Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Sophia
For about five seconds after I wake, I forget all about what happened yesterday. My mom brain is alight with getting the kids to hockey camp, going by the office for a few meetings, heading back here to finish working on a grant, and making sure the kids are packed when Mark stops by to pick them up after work. And then…the events of the last twelve hours come crashing back into my brain.
I sit up with a start. It’s then that I begin to smell something. Frowning, I climb out of bed and open my door. Yes, I definitely smell something. And I hear voices. I’m so transfixed by the noise and smell that I don’t think about my appearance as I walk downstairs and into my kitchen, where I find Tate Anders cooking breakfast while talking to my children.
“And we did that in a big sound stage,” he says as he flips pancakes. The kids stare at him completely transfixed by whatever he’s telling them.
“Oh, hey, Mom,” Cal greets me as he grabs a slice of bacon from a plate on the kitchen counter.
“Hi,” I reply, drawing the word out as I furrow my brows in confusion.
Tate glances over at me and his lips twitch as he clearly tries to refrain from smiling.
“What?” I grumble.
“Nothing,” he says, turning back.
“Mom! You’re so embarrassing. Why do you have to wear unicorn pajamas?” Cal groans.
Lizzie rolls her eyes. “Because unicorns are awesome. Don’t listen to Cal, Mom. You have great pajamas.”
I look down at my unicorn flannel pajama shorts and matching cotton top. I feel my face heat because the top is way more see-through than I realized. I cross my arms and clear my throat.
“I’m going to grab a shower. You guys should get changed. We need to leave in forty-five minutes,” I warn as I turn to go back upstairs.
“Hold up. You need breakfast,” Tate declares.
I swivel on my heel and find Tate standing behind me holding out in one hand a breakfast sandwich with eggs, bacon, and cheese on a plate and in his other hand a cup of coffee.
“Cal said you like your coffee black with one sugar,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows. “You act and cook?” I ask as I take the plate and mug.
He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.” He smirks as he waggles his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for breakfast,” I mutter as I hurry up the stairs still completely bewildered that Tate Anders just made me breakfast. Why does he have to look so hot in the morning? And what parallel universe have I suddenly fallen into? I eat while I shower, spending five minutes wondering what it must be like to win the genetic lottery and look half as hot as Tate does.
I hurry to get dressed after my existential crisis over good looks comes to an end, mostly because I have to concentrate on putting on makeup. I’m a little shocked that the kids are actually ready to go by the time I’m done.
I look between the two of them as they stand by the front door. “You guys have everything?”
“Yep,” Lizzie says.
I go through their checklist. “Gear?”
Cal and Lizzie both make giant checks in the air with their fingers, and Tate chuckles behind them.
“Change of clothes?” Another check. “Lunch?” Check. “Skates?”
“Mom, skates are gear,” Lizzie huffs.
I give her a pointed look and she draws a giant check.
“OK, I think that’s it. Let’s get this show on the road,” I say. The kids follow me, and I turn to Tate. “I have to go to the office for a few hours. If you give me your number, I can text you the Wi-Fi passcode.”
He shakes his head. “I’m coming with you.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “With me? To work?” I squeak as I point to my chest.
“If that’s alright,” he adds.
“Uh, sure,” I reply as we all get loaded into the car that I left parked in the driveway last night. As I pull out onto the street, I realize I should have messaged my work colleagues about our unexpected guest.
Lex is going to die. I have had no time to warn my assistant and one of my best friends that Tate Anders is going to be at her desk in less than an hour. Hell, what would I even say? Would she believe me? She is going to kill me. God, I hope she’s not having a bad wardrobe day. She always gets in a mood when she can’t find the right thing to wear. I’m pulled from my thoughts as Tate asks the kids eight thousand questions about their camp.
It only takes a few minutes for us to get to the rink. Tate doesn’t even ask if I need help, he just jumps out of the car and starts unloading their things. I have the overwhelming desire to pinch myself to see if I’m dreaming.
“Have fun today!” I say as I kiss Lizzie on the head. Cal gives me a salute, ducking away from my hug. He leans back a little and gives me a pleading look. I know he wants to tell his friends about Tate but last night I reiterated that we need to keep Mr. Tate to ourselves for a little while longer. I shake my head and his shoulders slump a little.
“Later, Mom. We got it from here,” he says. I raise an eyebrow at him. But then I glance over to see another boy his age walking toward him. Dear God, we’ve entered that phase.
Lizzie waves as they walk inside. “Bye, Mom!” she calls out happily as Cal opens the door for her after being greeted by one of the women running the camp. The woman gives me a wave and I wave back.
Lizzie looks ridiculously small with her giant gear bag slung over her shoulder. I hate that I can’t spend more time with them. They are growing up way too fast.
Pulling myself together, I turn and get back into my car. “You sure you want to go to work with me?” I ask as I glance at Tate.
“I do,” he says. His eyes bore into me. I feel a blush creep across my cheeks at his intensity.
“OK, then,” I reply as I pull out onto the main road.
I turn up my playlist. By song number three, Tate turns to me.
“You have very eclectic music tastes,” he notices.
I laugh. “I suppose so.”
“You suppose so? The first song was rap, the second one was an eighties love ballad, and now we’re listening to grunge from the nineties,” he states.
Shrugging, I get off the highway and turn onto a side road. “I like what I like,” I declare.
“I like that you like what you like,” he says, his voice softening. I realize my last sentence was a little defensive.
“Soooo…why again did you decide to come here?” I ask because I have to know the reason, the real reason. It’s killing me. I just don’t get it. Celebrities don’t run away and hide in normal people’s homes.
“Like I said, I needed to get away and I wanted to meet you so we could talk business,” he explains. I steal a glance at him, but I can’t see his face. He’s staring out the passenger window.
“Yeah, but why me, and why now? You could have gone anywhere. I’m sure you have friends or family or somewhere else you could go for a bit. And you could have just gone to a hotel,” I point out.
“It’s going to sound crazy,” he starts. I don’t say anything, letting him continue. “So, I got into that fight with Warren Johnson. To be clear, Warren…isn’t a good guy and I saw him do something and I should have just dealt with it, not in that moment, but I just reacted. Anyhow, it blew up in the media, as you already know. Lacey is filming in Montana, and everyone kept asking where she was and I can’t tell them we broke up because, shit, I can’t even imagine the media shitstorm that would bring. I just had to get away. All I knew was that I had to leave and go somewhere. So, I’m lying in my bed and your book is on my nightstand.” He pauses and I glance over at him again. This time he’s looking at me. “I loved your book. I don’t know why but I kept rereading it.”
“Can I stop you there for a moment? Are you normally a romance fan?” I ask because the fact that Tate Anders is admitting to loving my book and wanting to make it into a film is blowing my mind.
He shrugs. “I hadn’t read any before. Lacey left that on her nightstand, and I guess in the haste to feel connected to her when she left, I read it. And I loved it. So, I reread and reread it again,” he explains.
“OK, well, I wasn’t expecting you to be such a fan,” I admit.
“I’ll be blunt. I didn’t think I would be either, but you converted me,” he confesses with a small smile. “Anyhow, I finished the book again and something in me just screams that I need to make this into a movie, that this is a story that needs to be told. I called Carol and she got in touch with your agent. I asked for your address because…well, I might have internet-stalked you already and had your email. And I did email you, but from my business account. So, it probably went to spam. Hell, if I’m being honest, I guess I sort of wanted it to go to spam because I wanted to come here. I closed that book, and it was all I could think about. It was the first good thing I’d thought about in days…and I guess I sort of latched on to it in an unhealthy way.”
“Wow! A romance reader and a stalker with a temper. You are really selling yourself here, Anders,” I tease.
He chuckles. “Damn, when you say it like that, I sound like a psychopath.”
“I mean, if the shoe fits…” I trail off as I pull into my parking spot at the office.
“I guess I haven’t been doing so well, and for some crazy reason, I decided to show up at your house instead of trying to contact you in a normal way. I didn’t tell my friends or Carol or anyone. Shit, I do sound like a crazy stalker now that I’m saying that out loud,” he admits.
“Just a bit,” I say, holding up my fingers with a small space between my thumb and forefinger. “When you say you didn’t tell your friends or your agent, does that mean you’re technically a missing person?” I squeak, suddenly realizing all of Hollywood might be looking for Tate Anders in a matter of days if he doesn’t return home soon.
Tate reaches out and grips my hand. His hand on mine clears my thoughts momentarily and I look over at him. “Maybe I’m not missing anymore, Sophia. Maybe I’m finally found.”
Holy shitballs! Did he just deliver a line from my book to me? I blink and then blink again.
He leans forward and for the briefest moment I think he might be going in for a kiss but then his lips hover next to my ear. He smells amazing, like it’s not even fair how good he smells. A human shouldn’t smell that good.
“Do you think I could play the lead character, too? I mean, I delivered that line pretty damn well, right?” he whispers, his breath tickling my earlobe.
All of my lady parts light up like a dashboard in a car when the check engine light comes on. I swallow nervously.
“Uh, y-yeah,” I stammer as he pulls back.
“Good, 'cause I sort of want to. Come on. Show me your office,” he says as he gets out of the car as if he didn’t just totally turn me on with a single line. I sort of hate Tate Anders…and I also kind of want to sleep with him, but that would be crazy because men like Tate don’t go out with women like me. That only happens in my stories.