picking you up again.”

  We’d agreed he’d visit when he could, and he’d already bought a ticket for a Friday night flight. Once I wrapped up graduation that Saturday and had a more fixed schedule at Agatha, I’d be able to come to him too to switch things up. The distance wouldn’t be so bad.

  “I don’t want to do another season.”

  I let his words hang out there to dry, hoping he’d pull them back in, but he didn’t.

  “Of Sinners?” I asked, hoping he was talking about something else. Not only because it was my favorite show, and I was unapologetically selfish about seeing it end, but because Sinners was his world. It had been for over a decade.

  “I want out of TNK.” His voice didn’t waver as he looked away from the distance finally and to me. “I need time away from it all.”

  “Ther,” I breathed, flipping on my turn signal to park in front of departures. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s one bad director. You’ve done the show for eleven years, and…”

  “I’m positive.” He unlatched his seatbelt and turned his body toward me, his shoulders blocking out the packed sidewalk in front of the terminal. “This is the first time I could breathe in months. The last time was when we were together at my place between shoots on the Fix Up.”

  “You’re quitting for me?” I didn’t mean to, but it came out as more of a high-pitched owl screech than a question.

  Oh, no. No. No. No. No. NO. I would not go down as a Yoko.

  His eyes held mine, and in them, I found peace. That wiry, feral bounce was gone. “For us. We’ll both be happier, and I’ll have more time, and we can work on a restaurant for you.”

  A restaurant. As much as the thought made my heart swell, I couldn’t accept something like that. I needed to earn and build one myself. Part of the joy of business ownership was the mountain of work you put in to get there.

  I ran the back of my hand over his face gently. “It’s been a great weekend, babe.” Scratch that, amazing. “Let’s not get too crazy, okay?”

  He stiffened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I don’t want you doing anything sudden because you had a nice time here. Escaping your day-to-day life can make all sorts of grass look greener. Even weeds. Try not to dwell on here when you’re there. I’m sure there are some people on set that you’ll click with, and you have Vince.” His father. I still couldn’t get over that one.

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” he muttered with a slow shake of his head. “Actually, I lied. I was certain that I loved you. Probably from the first time I saw you.”

  I swatted his chest. “Alright, Casanova. You have a flight to catch. I don’t want you to use up all your charm just in case they accidentally stick you in coach near a bathroom.”

  He grinned and leaned into me, his cologne folding me in an embrace. “I love you.” His lips fluttered over mine. “I’ll see you again Friday, love.”

  “Promise?”

  He kissed me again. “Promise.”

  18

  Theron

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Chase stared at me wide-eyed and sweaty, the Louisiana heat saturating the director’s hair and steaming up his Harry Potter-esque glasses. “You skip town and fly off to who-fucking-knows-where in the middle of filming like it’s nothing!”

  “I asked for the weekend off,” I pointed out calmly. And I was back on time. Early, actually. I didn’t have a set time until the next Monday morning at eight. “And I’ll need next weekend off too. Plans.”

  Chase’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. “Absolutely fucking not! Are you insane? What do you think this is, the Hotel California?”

  Vince hovered feet away, leaning against the counter of Chase’s luxury trailer. The quartz finish looked remarkably similar to the accommodations they had promised me when I signed on for the season. Interesting.

  I folded my arms over my chest, too tired to be having this heated of an argument. The flight itself took three hours, and then the cab ride to the middle of fucking nowhere took another two. Regardless of what continental US time zone my ass was in, it was past fucking midnight. “Nope, but apparently you do.”

  Chase ripped his glasses from his face, slamming them on the table between us. “How the fuck do I? I’m here every day! I show up, do my fucking job, and I perform!”

  I did, too. I was a trained performer. But exhaustion kept the combativeness in me contained.

  “You can never leave,” I sang, transforming the red-faced director into a shade of maroon darker than a baboon’s ass.

  “This is ridiculous. I�
��ve had it. I’ve had enough. I can’t work under these conditions.” He was sputtering, his British accent reduced to a strange, choppy Midwestern one.

  “Because I won’t let you climb inside my asshole and plant a fucking tracker?” I asked. “I’ve never missed a shoot on set. I’ve never been late, either. You’re the one losing your fucking mind over nothing. Fuck, I can’t work under these conditions.”

  If there weren’t over three-hundred people on set depending on me for a job, I would’ve already bolted. I’d finish the season and figure the rest out later.

  Chase held out a trembling finger, the digit glistening with sweat. “You are on a self-destruct course that I can’t fix! No one can!” He eyed Vince with that last chunk of unsolicited advice. “You’re one of those arrogant pricks that missed his shot at joining the 27 Club.”

  Having a sweaty, possibly mentally unstable man wish death upon me should’ve scared me, but I laughed instead. “Thanks. Nice to know where you stand, chap.”

  I slid from behind the table that—like the counter—strongly resembled the amenities I’d selected. The one in my trailer squeaked and smelled like cheese.

  “That’s too good for you. I want you ruined. I never want to see you or that miserable gimp you tote around again.”

  “It was lovely to see you again, too,” I cheered, crossing to stand between him and Vince before the so-called gimp got slap-happy. “But, really, I must get to bed. Early start, right?”

  A week earlier, I would’ve put him through a wall for those comments. But a week earlier, I’d had a lot less to lose.

  If I ever wanted to get out of hell and have a shot at heaven, I needed to play my cards right.

  * * *

  “You’re going to let him talk to you like that?” Vince raged, following behind as I headed to my trailer.

  He slipped on the dew-slick grass in his haste, his bum knee making a mockery of his lumbering frame.

  I caught him before he fell, steadying him the best I could using every inch of strength I had. The fucker had at least a hundred pounds on me, but the gravel base beneath my boots held firm, giving me leverage.

  He was just as surprised as I was that I rescued him for a change, and the laugh bubbling out of him showed it.

  I made sure he was standing in the gravel before letting go of his elbow. “Chase is just a pawn on the chessboard. I’ll get nowhere going after him.”

  “Pawns are underestimated,” he groused. “And he’s your director. Hardly a pawn.”

  “Listen Pops, compared to the Queen, he’s nothing.” I continued along, my body slack with fatigue. Somehow what had felt like a job-well-done tired in New Jersey felt like borderline paralysis on set.

  Vince stopped, the heavy crunch of gravel ceasing. “What did you call me?”

  “Vince.” I kept walking to the weathered trailer in the distance, my digs stationed between hair and makeup and the medical unit. Fitting.

  “No, you definitely called me Pops.” He let out a low, rumbling laugh. “You haven’t called me that since you were thirteen.”

  I rubbed at my face to keep from smiling. It didn’t feel like a slip-up. It felt right. “Would you rather I call you asshole?”

  “Poppa Asshole sounds good to me.”

  “I don’t know…” I trailed, continuing the slog along through the red gravel that stained everything it touched. “That sounds a little Smurfy. But Pops Asshole sounds like Pop’s Asshole, and I don’t think you’d like that.”

  “You’re a crazy son of a bitch,” he muttered.

  That I was.

  * * *

  I woke up before my alarm after a night of tossing and turning. My queen-sized catastrophe of a mattress would be better suited as kindling, so I slept on the raggedy couch in the living area.

  The sliver of starched cushion was the lesser of two evils, but it still left me with an unsavory kink in my step that hinted at rough backdoor play.

  I showered in the trailer’s narrow stall and shaved before heading to hair and makeup. At least the day’s schedule called for light effects with little fuss. I hated rotting away in a chair.

  I was still waiting for some asshole to demand I lop my hair off for the usual suave Sinner look, but so far, everyone embraced the haggard look. Lita included.

  Vince wasn’t waiting outside my trailer, but I had a feeling that had a lot to do with Chase’s outburst the night before. If I knew my father, he was likely on the phone with half of TNK trying to have the fucker fired. He’d always been one of those parents that raged at the teacher rather than his kid, though in this instance, I really was innocent for a change.

  I climbed the rickety stairs into the hair and makeup trailer and pulled the door wide before coming face-to-face with God’s answer to unwanted erections again.

  “Nice to see you,” Umi cawed as she sat perched in an unused makeup chair.

  What the fuck? I never thought I’d see her again.

  Every corner of my body screamed to find holy water to douse her in, but I stuffed my hands in my pockets instead. “Why are you here?”

  She pouted dramatically. “No hello for an old friend?”

  “I’ve had viruses I’ve been sadder to see go,” I said with a shrug. “Including a norovirus where I shit water for a week.”

  Her nose scrunched in disgust. “I see you’re as charming as always.”

  I looked around the room, finding no one. The place should’ve been buzzing with staff and actors. The scene had Georgia written all over it.

  “Why are you here?” I repeated.

  “Well, as it so happens, they needed bigger production guns. It seems that our star is out of control. He’s leaving the state during filming! Can you believe it?”

  “I had permission,” I ground out. “From Chase. The director.”

  She pulled her ever-present clipboard back and snaked a paper from its jaws that she spun to face me. “Not to go to fucking New Jersey, Slater.”

  The paper was actually a photo, one taken when Lita and I were having breakfast at the diner. We were laughing, with Lita’s eyes wide and hand smacking the table at something I’d said.

  Fucking parasites. I hadn’t spied anyone taking pictures. It was nice to feel normal for a change and less like a zoo animal.

  “Why does it matter where I go? It’s my free time.” As long as I wasn’t running naked down Rodeo Drive, my time was my business.

  “You’re embarrassing us; that’s why!”

  “So let me get this straight: Chase can dip his dick in the local honey pots and is seen as a pillar of the set, but I fly to New Jersey to see my girlfriend, and I’m the embarrassment?”

  We hadn’t discussed it, but Lita held the girlfriend title in my eyes. She was more than that, but I wouldn’t discuss that with Umi. She didn’t deserve to know anything about her.

  “Chase wasn’t on a dating show with the star of our next big hit! You’re stealing Staci’s thunder!”

  “Oh god.” I couldn’t hold in the eye roll. “I’m not doing anything wrong. You didn’t even show me picking the girl like you wanted. I’m not stealing any thunder.”

  Umi leveled a drop dead look at me. “You aren’t leaving this set for the next four weeks.”

  “Bull-fucking-shit.” They didn’t own me.

  She lifted a brow. “Try me, Slater.”

  “What are you going to do, Umi?” I laughed. “Indulge me, please. I’d love to know how you’re going to make my life a living hell more than you already have.”

  “I control all the footage from the Fix Up,” she said with a sigh. “It’d be a shame if some compromising footage of your little girlfriend fell into the wrong hands.”

  19

  Talita

  The week dragged on without Theron, and the long days on set made his texts and calls sporadic at best. I knew he was filming, but I part of me couldn’t help but feel a little neglected.

  I’d tried sending a few sexy pictures to stir up
some fun. Nothing too scandalous. Just a little skin here and there. But he didn’t bite. He changed the subject entirely, actually.

  By the time Friday came, I was less than confident as I waited in arrivals at the airport. Rather than wait outside, I’d parked in the parking garage and headed inside, bringing along a handwritten posterboard sign and a clutch of blue balloons that matched his balls after our days apart.

  We couldn’t do much to rectify that other than a quickie when we got home. His flight landed at eleven, and I had to be up early to get ready for graduation. I still needed a shower, too. I smelled like sugar and cheese after a shift at the restaurant.

  Helen was spending more time in the kitchen, with two servers joining the crew so she could focus on the back rather than the front of the restaurant. I appreciated the company, too. The dishwasher was nice and all, but outside of Pokemon, the guy didn’t really offer much conversation.

  I waited under the arrivals sign and almost started cheering with excitement when his flight’s arrival flashed over the screen.

  The bodies came trickling in slowly but surely, with mainly basketball players from a college tournament making up the passenger list.

  One by one the giants filed through the doorway, but Slater wasn’t among them.

  Maybe they’d forced him to deplane last to avoid a kerfuffle. I’d never flown with a celebrity, so it was a possibility. The poor guy deserved to deplane in peace.

  Panic set in when the flight attendants came with their wheelie bags, one already slipping out of her starched jacket for the evening.

  “Excuse me!” I called, not caring how ridiculous I looked as I ran over with a sign and a collection of balloons tied to my wrist.

  “Yes?” Of course the grumpier one replied, her resting bitch face rivaling mine in the morning.

  “My… boyfriend is supposed to be on this flight. I don’t see him.”

  I didn’t know what to call him. We didn’t discuss labels. Hell, I didn’t even tell him I loved him back, even though I did. The timing didn’t feel right. Life was a treadmill on level ten at the moment, and I just wanted to catch my breath.