Chapter Fourteen #2
He ran a hand over his jaw. “When it comes to music…” He flicked through a few more records.
“This—this is taste. This is romance.” I came up behind him and watched him nod over my Tracy Chapman vinyl, then Billy Joel, Joan Baez, George Ezra, Paul Simon.
His eyebrows knitted as he flipped to the next one on the shelf. Miley Cyrus.
“Are you a time traveler?”
I laughed into his back. “They’re all classics!”
“Classics?” he repeated.
“Yeah.” I arched an eyebrow, crossing my arms as he turned around. Despite the way we’d inhaled each other at the Pink Iguana, now it was the distance between us, not the proximity, that was making my heart sprint. “Like white bread or Jane Austen or When Harry Met Sally or—”
“Johnny Cash,” he said, his voice so gravelly it could have paved a driveway.
“You would say Johnny Cash.”
His expression flickered at this, the first explicit sign that I knew who he was.
“Titanic is undoubtedly a classic,” I continued. “Just as much as Johnny Cash—”
“Or Dolly Parton.”
“—or missionary.”
We were both surprised by my boldness.
I whirl back from the memory as we round a bend on the highway and whiz past another stretch of gem-brimmed, glistening ocean.
“Six months?” he prods. “Your cat?”
I jerk myself out of my quickly deteriorating thoughts. What Happened Next is playing on the projector of my brain, the things he said after we exhausted Johnny Cash as a topic of conversation, after we exhausted missionary as … not a topic of conversation.
“Yeah, about.”
“Baby?”
I splutter in surprise, did he just—?
“Is the cat a baby?” he clarifies.
“Oh, um, no, he’s super old. And not doing well.”
Again with the eyebrow furrowing. “You got him when he was already old?”
“Yeah…” I rest my elbow on the door and search for the right words.
“What?”
“I like things with an expiration date.” I blush, embarrassed at my own honesty.
He cuts his eyes to me. “Why?”
I shrug, my words lost in the wind. It’s not something I’ve ever admitted, not even to myself.
The elderly, sick cats needed me; that’s what I told myself.
But there was a relief in knowing I wouldn’t be tied down, wouldn’t have something keeping me home if I needed to hop on a plane for work.
Having something—someone—that needed me for longer, that could break my heart when I wasn’t expecting it, that would be too much to bear.
“Never mind,” he says.
At the same time, I say, “It’s easier that way.”
Rhett’s jaw flexes, then he smirks. “You could go into any convenience store and pick up a gallon of milk that’ll expire pretty quick. Might be less work than an entire cat.”
My lips quirk up into a smile. It’s the most he’s spoken the entire drive—maybe ever. “An entire cat? What about half?”
He shoots me a glare. “I mean, if you like running a revolving cat hospice … I’m just saying, milk might be less depressing. And cheaper.”
A few more miles up the road, we pass a little bluff overlooking the beach. From here, there’s a stunning view of the ocean, surfers popping in and out of view like gumdrops.
Clouds pass under the sun and he flips his sunglasses up on his head. “Should have you to America’s Most Eligible Bachelor in about ten minutes.”
“You know, when you think about it, it’s not necessarily a compliment.”
“Certainly not,” he agrees. “I told Lainey she wasn’t allowed to call me that.”
“Right, you were ‘America’s Sexiest Bachelor’ if I remember correctly.”
“You do.” He smirks, the faintest hint of a blush blooming on his cheeks. “It’s why I got divorced. Couldn’t bear to give up the title. Meanwhile Roland is the ‘most eligible,’ which means he can’t hold on to anyone no matter how hard he tries.”
I try to hide my amusement. “He’s a nice guy, Rhett.”
“Sure, but about as bland as white bread.”
A classic … I wonder if he hears the echo too, or if it’s only me that’s stuck in an endless loop of that night.
“Maybe.” I purse my lips. “I feel kind of bad for him though. His knee seems really painful. Is he taking anything for it?” I don’t mean to ask such a leading question, but Rhett’s eyes narrow like I’ve hit a bullseye.
A familiar thrum starts in my chest, working its way out to the tips of my fingers. I’m onto something.
Rhett shrugs, glancing at me. “Viagra?”
I guess I won’t be getting a straight answer out of him. “You don’t have to be so mean about him.”
“Don’t I?” he asks lightly. “I learned a long time ago that it’s not a good idea to lie to women on reality television.”
We pull into a parking lot near Ventura Beach, and Rhett parks next to the fleet of producers’ cars. Beyond them, a small amusement park rises out of the asphalt.
Rhett hops out as Roland jogs up to us, a makeup artist trailing after him, brush held aloft.
“Georgia Peach!” Roland calls. Behind him, Addison stands sulkily with a few PAs. Roland wraps his arms around me, squashing me against his chest. He stands on tiptoe so he can talk to Rhett and survey the scene all while embracing me. I wonder what the weather’s like up there.
“Sweet ride,” Roland says, releasing me. He’s already on to the next thing, already running his finger over the sleek metal of the convertible’s hood.
“She’s all yours,” Rhett says. He turns the keys over in his hand, but his eyes lock on mine.
Roland laughs with excitement. “Seriously?”
The sound of click-clacking heels grows louder, and Lainey steps up next to the car, sunglasses obscuring half of her pinched face. “Just for B-roll.”
“Can I drive it?” Roland awaits her answer like a kindergartener asking for extra recess.
Lainey puckers her lips to the side and glances at her watch. “Fine,” she says. “But only around the parking lot, and then Rhett can head out. Georgia, come with me. We have to get some interview footage of you girls before we head into the park.”
A flutter of panic settles in my stomach at the thought of going on an amusement park ride, but that’s a problem for later. As I walk toward the crowd of PAs and Addison, I glance behind me at the two men.
Rhett tosses his keys to Roland, who catches them as neatly as a tennis ball.
“Careful with her,” Rhett says. Again, he’s talking about the car, but his eyes stray to mine. They lock in, hooking somewhere around my belly button and tugging.
“You got it, boss.” Roland grins and shoots finger guns.
Rhett doesn’t bother to hide his scowl as he steps back from the car. “Not what I meant.”