Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
I answer the door with my hands in the air.
“Why don’t you just text me that you’re here?
There’s no need to inconvenience yourself by having to find parking.
” My voice falls off at the end as I truly take in the sight of him.
He’s wearing black jeans and a charcoal button-up.
He’s let the natural wave of his hair run wild so that it frames his dark eyes and seems to point a beacon to his high cheekbones.
Man. I have to concentrate on not letting my knees puddle to the floor as I weep over his beauty.
And then he gives me a little half smirk, and I gulp down a sob of appreciation. How is this my life?
“Where would the fun be in virtually honking and waiting on you? A gentleman always comes to the door.”
“If I write a thank-you letter, would you deliver it to your mom for me?”
He chuckles, following me into the house when I gesture for him to. “Hello, Mrs. Quill.”
“Hi, Crispin. Do you go by Crispin? Or Chris?” Mom is seated sideways on the couch so she can greet him.
“It’s always been Crispin. It’s a family name passed through the generations. We are apparently directly related to Saint Crispin, the patron saint of shoemakers.”
I turn to face him, hands on my hips. “And you’ve cast your lineage aside to follow your dream of acting?
How irresponsible.” I spin and march into my bedroom to get my stuff while he chuckles behind me.
I hear Mom ask something else, but I don’t hear specifically what.
As I gather my stuff, my heart feels light.
I freeze, meeting my own gaze in the mirror as guilt sluices through me.
Suddenly, all the care I took to look nice tonight feels wrong.
Like having straight, clean hair and wearing a flirty blouse is a crime against my dad’s memory.
Logically, I know my happiness shouldn’t cause self-reproach, but it does.
I’m grieving my father, and it feels wrong to experience both feelings at once.
Tears fill my eyes as I have a silent war over my emotions.
I counsel myself that Dad would be happy I’ve made new friends.
Encourage me to go out. He would never have wanted Mom or me to stop our lives over losing him.
That’s what spurred me to take the role in the first place.
These things that I’m doing are exactly what my dad would have wanted for me.
It’s okay for me to enjoy it too. I blink away the tears and stare at myself in the mirror.
“Moving forward won’t make you forget him. Moving forward honors him,” I whisper. I’m not sure I believe it, but it’s enough to release the guilt and return to the living room. Even if my smile is forced. “Ready?”
When Crispin swings his attention to me, his gaze softens in a way that literally blows any remaining guilt out the open sliding glass door. “You look so pretty tonight.”
I suck in a breath to respond, but slam my mouth closed when I realize how “date-like” that sort of talk feels.
I’m still so unclear about his intentions, but seeing Mom’s brows raised tells me I’m not the only one coming to a date-like conclusion.
If I knew this was a date-date, would I have said yes?
He’s so much older than me. I don’t understand what he would see in me to make him want to date me.
I clear my throat. “Thanks. I was thinking something similar about you too.”
“I’m pretty?” he smirks.
I scoff. “You know you’re gorgeous. I guess I like seeing the real you. The clothes you choose when Grimilda isn’t in charge. The way you wear your hair when you aren’t straight-laced Jeff.”
He cocks his head. “You’re absolutely right. I’m entranced by who you truly are because I don’t get to see her as often.”
My laugh is a little maniacal because the word “entranced” has me feeling lightheaded. “Even at lunch, we’re still dressed in character.”
“And I’m so method. On set, I’m all Jeff – all the time.”
I squint at him, wondering if he thinks that’s true.
He laughs. “Kidding.”
I let out a breath. “Good, because I was suddenly worried about your acting abilities if you thought you were Jeff as we play backgammon and dispute the authenticity of past Hollywood relationships with Sally.”
He laughs. “Man, I love getting her riled up over that stuff. I make crap up just to see her defend Humphrey Bogart’s honor.”
“I had a feeling you didn’t have a clue what you were talking about.” I bend over the back of the couch to give Mom a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”
She’s grinning over the exchange between Crispin and me.
The joy in her expression makes my heart skip a beat.
I don’t know the last time I saw that look on her face, but I know it was before we lost Dad.
Probably that very morning. I lean down and wrap my arms around her neck, undoubtedly choking her with my intense emotions.
It seems tonight is a big step forward for the both of us.
My voice is a fierce whisper. “I love you, Mom.”
Her hands grip my upper arms, and her face is buried in my hair. “I love you too, baby girl. Have fun.”
I let go but only pull back far enough to look her in the eye. For some reason, it’s important to me that she knows how difficult it all is for me too. “I’m trying, Mom. I’m trying.”
Unable to meet Crispin’s gaze, I walk past him and swing the door open, assuming he’ll follow. By the time I’m at the base of the stairs, I’ve reeled my emotions in again, so I wait for him.
He points. “This way this time.”
“Ah, so you did have trouble finding a parking spot. And we’ve left everyone inside the car all this time waiting.”
“I might have parked illegally but knew I wouldn’t be here long. And they are meeting us at the restaurant.”
“Oh?” For some reason, hearing that I’m climbing into Crispin’s car alone with him again makes me feel all sorts of things. Good, bad, but nothing indifferent.
“I couldn’t imagine cramming them into the backseat. And I know River doesn’t mind driving.”
I frown. There’s plenty of room for the three of them in the backseat. I’m sure River’s little sister will fit fine in that center seat. “How do you know River doesn’t mind driving?”
“We talked about it last time. At the restaurant?”
I shake my head to indicate I missed that conversation.
“Oh, right. I think you and Sally were discussing Academy Award gowns.” We both laugh at the memory of Sally being transported while she talked about each nominee’s gown for the last two decades.
“River said he finds driving a car similar to sailing a boat. But instead of navigating around shorelines or through coral reefs, he has to dodge in and out of slow traffic. Anyway, he says he enjoys driving out here.”
I nod. “That’s nice for Sally. She’s not looking forward to getting her license. I would assume she’ll have to before college starts.”
“Yes, she will. There is a stunning lack of public transportation around the greater Los Angeles area. If they moved to the town her college is in, she could probably take the bus, but from where they live now, there’s no chance.”
When we approach his car, he opens the passenger door for me. I slide inside and pull my arms in close and press my knees together as if me relaxing might get in the way of him closing the door.
A voice outside the car startles me.
“Hey, jerk, that’s my parking place. My sister’s here and texted that she couldn’t find a place to park.”
“Oh, man, I’m truly sorry,” Crispin replies. “I was just picking up a friend and couldn’t find a place either. Really bad luck that I chose the single place that wouldn’t be open for the five minutes I was inside.”
“Most people just text,” the guy says. “Hurry up, that’s my sister now.”
“Consider me gone.”
“Wait a minute. Are you? Holy…you’re Crispin Moore. What are you doing in my parking place? What am I saying? Who cares that you’re in my spot? You’re flipping Crispin Moore. Dude, can I get a selfie with you?”
I laugh and sit back while Crispin accommodates the guy.
“It’s the least I can do for the inconvenience. Would your sister like to join us?”
The guy snaps a couple selfies of the two of them leaning in toward each other. Crispin is a lot taller, so he hunches to be in the frame.
“Sandy! Sandy! Come here. It’s fricking Crispin Moore! Come get a picture.”
I see Crispin scan our surroundings, likely hoping the guy’s bellowing doesn’t draw more people in besides his sister.
“Are you fricking kidding me?” Sandy climbs out of her car, which she leaves right where she was waiting for us. “I’m such a huge fan of yours. I’ve seen all your movies. But my favorite is Goodbye Song. Cried like a baby when your girlfriend died.”
Sandy doesn’t stop sharing her favorite scene from each of Crispin’s movies while she stands between him and her brother, as her brother continues to snap selfies.
I consider climbing out and offering to take a real photo, but honestly, I don’t want them to know I’m the one who knows Crispin Moore.
They’d probably show up on my doorstep daily, asking questions about him.
When the photo session finally ends, Crispin shakes their hands and apologizes for taking the spot, then hops into the car. I keep my head down, hoping they can’t get a good enough look at me. As he backs out of the spot, he waves and smiles a couple more times.
Finally driving away, he whistles. “What ironic timing that was.”
“You just made their day, though.”
“Honestly, I’d rather be recognized than pummeled any day. I really thought that guy was going to pound me for taking his spot.”
“It would have been tragic if he hadn’t recognized you and instead ruined that pretty face.”
“I knew you thought I was pretty.” His pleased expression makes me laugh.
I study him. “Honestly, you aren’t. There are men who I would say are pretty, but you have a roguishness about you that defies that description.”