Chapter Eight
J.J. WAS RIGHT: for most of the night, I’m stuck behind the kitchen counter, making cocktails, which is perfectly fine with me. I can watch Zach from a safe distance. He moves easily through the house, chatting amiably with my friends, most of whom handle the fact he’s here with surprising chill. I receive a lot of “we’re going to talk later” looks, but so far everyone’s been cool. With one exception.
“Zachary Butler at your party. Happy birthday to you ,” Dana Hodges says loudly over the music from my little sound system, where Hozier is playing. She leans over the counter, a gimlet in one hand, a knowing smirk on her face.
“Can I help you, Dana?” I ask, glancing around to make sure Zach didn’t hear her, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“How in the world did you pull that off?” she asks.
“I asked. He came.”
“Uh huh,” she says with an annoyingly pointed look. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great. It’s about time you started cashing in your job benefits.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, giving the cocktail shaker a shake.
“You work in Hollywood,” Dana says as if I’m stupid. “Up close and personal with the stars?”
“I’m a professional. I keep my distance.”
I realize how dumb that sounds, given the circumstances, and Dana doesn’t miss it.
“Sure, you do.” She takes another pull from her glass. Her second cocktail. I make a mental note to cut her off, so she doesn’t end up crashing on my couch.
“So, what have you been up to?” I ask, cutting lemon twists. “It’s been a while.”
“Don’t change the subject.” Dana leans in conspiratorially. “The Academy Awards are coming up.”
“So?”
I spot J.J. from across the room, standing with some people and her boyfriend of three years, Edison. I shoot her an I’m-in-hell look. She replies with a mildly chastising I-told-you-so glance and holds up her finger to let me know my rescue will not be immediate.
“So…” Dana is saying. “Zach and Eva are kaput. He’ll need a date, right?”
I set down my knife and lemon. “Let’s cool it with the gossipy bullshit, shall we?”
“I just think your timing is interesting.”
“My timing…? If you have something to say, Dana, then say it.”
“I’m saying it.” She laughs. “You invite him to your party; he returns the favor and voila! One ticket to the Oscars red carpet.”
“Hardly. I didn’t invite him here to weasel my way into any awards show.” I go back to slicing lemon. “I invited him because he’s a good guy and I like talking to him. I don’t even consider him famous. Or at least, that’s not the first thing I consider.”
“Uh huh.”
I ignore Dana's condescension. “It’s not. I see…”
Him. I see him.
“I see a regular guy who happens to have an incredible job.”
Dana rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. And I suppose it’s skipped your attention how unbelievably hot he is?”
I keep my eyes on my work. “I’m human. I have eyes. And anyway, if he doesn’t have a date to the Oscars, he should take his mother. She gave him life. Seems a fair trade.”
“You’re not the least bit interested?”
“Nope.”
“Whatever you say, Ro.” Dana rolls her eyes again and peels herself off the counter. She finishes her cocktail and sets the glass down expectantly.
“Sorry,” I say, smiling brightly. “Two drink maximum.”
Dana sniffs and moves away just as J.J. arrives. Finally.
“I’m questioning my life choices,” I say.
“I’ll bet.” She watches Dana insert herself into a group of people and laugh loudly. “What happened to her? I vaguely remember her being cool.”
“That ship has sailed.” I shrug. “But maybe she can’t help it. What’s that saying? ‘Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.’”
“I’ve heard that one.” I feel J.J.’s pointed stare, but she lets it go. “Where is our resident movie star?”
“Haven’t seen him lately.”
“That’s because you’re trapped behind the bar. Go.” She shoos me away from the counter. “Go hang with our friends. I got this.”
Our friends, she says. I know most of these people because they’re friends with J.J. through her university. Somehow, they’ve stuck to me a little too. I give her a peck on the cheek and make my way through the small groups, thanking everyone for coming and making sure they’re having an adequate time.
“Rowan, Rowan, Rowan,” says a friend, Amy, with a knowing look. She gestures around the room and says in a sing-song manner. “One of these guests is not like the others…”
“Yeah, Ro, what gives?” another friend, Brandon, asks from the floor at Amy’s feet. “Zach Butler? Quite the party surprise.”
Before I can answer, J.J. is in the kitchen, tapping a fork to a glass. “Gather ‘round everyone. Time to sing to the birthday girl.”
The bizarre sensation of cringing while feeling touched at the exact same time twists up my insides as J.J. and our friend Jaime bring out trays of gourmet cupcakes. One on J.J.’s tray has a lit candle. The guests all gather around where I’m standing and sing “Happy Birthday.” I finally spot Zach hanging back by the fireplace. He raises a glass to me and shoots me a smile. I quickly look away.
J.J. hands me the candle cupcake. “Make a wish.”
The candle flame is warm and yellow in the dying light of the evening. A small voice inside wants that wish. It wants to look at the handsome guy across the room and smile back, and open locked doors, and take up sketchpads, and delete toxic dating apps, and do it all without feeling like I’m getting away with a terrible crime. But I can’t.
Josh never made it to twenty-six. He didn’t even make it to sixteen.
I blow out the candle with a quick puff and the group bursts into applause.
“What did you wish for?” Dana asks loudly and looks meaningfully to Zachary. “Or has it already come true?”
“No one says their wishes out loud, Dana ,” J.J. says harshly and raises her cupcake. “To this woman, my friend, who has more depth, more love, and more talent in her then she’ll ever tell you, never mind celebrate.”
A lump forms in my throat. Damn you, Jess.
My friend smiles, her gaze warm. “But I think she’s worth celebrating. Happy birthday, Rowan. Love you, girl.”
The group toasts me with their cupcakes, and I shake my head at J.J. before giving her a hug. “You’re too much.”
“Happy twenty-six, babe.”
Everyone starts to get down to business with their cupcakes and there is a lull in the conversations.
Dana plops down on the couch and says loudly into the relative quiet, “So, Zachary, congrats on your Oscar nomination! Best Supporting Actor. That’s huge.”
The entire room stops what they’re doing. Heads swivel to him, waiting. Watching. Drinking him in because now they have an excuse to look.
“Yeah, thanks,” he says. “It’s an honor to be nominated.” He smiles his disarmingly charming smile. “I’m required by California law to say that, but it’s true.”
The room erupts in (too loud) laughter. I thought that would be the end of it, but Dana opened the floodgates. The entire room has decided they now have the greenlight to pepper Zach with questions about Crazy 8 , which he handles with practiced ease.
“What’s it like working with Tom Hiddleston?” (he’s one of the best in the business)
“How did you learn that old-timey accent?” (voice coach)
“You look so different from your Felix character. Prosthetics?” (no, great makeup team)
“And who are you taking to the Academy Awards?” Dana pipes up. “Anyone we know?”
“Jesus,” I mutter. I expect everyone else to be as mortified as me for asking such a personal question, but the group is hanging on every word that comes out of Zach’s mouth.
“Not sure yet.” He waits for a beat, then shoots me a look. “Maybe my mother. After all, she gave me life.”
This is met with murmurs of approval and a few “Aw, that’s so sweet” from the womenfolk. I let out a breath and shoot a glance at J.J.
“Okay, press conference is over,” she says.
The evening is winding down when I end up outside on the patio, chatting with some people. I notice Zach at the firepit. He’s surrounded by most of the guests—those sitting close listen with rapt, inner-circle pride, while others loiter at the periphery. I’m doubly glad for the no-phone policy or else he’d be inundated with selfie-takers.
Zach smiles when he sees me approach and extricates himself from the group to join me.
“That was a lot of ogling,” I say. “How are you holding up?”
“Okay. But I’m going to need a whole lot more attention before I can call the evening a success.”
I snort a laugh and cross my arms. I’m wearing a long-sleeve black top, but the night has grown cold. Immediately, Zach shakes out of his jacket—a lightweight black Tom Ford.
“You don’t have to—”
He lays it over my shoulders. “Too late.”
Our eyes meet and a thick silence falls where there’s just the green-and-gold of his eyes on mine. I tear my gaze away to see we have an audience.
“Everyone is staring,” I say. “It’s weird. Don’t you find it weird?”
“Yes,” he says. “When I don’t find it weird, it might be time to quit. Speaking of time to quit, my ride will be here in a few hours.”
“Gotcha. You should rest.”
“Yep. Rest up for my flight to Alaska. For a tiny little movie I happen to be producing. Could use all the help we can get.” He raises his brows meaningfully. “If only I knew someone…”
Ugh, that grin of his. Like a secret weapon. Somehow, he’s managed to pull off ungodly hot and adorable at the same time.
“Wow, that’s not unsubtle at all,” I say. “Quite the performance.”
He laughs. “I’m an ac-tor .”
I roll my eyes and give him a playful shove. “Go lie down.”
“Good idea.”
Zach makes his way to the back of the house, and a sudden panic hits me. Is that it? I wonder if that’s the last I’ll see of him. No goodbye. No more Covet. No more nothing.
I help J.J. return our guests’ phones once we know that they’re getting home safely. Most didn’t drive anyway and have Ubers coming, but three or four have taken a few too many trips to the liquor station and will have to stay the night.
Dana comes to say goodnight. “I’m catching a ride home with Amy and Brandon.”
Happy birthday to me. I flash a wan smile at those poor unfortunate souls who bid me a happy birthday and head out. Dana leans into me.
“See you a week from Sunday. CBS, eight p.m. eastern, five Pacific.”
“What the hell is she talking about?” J.J. asks as Dana heads out.
“Nothing. She’s telling a joke that won’t die,” I say.
“Nice jacket,” J.J. says, giving the sleeve of Zach’s jacket a tug and raising her brows. “Is it new?”
“Yes. Like it?”
“Do you ?”
I let the pointed comment roll over me. I’m happy, I realize, because I have an excuse to talk to Zach one more time.
And it’s really just one more time.
The rest of the party guests meander out, and J.J. and Edison move to the door. Edison Washington was a point guard for UCLA and towers over J.J. by a good two feet. The gentle giant bends his huge form to kiss my cheek.
“Great party, Ro.”
“Thanks to your woman,” I say.
“I counted three peeps who need to spend the night,” J.J. says. “Serena and Victor and our good buddy Emil who is already snoring on your couch. Everyone else is accounted for. Oh, except your special guest. ”
“He’s a good dude, that Zach,” Edison says. “I thought he’d be a prick, but he’s…not.”
J.J. pats his chest. “My man has a way with words.”
“Thank you for everything.” I hug J.J. tight. “You’re the best.”
“Happy birthday, babe,” she says against my shoulder. “You deserve good things. Remember that.”
That’s debatable, but I love my friend for saying it. When they’ve gone, I glance around my place. The damage is minimal—mostly glasses and napkins. Emil is snoring on the couch, but Victor and Serena are nowhere to be seen. I peek into the guest room and sure enough, my friends are passed out on the bed.
“Shit. That means…”
I head down the hall to my bedroom. Zach Butler is on my bed, sitting propped against the headboard. He indicates the antique TV across the room that is currently being used as a table.
“The only show on is Gray .”
I lean in the doorway, arms crossed, biting back a smile. “Do the American people know you’re a tremendous goofball?”
“It’s my best-kept secret.” He shoots me a rueful smile. “I know what this looks like. Here I am, invading your private space yet again. One could surmise I’m going for a personal record.”
“One could surmise.”
“In my defense, the room you provided for me is ocupado.”
“I noticed.”
I shut the door behind me and sit on the edge of the bed. My bed, currently ocupado by the world’s biggest movie star.
“What time is it?” he asks.
“A little after one a.m.”
“Gerald will be here in two hours.” Zach rubs his eyes tiredly. “Can you put up with me for two more hours?”
“I’ll do my best.” I nudge his shoulder. “You mind?”
He smiles and scoots over to give me room. “I love that you don’t give a shit about the fact that I have a…what did you call it? An incredible job.”
I’m sitting up while Zach settles himself on his stomach, half his face smooshed against a pillow.
“You heard all that, eh?” I ask, mentally scrolling through my convo with Dana and praying I didn’t say anything too…real.
Zach nods. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but that woman had a lot of ideas about you and me.”
“She doesn’t know how to mind her own business and doesn’t want to.”
“Mm. So, Rowan.”
“So, Zach.”
“I liked that you said I should take my mother to the Oscars. I don’t want to go at all—it’s interrupting the Alaska movie, but both my manager and my agent will kill me if I skip it.”
“Sounds like a first-world problem to me.”
Zach laughs. “Isn’t it? I’m such a douche.”
“Nah, you’re all right.”
He glances up at me, his eyes warm and intense. “I liked even more when you said that me being famous isn’t the first thing you consider when you consider me.”
I feel a warmth creep up my cheeks and try to shrug it off. “Yeah, well—”
“Do you know what I felt when I heard you say that?”
“No. What?”
“Happy.”
I glance down at my hands, the opposite wall, the floor…anywhere but him.
“Don’t look so scared,” he says. “In less than two hours, I’ll be headed to the wilds of Alaska for one of the more brutal scripts I’ve ever read.”
“What’s it about?” I ask, grateful for the change of subject.
Zach rolls onto his back, stares at the ceiling. “Guilt.”
I nearly flinch. “Can you be more specific?”
“It’s called Midnight Skies , and it’s about a guy in Arizona. He’s married, two little kids. He’s driving the kids home from something…a soccer practice. They get into a car accident and the boys don’t make it. His wife blames him. Not in so many words but it’s there. He gets a divorce, quits his job, and moves to Alaska.”
“What for?”
“To die,” Zach says. He’s not looking at me, his gaze still on the ceiling. “His plan is to—eventually—walk into the cold and let the elements have him.”
“Oh.”
“Sounds depressing, right? It’s going to be the hardest thing I’ve done yet, but I like the story. This is a project for people still stuck in it, you know?”
“No happy ending, I take it?” I ask, my voice tight.
“Ambiguous,” Zach says. “I had to become an executive producer to keep it that way.” He peels his gaze from the ceiling to look at me. “I was only half-kidding before about the film needing good people. If you change your mind…”
“I’ll think about it.” I say, and I’m surprised to hear I mean it.
“I’ll take it.” A slow, sleepy smile spreads over his lips, and he stifles a yawn. “Damn. I can’t keep my eyes open.”
“You should sleep.”
“Don’t want to. Don’t want to be done talking to you.”
I frown, stare straight ahead at my standing armoire—an antique I got at a swap meet in Pasadena.
“Why?” I ask finally.
“Why what?” Zach murmurs.
I tighten my crossed arms. “Why me?”
Why the hot tub and why take my phone number and why come to my birthday party…?
“Because, Rowan. I like who I am when I’m with you.”
Zach’s eyes are closed; he can’t see how his words affected me. How they jump into my chest and wrap around my heart. How they echo exactly how I feel when I’m with him. I’ve been starving, and being with Zach is like having a few bites of the richest meal. A taste of what life could be like, if only…
He’s completely asleep now. I want to keep talking to him, but I can’t wake him; he looks so peaceful. Why did I agree to consider Alaska? The plot of the movie sounds like my nightmare come to life, but maybe there’s something to it. Maybe there’s something in Alaska that I won’t find where I am now. I glance down at sleeping Zach. Maybe something I need.
And that’s when I notice I’m still wearing his jacket. I was cold and Zach gave me his jacket, and neither my mind nor heart freaked out at the echo between that gesture and what killed Josh all those years ago.
But it will. Eventually.
My eyes well with tears. I squeeze them shut to keep them in, and hunch deeper in Zach’s jacket, arms crossed, as if holding onto something I can’t keep.