Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Noa
I ’m able to leave Mrs. Stalinski’s house while Stone is gone. Having him there to watch me pack would’ve been unbearable.
I make sure Mrs. Stalinski is comfortable on the couch with a blanket and a book before I head upstairs and collect my things. By the time I return to the living room with my suitcases, Moo has curled up between her legs and the couch cushion, purring loudly as she strokes him.
She looks up at my entrance, smiling gently. “Did you get everything, dear?”
“I think so.” My voice is raw. “I’m so sorry I have to go.”
“It’s hardly your fault. Besides, seek pleasure because I’m now at the mercy of Berta.”
Mrs. Stalinski pulls a smile from me. “I’ll tell her to take it easy on you.”
“I can face that dragon just fine. You make sure to get where you’re going safe and sound, you hear?”
“I will.” I turn my attention to my cat, that old curmudgeon, looking so comfortable where he is. The empty cat carrier sits next to my bags, and Moo’s lifted his head, eyeing it distrustfully. “Do you mind if Moo stays here? I hate moving him places. In his old age, he hates change.”
Mrs. Stalinski barks with laughter. “I can empathize. Yes, of course he can stay, as long as you don’t need him for comfort.”
I walk over and brush my fingers over his fur. “He’s given me so much. I feel I owe it to him to keep him where he’s happy, and he loves it here.”
“I’m fairly sure that’s because Stone feeds him anchovies nightly.”
The mention of Stone’s name causes a pang in my heart. I flex my fingers, then withdraw them from Moo. Moo’s also a reminder of us and those moments of stolen happiness we had with each other.
“I’ll be back.”
I’m not sure who I say it to, whether it’s Moo or Mrs. Stalinski, or both.
Mrs. Stalinski catches my hand and laces her fingers with mine. “I’ll hold the paparazzi off until you’re ready to return.”
She makes me smile again, but it quickly falls as I compare her strength to mine. “Do you think I’m weak for running away?”
Mrs. Stalinski’s gaze narrows. “I don’t think any such thing.
I was with you when you miscarried, remember, and when your mother passed.
And I was with you when you bounced back both times.
You have an enormous amount of strength in you, and you draw upon it when you must. To walk around strong all the time, that eats at the soul.
What makes life worth living is the difficulties, the moments of softness coupled with the broken and the boring.
Take this time for yourself, dear. I don’t think you’ve done that since my son hightailed it to Hollywood thinking he wasn’t leaving anything behind. ”
“Why do I feel like I’m burying my head in the sand and hiding?”
“You’re dealing with another beast entirely. It’s a wonder to me that Stone has kept you out of the press this long. It convinces me that despite his mistakes, he truly is a good man. He wants to protect you. Let him.”
Swallowing, I nod. “I’ll keep in touch.”
“You better.”
Walking away from Mrs. Stalinski is a lot harder than I predicted. I battle back tears as I get to my car and dump all my things inside.
Berta, the new nurse, drives up just as I’ve turned the ignition to warm up the inside, and I walk over to her and give her last-minute instructions before leaving.
“She’s the best patient you’ll ever have,” I assure Berta as she steps out of her pickup truck.
“I’ll take good care of her, Noa,” she assures.
“She has nightmares sometimes. I like to leave a glass of water next to her bed for when she wakes up parched. Oh, and sometimes she has trouble getting to the bathroom with her walker, so I bought a baby monitor just in case you can’t hear her.”
“Got it.”
“And—”
“I don’t mean this as an insult, sweetie, but I have twenty-five years’ experience, and nobody’s died on my watch. She will be okay. Okay?”
I bite back more instructions and nod. “Okay.”
Berta softens. “What’s been written about you sucks. I hope it goes away soon.”
“Me too.”
I get in the car and refuse to look in the rearview mirror as Mrs. Stalinski’s house shrinks into the distance.
I’m doing the right thing, refusing to be a sitting duck at Stone’s house.
Even as I leave her long drive and hit the road, the paparazzi swarms. They shout through my window and block my car.
I have to inch forward, blasting the horn, and for the first time in my life, I contemplate running over another person.
My lurching and hard braking eventually gives me enough of a gap to gun through, and I leave all those men dressed in black with dangling cameras and equipment behind. To think Stone goes through this daily boggles my mind. How he tolerates it is even more perplexing.
I drive for what seems like hours. No destination in mind—just away. Thoughts of Stone keep trying to surface, but I mentally bat them away or drown them out with music.
When it gets dark out, I choose a chain hotel off the highway. I figure once I’ve eaten, showered, and rested, I can come up with a better long-term plan.
Check in is easy, since I’m not exactly at a popular destination, and once I drop my bags on the floor of my hotel room and splay out on the bed, I check my phone.
There are a concerning number of missed calls from an LA-based number, coupled with voicemails. I listen to them, noting Aaron’s nonplussed voice and his instruction for me to call him so we can put our heads together and come at this as a solid unit.
It’s not a bad idea, but I need more time to process. I decide to call him later.
There are also multiple texts from Stone.
Call me. Please.
I just got home.
I can fix this.
The last one gets me the most.
Let me be with you.
My knuckles go white against the phone. I let it fall onto my chest as I stare at the ceiling, wondering if walking away from Stone was the best decision.
Yes, he hurt me deeply all those years ago, but this time with him has shown me he’s changed.
He’s a man now, one with a public life and strangers who live off his scandals and feast on his mistakes.
Everything he does is picked apart and discerned.
If I stayed with him, I’d be flayed open.
The little girl I never had will become public property.
And unlike him, I didn’t choose this.
My phone vibrates against my chest. I think about ignoring it until I reason it could be Mrs. Stalinski, so I check the display.
It’s the number of C’est Trois .
Confused, I rise on my elbows. If this is Stone’s way of getting creative and tricking me into answering the phone …
“Stop calling me,” I say after I answer the call.
“Interesting, considering I’ve never contacted you before,” Saint’s voice drawls.
“Oh! Shit—I mean, oh, hi.” I pop up, pressing the phone hard into my ear. “How can I help you?”
Saint’s deep chuckle resonates through the phone. “That’s a funny thing to ask, considering you’re the one in the hot seat at the moment.”
I slump forward. “So, you’ve heard.”
“I haven’t been a small-town resident for long, but yeah, the grapevine here is faster than any winery I’ve been to.”
“Yeah.” I rub my eyes with my free hand. “It’s likely the juiciest gossip Falcon Haven’s had since, well, since Stone’s fame.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry this happened to you.”
“Thanks.” I chew on my lower lip. “Is that why you called? To check on me?”
“No, actually. I was wondering why you’re not in class this evening.”
“I would think that’d be obvious.”
“Silly me, I took you for a woman of determination and focus, not one who scurries into a corner as soon as the shit hits the fan.”
I straighten. “Ex cuse me?”
“Maybe it’s the chef in me, but anyone who puts as much practice into the perfect plate as you have also had the gonads to continue her learning despite her personal life blowing up in her face.”
“Has anyone told you that you do not have a way with words?”
“Why do you think I choose to spend most of my time with food? Get over here, Chef.”
The way he says a title I don’t deserve completely derails what I was about to say next. “I—I drove too far away.”
“How far?”
“Uh…” I pull the phone away from my ear and check the maps. “Maybe an hour?”
“Class starts in forty-five. Be there.”
“No—wait!” I say before he can hang up. “How can I get through the paparazzi? They know Stone and I go to your restaurant every Tuesday.”
“There’s a back way. Park in the lot behind the restaurant, near the dumpster. Text me on my cell—I’ll send you my number—and I’ll meet you and sneak you in.”
“Okay, but what about Stone? I cook with a couple. With another person, I mean. With Stone.”
Ouch , it still scratches my throat to say his name.
“We’ll work around it. I’ll be your sous chef tonight.”
“Huh? You? My couple cook?”
“Don’t make me change my mind, Chef. Be here in forty-five.”
Saint clicks off without saying goodbye, essentially denying me the chance to tell him where to shove it and that there’s no way I’m returning to the lion’s den, whose resident lion I narrowly escaped.