Love You Always (Buttercup Hill #5)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

E lla

“He lifted the hem of my skirt so I wouldn’t trip,” I say, arms akimbo, as though this reveals the meaning of the universe.

Tatum, my college best friend, turns from where she’s aiming a watering can at some wilting petunias and squints at me. “What?”

I gesture at the area near my feet where a long skirt would be if I wasn’t sitting in a deck chair wearing sweatpants and fuzzy boots. Tatum continues watering the plants on the redwood patio that stretches the length of her house in the hills. One of the best things about leaving LA for the Bay Area is that I get to spend more time with Tatum. I’ve been splitting my time between Callum’s house in San Francisco and Tatum’s house drinking coffee or wine, playing with her adorable four-year-old twins, and enjoying the panoramic view. It’s also an easier drive to Napa from here .

“He lifted my hem,” I say again, pushing my glasses back onto the bridge of my nose.

“Was he being pervy?”

“No! He noticed me stepping down a couple of stairs and just…lifted the hem a couple inches from the ground so I didn’t step on it. Didn’t say anything, didn’t make a whole gesture out of it. He just…did it. Like breathing.”

“That’s maybe the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It wasn’t hot. It was just…kind.” As I say the word it surprises me because all my impressions of Archer Corbett involved words like crabby, arrogant, and gruff. But looking out to make sure I didn’t trip was kind. Underneath the grumpy exterior, I think Archer Corbett is a kind human being, and that makes me want to crack a tiny bit of his facade to see more of it.

She puts the watering can down and comes to sit next to me on her own chair, tilting the back to recline.

“Can mine do that?”

She nods, reaching over to help me adjust my chair. Now we both sit at identical angles, looking out at the sun setting over the bay. “Now tell me, was that hot? Me adjusting your chair?”

“No, but that’s a weird question.”

“I’m only making a comparison. Lifting the hem of your skirt so you don’t trip…like breathing…? It’s like my regency romance novel where everyone is extending a hand and waltzing and making romantic gestures all over the place.”

“You and your romance novels. I don’t know how you have so much time to read with your schedule.”

“I’m all audiobook these days.”

“Still.”

“While I drive. I have a commute, remember?”

Tatum works for Vivitech, a billion-dollar tech company in Silicon Valley that makes cutting edge virtual reality games, among other things. It’s how she met her husband, Donovan Taylor, a pro soccer star who plays for the San Francisco Strikers. Tatum is a computer programmer and was in charge of building a virtual reality soccer game with Donovan as the star, and let’s just say he was not a fan of the project. But he was a big fan of her. The rest is history.

“I know. I’m not judging. I should take a few romance novel recs from you. I could use a little vicarious romantic thrill.”

Tatum sits up in her chair and swivels around to face me. “Wait, what? This, from the woman engaged to sexy Callum Haywood, country music’s biggest heartthrob?” She hops up from her chair and goes to the rail of the deck, looking all around with exaggerated dramatic gestures. “Okay, coast is clear. No social media stalkers. What’s going on with you and Callum? Tell me everything.”

Before she sits back down, Tatum goes over to a storage bench in a corner and lifts the lid. She pulls out a silver case and drags a table over, nestling it between our chairs.

I shake my head. “Uh-uh, nope. If you want me to talk, don’t you dare pull out those mah jong tiles.”

“Oh, come on. We haven’t played doubles in forever, and it’ll take that squinch out of your forehead if you’re distracted hoarding jokers while you tell me about your love life.”

I reach up and rub the space between my brows, knowing it’s been creased since I left Buttercup Hill. “It’s silly. I know I’m being overly sensitive…”

“Spill.” Tatum opens the metal case and hands me two racks and dumps the tiles onto the table between us. I join her in flipping them over to their blank side, which has a pink glitter facade that catches the fading sunlight.

“In the year I’ve been with Callum, he’s never anticipated something I’d need—a hug, a foot massage, a grilled cheese sandwich after a long day on set.”

“Ooh, the grilled cheese sixth sense is key. Donno gets that, and I have to say our relationship wouldn’t be what it is without each of us knowing when the other one needs comfort food. ”

I nod. “Exactly. Except that Callum is tone-deaf when it comes to the little things.”

“Like noticing the hem of your skirt. Noticing when you’re about to trip, like breathing,” she says. I feel like the skirt hem will be our future barometer for romance, and it irritates me a little bit to associate it with the crabby guy who clearly thinks I’m a diva. But I’ll get over it.

“And I know our relationship is just for show, but sometimes…I still wish for the real thing.” I shrug, smiling at the idea of someone being so in tune with my movements that my steps are his steps. “Maybe I do want someone who notices, and it wasn’t until Archer did what he did that I realized it. Go figure, the biggest grump on the planet causes an epiphany about kindness.”

“Or maybe it’s just him. Maybe you like the grump.”

I let out a long breath. “No. I like that he did something nice without looking for acknowledgement. Or without wanting anything in return.”

“Those are admirable traits. Does that mean you’re having second thoughts about the fake relationship?”

“No, no. It’s the right thing to do. I’ve finally cleared a path to adoption. I’m not backing out now. I’m just pining over something silly.”

“Doesn’t sound silly to me.” Tatum goes to the fridge nestled next to a built-in barbecue and counter space that rivals a high-end kitchen. Pulling out a half-full bottle of rosé, she snags two plastic glasses and comes back to her chair. She pours us each a glass and lifts hers to the light, letting the sun flame up the pink liquid into a deep amber. “This seems like a conversation that would go better with wine.”

I take a sip from my glass, and it immediately takes me back to Buttercup Hill and my appointment with Archer Corbett in a few days. A small thrill courses through me, sizzling in my veins and racing straight to my center. My eyes shoot to Tatum, fearful that she notices, but she’s moving the tiles around on her two boards.

“I’m engaged. I’m getting married,” I say, reminding my body more than I’m explaining to Tatum.

Tatum sips her wine thoughtfully. “Yeah. Famous last words from people who fell head over heels for someone else.”

“Why are you pushing so hard for this guy? You don’t even know him, and believe me, if you did, you’d push the other way. He’s irritable and he thinks I’m an annoying wedding client he has to appease.”

“I doubt he thinks that.”

“Oh, he basically said as much.”

She tosses a tile from her board to start the game. “Three bam.”

Having ignored my tiles, I start to rearrange them on my two boards. “Hold on. I’m not ready.” Tatum taps a finger against her wineglass, impatient to use her crazy sharp memory to block my every move.

“He met you. No one thinks those things once they know you. Even grouchy guys.”

“People see what they want to see, and I haven’t exactly helped my cause by dating so many people and never having it work out.” I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them, hating that my reputation is cemented in the minds of most people based on a few bad choices.

Okay, maybe more than a few.

“Why did I keep thinking that guys wanted to be with me, Ella, the goofball actress who loves the craft and the deep, nerdy dives into characters, when they really just wanted Ella, the famous person?”

“Because you were a starry-eyed optimist and that’s a beautiful thing.”

“Yeah, and you know what happens to optimists? They start to believe in the fairy tale—the one with the guy who makes me swoon and fall head over heels. And maybe it doesn’t exist. At least I knew enough to cut ties and move on, but then I ended up with the ruined reputation as a girl who can’t keep a man? I mean, it’s so sexist. Hot, famous men who sleep around are revered like gods, and women get ‘reputations.’”

She gestures at my two boards. “Are you going to play or what?”

Growling at her insistence, I pick a tile from the wall and discard it just as quickly. “Five dot.” I watch the wheels turn in Tatum’s head, already thinking about what hands I might have based on one discard. If I didn’t love her so much, she’d annoy me.

“Your reputation isn’t ruined. It’s just…in need of settling down. And people need to stop judging you. You haven’t done anything wrong, but society and the media are hard on women. Try to ignore it and focus on what you want. Didn’t your lawyer say things look good for the adoption process?”

“Yes, now that I’m engaged, I’m off the naughty list. And at least I know what I’m getting with Callum. It’s not love, but he needs this marriage to work as much as I do, so he’s committed. And I filled out the applications in to adopt.” I can’t suppress a smile at the idea of raising a child.

“Hey, troublemakers,” Donovan’s voice booms from inside the house, peppered by the jumbled shouts of Lucy and Dennis, the twins. They’re tumbling out the door and climbing on Tatum’s lap before she has a chance to move her mah jong racks out of the way.

Tiles clatter to the wood deck, and Tatum pushes the racks aside to hug her kids tight. A second later, they’re running back into the house, and Donovan peeks through the open sliding door. He grimaces when he sees the mess of tiles and shoves his hands into the pockets of his Strikers sweatpants.

“Sorry. Couldn’t hold them back.”

“It’s really okay,” I tell him, scooping my tiles into the carrying case. “Your wife is making me play a double hand of a game I don’t like and answer personal questions at the same time. Trust me, I’d have knocked her board over myself if the kids hadn’t come in.”

“Only because I was winning.” Tatum’s smug smile would annoy me if she wasn’t correct. Plus, I love her like family.

Tatum tips her face up for Donovan to kiss, each of them smiling like newlyweds. I feel a tiny pang in my heart, sadness at the idea that marrying Callum will mean giving up on the fairy tale. I take a sip of wine and try to push away the thought, telling myself I just need a relationship that will allow me to live my life and adopt a baby. I need to stop thinking about men who notice details and perform small gestures without a second thought. I need to stop thinking about Archer Corbett.

And just as soon as I finish telling myself that, I picture myself with Archer—just for a moment, a blip, barely a second. But it’s enough. Enough to make me hold out a tiny shred of hope for the sweet gestures. And for love.

I still want it all.