Chapter 2
Willa
A fter the hotel bellboy unloads my luggage and leaves me alone, my eyes drift longingly to the inviting king-sized bed in my suite. It’s practically calling my name, begging me to curl up for a little shut eye, but I don’t have time for a nap. Hopefully a cool shower and a cup of tea will suffice.
They do not suffice.
But less than an hour later, I shove myself out my hotel room and make my way down to the lobby, where I'm meeting my childhood best friend, Maggie.
Settling onto a cushioned bench in the corner of the lobby, I wait for her. I could drive myself to the animal shelter, but Maggie offered to pick me up and I took her up on it. As I wait, my eyes glance up at the television mounted in the corner and my lips curl into a sneer.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I gripe under my breath.
What are the odds? The one person I’d like to avoid for the rest of my life is on the television screen.
To me, Baron Warner is my worthless ex-boyfriend, but to the rest of the world, he’s the starting short stop for the Los Angeles Dolphins professional baseball team. Before I dated him, I never followed baseball, and since we broke up two years ago, I haven’t followed it a day since.
Our split is mired in painful memories for me, so even seeing his pixelated photo briefly flash across the TV sports program is enough to dredge up the negative feelings that I work hard to suppress and ignore, much to my therapist’s dismay.
And that is only made more difficult because tomorrow is the anniversary of the very bad thing that happened , which is forever linked in my mind to Baron. It has haunted me every second of every day for the past two years. I'm torn between wanting to move on and never wanting to forget.
I wonder if I ever even cross Baron's mind.
Probably not, the asshole.
“No freaking way! Screw that schmuck.” I turn when I hear Maggie’s outraged exclamation as she flips off the television.
“You read my mind.”
Rising from the bench, I give Maggie a tight hug.
“Call me Petty Crocker, but why can’t Baron get injured and retire and move back to Idaho or Iowa or whatever corn-fed state he’s from? I swear, I see his ugly mug on the sports channels all the freaking time during baseball season,” Maggie grumbles, reminding me once again why she’ll always be my very best friend.
Loyal friends are hard to come by in LA, which I found out the hard way when I had to dissolve both my professional relationship and my personal friendship with my ex-publicist, Becky earlier this year after some of her unscrupulous business dealings came to light. Which has made me even more grateful for Maggie's continued friendship.
“From your lips to God’s ears, Maggie.” I don’t normally wish harm to people, but I make an exception for Baron.
"Are you ready to roll?" Maggie asks.
I pat the pockets of my athletic jacket, which I packed with dog treats, and nod. I'm not above a little bribery to get the dogs to like me.
Maggie is the director of marketing for the Saltside Animal Shelter, and I asked if she'd let me volunteer at the shelter while I'm in town.
As I slide my sunglasses on, Maggie appraises me as we walk out the hotel doors into the parking lot. “You look good, Willa. You look… more like you, the real you, than I’ve seen in years. You look happy.”
Since I left my life in Hollywood behind seven months ago, I’ve let go of the movie industry beauty standards that I rigorously held myself to for over a decade. Instead, I've spent my time traveling the world. Seeing the sights. Learning new hobbies and picking up old ones. Donating my time, not just my money, to those in need. Creating new experiences.
And getting back in touch with myself. I've spent so many years acting, becoming the characters that I portray in the movies, and somewhere along the way, I lost myself.
“Thanks, love.”
When I don't offer more information, Maggie pries, as best friends often do. "And are you? Happy, I mean."
"Yeah, I am. I'm doing good, Mags."
"Good?" she queries with a raised brow. She is always quick to call me on my bullshit.
"Good-ish," I amend with a grin. "The time away from work has been healing." I exhale slowly. "After everything that happened in the last couple of years, I didn't deal with my feelings. I just jumped into my next project and pushed everything down. I tried my best to ignore it in hopes that time would heal my wounds. But this past winter, I realized I couldn't live that way any longer. This break from working and getting to travel has helped me a lot. It's been hard facing my feelings without any professional distractions, but it was necessary. Freeing." I roll my eyes with an embarrassed half-smile. "Lots of self-exploration and personal growth."
“I'm proud of you, and I'm so glad that you're doing what you need to in order to heal, Willa.”
Smiling, Maggie shakes off the serious vibes and peppers me with questions about my travels. Where I’ve been, who I’ve met, what I plan to do next.
“Did you meet any handsome men while you were abroad?” She wiggles her eyebrows mischievously, as she unlocks her car doors, and we slip inside. "You're due to meet a good guy after the last two losers you dated."
I wholeheartedly agree that Baron is a loser, but the other boyfriend Maggie is referring to is not a loser. Nor was Ben ever really my boyfriend.
You see, my co-star, Ben, and I participated in a romantic relationship which was manufactured by the movie studio to garner more publicity for our movie, Captain Commander . A showmance, it’s called in the biz. As part of the agreement, I'm contractually obligated not to discuss the truth behind my relationship with Ben. While Maggie, and the rest of the world, believe that Ben and I dated for a year and were madly in love until we amicably split this winter, we were really nothing more than friends who acted like we were in love when the cameras were on us.
Or at least, Ben wasn’t in love with me. For a while, I thought I might be in love with him, but I now realize that I was lonely and depressed, and I mistook Ben’s genuine affection and friendship for a romantic interest.
At the time, it was a painful realization to make that Ben did not see me as anything more than a friend, but it was also the catalyst that led me to getting into therapy and on medication again, both of which have been immensely helpful with my healing.
So, to recap my previous relationships: Baron is a total douchebag, but Ben is not.
Note to self: no more dating guys whose name starts with the letter B.
"Hey, maybe you'll meet someone here in Saltside," Maggie chirps with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.
"Doubtful, Mags." I love our small hometown, but I've known everyone who lives here my entire life. "The likelihood that I fall in love in Saltside… yeah, that's not happening."
"Manifest, my dear," Maggie says with a smile, but it sounds more like a threat than a passive comment. Maggie has always had an uncanny way of bending the universe to her will, so I fight a groan. If she gets it in her mind to make finding me a boyfriend her next project, my time here will be painful.
Switching the subject, I ask with a yawn, "Any chance we can grab a cup of coffee somewhere on the way to the shelter? Jetlag is kicking my ass, and my tea did not cut it this morning."
"Sure. There's a cute new place that opened up and it's on the way."
"Bless you, my caffeinated queen."
"You weirdo."
Since Saltside is tiny, we arrive at the coffee shop in under five minutes. "This place is cute!" I exclaim, taking in the new addition to Saltside's small main street.
The coffee shop is located in the corner unit of an old building and has a large outdoor patio area to the left of the front door. The crumbling brick exterior has been limewashed, muting the original red to a softer shade. The patio area has black wrought iron tables, some small and round and others that are larger and square, sprinkled along the front sidewalk of the shop. Each table has a black and white striped umbrella to provide shade from the early summer sun. To add color and vitality to the lovely space, there are large antique urns filled to the brim with vibrant flowers. It's the perfect, inviting marriage of contemporary and quaint.
But what really grabs my attention is one of the patio's occupants.
There, sitting amidst the people, is a beautiful, large dog. He's gorgeous. Mostly black with just a little brown around his muzzle and above his eyes. His posture is upright and rigid, and he looks regal and authoritative as he watches the hustle and bustle of the tourists.
I've always longed to own a big dog but with my insane work schedule, it never felt like I could give a pet a good home, which is one of the reasons why I jumped at the chance to volunteer at Maggie's shelter.
Without any conscious thought in my jetlagged brain, I beeline towards the dog, eager to love on him.
Alarmed, a man yelps, "Bruno isn't friendly!"
But I've already dropped to my haunches in front of the dog, who immediately relaxes his posture and starts wagging his tail. He jams his huge nose in my face and then down my body, sniffing and licking me. I laugh and begin stroking his fur and scratching him behind his pointy, upright ears as the dog zeros in on my jacket pockets where I stashed my dog treats.
Ah, it's no wonder the unfriendly dog has made an exception for me.
Without taking my eyes off of the dog, I address her owner and apologize. "I'm sorry. I should have asked before petting him, but he's just so beautiful that I got ahead of myself."
"Well, it appears that I was mistaken," the man replies, sounding perplexed.
I didn't notice his voice when he first warned me, as I was too enamored with his dog to pay the owner any attention, but now, I listen closely. He has a subtle European accent, though I can't quite place the dialect. His tone is deep and soothing… and maybe a bit sexy? (Or I could just be desperate and lonely and delirious.) But regardless of the reason, there's something about the man's voice that sends a shiver down my spine in the most delicious way.
It's only then that I look up at Bruno's befuddled owner.
Holy hell, he is even more gorgeous than his dog.
He's dressed similarly to me, in casual athletic wear, but his clothing fits him like it was custom tailored to emphasis his wide shoulders, toned biceps and every ripple of his washboard abs. My eyes slowly trail up his body, taking in his long, muscular legs, trim waist and that delectable torso one last time before settling upon his face.
I fight a groan because as hot as his body is, his face is the work of God. His features are perfectly proportioned, from his chiseled, wide jaw; to the aristocratic, straight nose; and his thick, puffy, perfectly kissable lips. He has a pronounced divot above his upper lip, which is something I have literally never noticed on another human being before, but right now, all I want to do is run my tongue over that spot before kissing him breathless. I wish I could see his eyes, because I'm positive that they have to be as perfect as the rest of him, but they're hidden under mirrored Ray Bans.
A smile plays on his lips, having caught me staring at him unabashedly. I close my gaping jaw. I stammer another quick apology and dart into the cafe where Maggie is waiting for me.
And laughing at me.
Because what are best friends for?