44. Grey
Chapter 44
Grey
I t's been a few days since I confessed my feelings to Aspen. Sadly, our filming schedule has been jam-packed since the shoot is wrapping soon, meaning spending time with her—as Grey and Aspen, rather than Declan and Rosie—has been damn near impossible. So, I figured we could both use a breather between the twelve hour filming days, and I planned something I know she’ll enjoy.
I knock on her trailer door after I’ve changed out of the day’s Declan clothes and into my Grey clothes, ready to take her on a date.
“Hey,” she says, swinging the door open with a smile that makes it a little harder to focus.
I lean in to kiss her, relishing the feel of her soft lips on mine, the way her bobbed blonde hair brushes her shoulders, and that citrusy scent that always seems to follow her.
She pulls back and giggles. Like, actually giggles. It’s adorable. “What was that for?” she asks.
“Just because I can,” I reply.
“Is that the only reason you came by?” she teases, crossing her arms.
“No. I came by to ask if you’re ready for our weekly date.”
“Date?” she repeats, confusion knitting her brows.
“I know I’m a good kisser, Jordan, but memory loss shouldn’t be a side effect.”
She rolls her eyes, stepping back into the trailer. “Shut up.”
I follow her inside and close the door behind me, grinning. “I’ll shut up if you let me kiss you again.”
“No deal,” she shoots back. “Not worth it. But seriously, aren’t we done with the whole ‘weekly date’ thing? I mean, we’re actually together now.”
“As far as the label knows, we’re just really good at faking it. And let’s be honest, Jordan, we’re both recluses who wouldn’t organically be seen together regularly in public. And admittedly, I just want an excuse to take you out for something fun once a week.”
“But, you’re right, I hate being noticed in public,” she counters.
“I know,” I say, nodding. “Me too. Again, that’s why we have to keep these fake dates up.”
A mischievous glint flashes in her eyes, and she takes a slow step back. “But wouldn’t you rather date me here?” she coaxes, undoing a button on the dress shirt she’s wearing—which, notably, was halfway unbuttoned to begin with.
“Nope,” I reply, ignoring her blatant attempt to get out of this date.
She bends down to pick something off the floor, giving me a quick peek up her black mini-skirt. I look away, refusing to fall into her trap.
I avert my eyes, refusing to give in. “Stop that. This time I planned something you’d actually like. So yes, we’re going.”
She straightens up and narrows her eyes at me, intrigued but suspicious. “What is it?”
“I’m not ruining the surprise.”
“I don’t know if I trust you.”
“Right now you can.”
“Fine. But if you take me to some weird dive bar in a back alley somewhere, you’ve lost your trust privileges for good.”
“For good? That doesn’t sound like a strong start to a relationship, Jordan. And wait, where do you think I hang out in my free time?”
“I just told you. I think you go to weird dive bars in back alleys.”
“I’m offended,” I say with mock indignation.
“Good. And speaking of your weird hobbies, I’m driving. There’s no way I’m getting on that motorcycle again.”
“You liked it.”
“Not enough to want to get back on it for at least another year.”
“Ah, the words every man dreams of hearing.”
“You’re dirty-minded.”
“You just tried to seduce me out of a date.”
“Touché.”
We finally make our way to her Bronco, and I direct Aspen toward the location of the date. Luckily, it’s not far. I’m not sure how far she’d be willing to go for a fake-real date planned by me, but I’d wager it’s less than a ten-mile radius.
After ten minutes of Aspen pestering me, trying to figure out where we’re headed, we pull into the parking lot. Our guards follow us in their own vehicle, per usual.
“What is this?” Aspen asks, looking out at the bustling field filled with tents and tables, filled to the brim with people.
“Your spidey senses aren’t buzzing yet?”
“What spidey senses?” she asks as we exit the car.
“The ones that go off when you’re near yarn or fabric or stuffed things.”
I can practically feel the wheels turning in her head as she tries to connect the dots between the things I just listed. Then her eyes widen and she grabs onto my arm, squeezing it tightly in anticipation. “A craft fair?”
I can’t help but smile at her excitement. “Yes.”
She squeals and picks up her pace, almost jogging toward the throng of people gathered in front of us. “No way! I’ve been wanting to go to a craft fair here for so long but I’ve never had anyone to go with.” She titters on, looking like a kid entering a theme park. A weird theme park, for sure, but a theme park nonetheless.
We finally make it to the closest tent, Aspen hustling me forward via my arm. The sign propped up in front reads Jessa’s Jewelry and the space is filled with three tables arranged in a horseshoe shape, each holding an assortment of jewelry displays.
“Wow,” Aspen awes, immediately reaching out to touch some of the pieces.
“That’s real Montana sapphire,” one of the two sales girls says, noticing Aspen’s eye on a particular necklace. “Sustainably mined,” she adds.
“It’s lovely,” Aspen compliments. “And the matching earrings…it’s such a pretty set.”
“All made by hand too,” the woman adds.
I notice our guards slip in through the crowd, watching us from a few yards back. Aspen was so excited to get here she accidentally left them in the dust.
“By you?” Aspen asks.
“Mainly my sister, but I help where I can. I mostly just do the taxes, though. CPAs aren’t known for their creativity.”
“Have you made any of the pieces here today?” Aspen asks.
She points to a display a few feet away. “A few. I made those tiger’s eye rings over there. And some of the charm bracelets on that table over there.” She points again, this time to the opposite table.
“Tiger’s eye, you said?” Aspen asks, moving to look at the rings in question.
“Yeah. It’s supposed to bring the wearer good luck.”
Aspen slips a ring onto her middle finger, examining it. “What do you think, Grey?” she asks, looking up at me.
“I think it’s really pretty on you. And who couldn’t use some extra luck?”
“I agree. I’ll take five,” Aspen says to the saleslady.
“They’re thirty dollars each. That’s okay?” the woman asks.
“Perfect.”
“Great, I’ll ring you up—ha, see what I did there?—while you select which five you want.”
“One for each finger?” I joke to Aspen.
“Yes, because I only have five fingers.”
“You know what I meant. Per hand.”
“I was actually going to give one to my mom, each of my sisters, and Heena. We could all use some extra luck.”
“Something tells me I don’t need a crystal to get lucky tonight after absolutely nailing this date,” I whisper to Aspen.
Aspen side-eyes me, a hint of a smile poking through. “Eh, maybe you should buy one.”
We move on once I’ve paid for the rings—I thought it was only proper for me to pay as Aspen’s real-fake-boyfriend—and Aspen was handed a little brown bag with five rings all packaged up in matching brown ring boxes.
We stroll down our line of tents, passing a vintage clothing seller, a rug maker, and a baby clothes shop before landing at a wood-working shop. I’m surprised at first that Aspen would stop here, since my eyes were drawn to the giant wooden canoe hanging from the top of the tent and I’ve never once heard her mention an interest in woodworking or the outdoors. But then I see her completely bypass the outdoorsy stuff in favor of the small display of pocket-sized wooden animals tucked in between the hand carved serving trays and the cutting boards.
“It looks just like Meeko,” she says, pointing to a tiny raccoon.
I frown, tilting my head to get a better look. “That looks nothing like Meeko,” I say.
“It's striped like her. And look at the black stripe pattern on its face and body and tail. It one hundred percent looks like her.”
“I still don’t see it.”
Aspen stops a passing man in a flannel shirt. “Excuse me, how much is this?”
I’m about to tell her he’s just a guy and he doesn’t work here, but then he answers. “One seventy-five or two for three.”
“That’s dirt cheap,” I accidentally think out loud.
“Hundred. One hundred and seventy-five dollars,” the man clarifies.
Of course it is. We are in LA.
Aspen looks at me expectantly. “I need it.”
“What are you looking at me for?” I ask, knowing exactly why she’s looking at me. Damn, at this rate a two-hour date will cost me ten grand. I should’ve known, though. I walked right into this by taking Aspen “Knits-A-Lot” Jordan to a craft fair. I only have myself to blame.
Aspen nudges me. “Go on, give him your credit card.”
I fake a frown at her before obligingly handing the man my card. “You have your own money, you know.”
She smiles cheerily at me. “But spending yours is so much more fun.” Then she lowers her voice and adds, “And besides, if you work out all the math, you’re getting paid by the label at least two hundred thousand for this date. And that’s presuming we go on fifty public dates. So I think you’ll be fine.”
“So, following that logic, you’re saying that I make less money per date, for every date I take you on?”
“Yeah, I guess so. And so do I. Maybe we should ask for a raise.”
“Does that mean you anticipate a lot of dates in our future?”
“If they all include you spending this much money on me, definitely.”
“Careful, or I’ll start to think you’re a gold digger.”
“Says the guy who literally had to break past two separate gates like a peasant to get to my house.”
I’m about to retort when the shop worker clears his throat to regain our attention, hand outstretched to return my card. Shit, I hope he wasn’t standing like that long. I hurriedly take my card back from him and Aspen takes the raccoon, placing it gently in her bag from the jewelry store. We thank him and exit the store, guards slyly following us.