Chapter Seven
“SORRY, SAY THAT again?”
J.J. has ceased stacking glasses at the liquor station in the kitchen of my little cabin and is staring at me as if I’d just told her aliens had landed in the backyard. Her dark brown eyes are wide with shock. Her hair is pulled severely from her face, but the black ringlets burst from behind, which is like her: immaculate and disciplined but soft too. I continue organizing the charcuterie board like it’s no big deal because it isn’t.
“I asked him, and he said yes,” I say. “Do we have anymore brie? I’m sure I bought some…”
I start for the fridge, but she grabs my arm.
“Zachary Butler is coming to your birthday party. Is this what you’re telling me? Now ? When guests will be here in less than an hour?”
“It was a spur of the moment thing. He probably won’t show up anyway.”
J.J. puts her hands on her hips and gives me a you’re-in-trouble look. “And you didn’t think to tell me? When did you talk to him? What is even happening right now?”
I find the cheese in the fridge and start to unwrap it. “I didn’t say anything because…”
I have no good excuse. I should’ve told my best friend; why wouldn’t I tell my best friend? Any normal person would have mentioned a world-famous movie star was coming to their private party. But I’m not normal. As soon as I hit send on those texts to Zach, I felt ill. Like I overstepped a cosmic boundary and betrayed Josh. The text I received from Josh’s mom right after my invite to Zach couldn’t have been more telling.
Hello my sweet girl. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday! 26 years old. The time does fly. Josh would be so proud of you. I know I am. Xoxo
Carol Bennet’s text stacked itself on every other text from her over the past ten years. Reminders about Josh and how old he would have been. Appointments to visit his grave with her once a month. What we’d be doing if he were still alive. How happy he and I’d be together if only…
If only I’d insisted he stay with me and not cross that street.
If only I’d called out and warned him about that car.
If only I’d acted at all.
Side by side, the texts from Josh’s mom and Zach were like two different lives: one that I lived in and one stuck behind a locked door.
J.J. is waiting for an answer. “He doesn’t seem like a movie star to me,” I say. “We talked a bit at Covet ’s wrap and he’s just…a nice guy.”
My best friend’s eyes narrow. “You don’t hang out with nice guys. This is a first. But encouraging.”
“Please. Nothing is ever possibly going to happen between Zach and me,” I say. “And it doesn’t change the party. We take everyone’s phones anyway.”
It was party policy: guests surrender their phones as they arrive so that no one leaves the remote little cabin without a sobriety check. The second bedroom, couch, and floorspace are available for those who need it.
“Oh, except the guest bedroom is for Zach,” I say. “He’s got an early flight to Alaska. I told him he could crash here until his driver fetches him for the airport.”
“I thought you said it was ‘spur of the moment.’ Sounds pretty planned out to me.”
I shrug one shoulder. “He’s a huge star. There are logistics.”
J.J. purses her lips. “I’m kind of hurt, you know. I’m your best friend.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I just…wasn’t thinking. I should have told you.”
“There are lots of things you should tell me but don’t,” she says, her tone softening.
“Like what?” I ask, turning away to set out napkins.
“Josh. Is his mom still texting you?”
It takes all I have not to flinch, and not for the first time, I wonder if my friend is psychic. “Why wouldn’t she? We were practically family.”
“But you aren’t family.” J.J. leans across the small kitchen island to face me. “Ro, I’m not trying to give you a hard time on your birthday, but…” She pushes up the sleeves of her white cashmere sweater. “But I worry about you. You and your hook ups. It’s like you’re punishing yourself. And his mom texting you all the time? I don’t think it’s healthy.”
“She lost her son, J.J.,” I say. “What am I supposed to do? Tell her to fuck off?”
“No, but—”
“Just forget it. I’m doing fine.” I try for a dry smile. “I have the world’s biggest movie star coming to my birthday party.”
“Because he’s a nice guy who likes you and you like him,” J.J. says. “And you didn’t tell me because that would make it real.”
“That is not what’s happening here,” I say. “He’s famous. I’m nobody. And he probably won’t even show up…”
My words trail as a black sedan’s tires crunch over the gravel of the tiny driveway. Through the kitchen window, I watch as a man in a black suit gets out and opens the rear door. J.J. follows my gaze and breathes a curse under her breath as Zach Butler steps out. My breath catches too, for different reasons.
Zach’s hair is no longer styled in the dorky Boyd Shelton ‘do, but a lock of dark hair falls over his forehead. He’s grown stubble that defines his angular cheek bones even more than usual. I’d bet money he’s growing it out for his Alaska role. His clothes are simple jeans, a black button down, and a light jacket, but the cut of them is casually elegant and refined. In his arms is a bouquet of flowers—a wild riot of colors—and a bottle of wine. Zach says a few words to his driver, who nods and turns to go. Then Zach is walking up the front walk. My front walk.
“He probably won’t even show up,” J.J. mimics, and a nervous laugh bursts out of her. She socks my shoulder. “ Girl. ”
I can’t help but laugh too, glad that Lecture Time is over. “He’s cool, you’ll see.”
“Uh huh,” J.J. says as I head to the door. “Those flowers are for you. From Zachary freaking Butler.”
I make a face at her to keep it down, then open the door to Zach. “You came.”
“I said I would,” Zach says with a smile made more charming by the fact it’s genuine and not some movie star mask. “Happy birthday.”
He offers the flowers and leans in to kiss my cheek. I’m suddenly awash in the scents of him—cologne, new clothes, his own warm skin…everything that the chlorine in the hot tub had concealed from me. His warm lips touch me briefly, but the sudden tingle that shoots down my cheek, across my chest, and down my back takes me off guard.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, taking the flowers, then nod at the wine which is distinctly not a recent purchase at a local convenience store. “Or that.”
“As if I’d show up empty handed.”
Zach glances around my place, and I see the appreciation in his hazel eyes as he takes in the simple but homey furniture—wood pieces decorated with colorful throws, pillows, and embroidered cushions. Heavy ceiling beams and the mantle over the fireplace add to the rustic look, while I’ve added more modern decorative touches to the lighting fixtures and artwork. The living room is attached to the kitchen and opens to a backyard with recreational furniture, a fire pit, and colored lights strung overhead. The rest is forest where night is falling, turning the sky purple behind the treetops.
I lead Zach to the kitchen and set down the wine. “Zach Butler, this is Jess Jordan, my best friend and party-thrower.”
Zach extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jess.”
“You can call me J.J.,” she says, shaking his hand and maintaining strong eye contact. If you didn’t know her, you’d almost believe she wasn’t starstruck. I bite back a smile.
“J.J. it is,” Zach says. “I know I’m early. There’s nothing worse, right? But I didn’t want to make an entrance. When the guests arrive, I’ll just be part of the scenery.”
“Right,” she says, deadpan. “You’ll fade into the background. No one will even notice.”
Zach grins and glances around the kitchen. “Can I make myself useful?”
“Sure…” J.J. says and puts the world-famous megastar to work.
I find a vase for the flowers while J.J. instructs Zach on whatever’s left to do. The two of them chat amiably. Once, J.J. shoots me a furtive wow look but she settles into Zach’s presence quickly enough. He makes it so easy. I feel like I should be nervous or self-conscious too, but I’m strangely calm. Almost peaceful. As if the permanent electrical storm in my chest has decided to take five.
Party prep over, I fix the three of us the first drinks of the evening—a strawberry infused gin cocktail with lime juice and basil syrup. My specialty.
“Holy shit, this is good,” Zach says. “What’s it called?”
“Thai gimlet,” I say.
“It’s too good,” J.J. agrees. “You’re going to be making this all night instead of enjoying your party.”
I nearly tell her I didn’t want a party in the first place. I don’t like being the center of attention, but J.J.’s worked really hard and—for reasons I’m still unclear on—cares about me. I shoot her an appreciative smile.
“Save me from having to make small talk,” I say and turn to Zach. “Care to see your lodgings?”
“I’m all yours.”
I steadfastly ignore that J.J. is shooting sparks at me with her eyes and show Zach the rest of the little cabin.
“One bathroom here,” I say, then nod down the hall. “My room there. Your room here.”
I open the door to the tiny second bedroom that has a bed, side table, and is mostly filled with my childhood stuff. Sketchpads, notebooks, bolts of fabric, and my old sewing machine clog most of the space.
“Like I said, it’s not the Four Seasons.”
Zach scans the room with curiosity. “Doesn’t need to be. Just a place to rest my head for a few hours.” He nods at the fabric and machine. “Who’s the seamstress? Or…sew person?”
“Oh, no one. This is nothing. Just…stuff from my parents’ house,” I say. “My mom died a few years ago so it all came to me.”
Another lie. I’m on a roll. My mom did pass—her liver, having begged for mercy for years, finally called it quits—but the sewing stuff is all mine. Like relics of a past life.
Zach’s eyes are soft and full of compassion. “I’m sorry about your mom, Rowan.”
“Thanks.”
He moves to a drafting table, and before I can stop him, he’s picking up an open sketchpad. One of my drawings of costumes —this one a steampunk movie that only exists in my imagination—on top.
“Holy shit,” he says. “This you?”
“No, uh…no.”
He arches a brow and taps the initials RW on the bottom right corner. “You sure?”
“Okay, yes, it’s mine. But it’s from a long time ago. It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” He flips a page. “These are amazing. I can only draw stick figures…” Zach drags his gaze to me, then glances around the room. “This is all you, isn’t it?”
“It’s nothing,” I say again. “Just a hobby.”
“Why did you stop?”
I have no way to answer. How he even knew I’d quit… It’s like Zach has a window right into the center of me and if I’m not careful, he’ll see all the dark parts I keep hidden away.
I shrug one shoulder. “It was a thing I did but don’t anymore.”
It must be all over my face to let it drop because Zach sets the sketchpad down. He steps out of the room, and I shut the door.
“So…,” I say, heaving a breath. “People will be here any minute. Prepare to be ogled.”
“Prepare? It’s why I got into show biz.”
“Yeah, that’s you. All ego,” I say, and I can because it’s so blatantly untrue. I cross my arms and lean against the wall. “So, can I ask what is going to sound like a super rude question?”
“Shoot.”
“Why are you here?”
He smiles with furrowed brows. “You invited me?”
“Do you always attend parties thrown by nobodies?”
“There’s that word again. I told you, you’re not a nobody.” His voice lowers. “And no, I don’t.”
The look in his eyes sends a rush of blood to my cheeks and steals any words out of my mouth.
“I know, I know,” he says. “My personal life is the seventh ring of hell, and you’re seeing someone.”
For a second, I have no idea what he’s talking about until I remember I’d characterized my tawdry hookups with Clay as “seeing someone.”
“Yep,” I say. “Sounds about right.”
“But…” Zach runs a hand through his hair. “I like being around you, Rowan. Plain and simple.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Not sure what I should do with that.”
“Me neither. Felt like being honest.”
The moment grows thick, and I feel like the solid ground beneath my feet is giving way to something else. My life has been the same dull movie on repeat: work, not work, hook up with strangers. Suddenly, the script has been flipped and now Zachary Butler is in my hallway, and I have no earthly idea what is going to happen next.
The doorbell rings, and J.J. yells that she’ll get it. Zach smiles crookedly, not yet moving out of the hallway. Not yet giving me up to other people. He’s wearing the same expression he had the night in the hot tub when I got buzzed by a moth.
We had a moment, didn’t we?
I swallow hard and chuck him lightly on the shoulder. Just pals.
“Another Thai gimlet? Before a line forms?”
His smile slips a little. “Sure.”
“On it,” I say and then haul myself out of his atmosphere before I get trapped in his orbit.