Chapter Four
Beverly
“I found her,” Arthur quips with glee. “May I present to you, Miss Library.”
He dramatically swings his arm toward me as if I’m on display. I decide to play along.
“I am Library. Lover of books,” I say with dry humor. I add a polite curtsy, making him laugh. And then I remember my earlier tears.
Drat! Why didn’t I wear waterproof mascara? I silently scold myself. I run my fingers under my eyes and feel the sticky residue. But I don’t have time to rush to the ladies’ room and grab a tissue. Ridge Wilson is standing right in front of me in all his glory and doesn’t seem to notice.
“Hi,” he greets. His voice is calm and cool. You know, like most famous actors.
“Hi,” I manage, awkwardly dipping my head so he can’t stare at my raccoon eyes. I was deeply moved by the father-son scene, my body trembling and shaking in the shadows as I silently cried. The scene hit way too close to home.
“You made it. I’m so glad.”
I can’t help myself and lift my eyes to stare at him. I know I have a goofy smile plastered on my face. Thank God Arthur clears his throat, diverting our attention.
“I believe the director wants to go back over a previous scene with the children before they’re dismissed for the evening.
Why don’t you take Miss Library to your trailer and relax for a bit?
Much better than gawking at one another in front of the media.
” Arthur’s smile is over exaggerated as his eyes dart to a small group chatting in the corner.
“Good idea. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Captain,” he says before leaving us alone.
“Captain?” I giggle, looking up into Ridge’s handsome face. Gosh, it’s hard to breathe being in such close proximity to him.
“It’s a playful pet name Arthur assigned to me many moons ago. It’s a British thing.”
“Oh.”
Ridge casually leads me out of the library, guiding me by my bent elbow, his fingers gentle in the subtle action.
When we’re alone in the familiar school hallway, he lets go, and disappointment washes over me.
I continue to follow him through the dim gymnasium, out the back door protected by a security guard, and into a deluxe trailer on wheels.
“Wow,” I say, taking it all in.
The interior is a blend of comfort and luxury. Leather and sumptuous fabrics. Local art on the walls. A bar stocked with vintage decanters. It’s spacious and smells of lemon and musk.
“Can I get you something to drink?” He moves to a mini-fridge and opens it. Various cans of soft drinks and seltzer water fill the inside.
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
I watch him grab a sparkling mineral water. He twists the lid off and takes a long sip with ease. My goodness, even his throat is sexy when he swallows.
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” I ask.
“Go right ahead. It’s through that door and to the left.”
“Thanks.”
I don’t know why I’m so nervous while he’s so calm and at ease.
I clutch my oversized handbag to my chest and walk past him, shutting myself into the small room.
I flick on the lights and frown at my reflection in the giant mirror.
A few dark smudges of mascara are noticeable from underneath my brown eyes, but nothing too scary.
Quickly, I pluck several tissues from a metal container and swipe them across my stained skin.
When I’m satisfied, I pinch my cheeks and smile at myself.
My smile immediately turns into a frown.
Who am I kidding? Even with my hair in loose barrel curls and with more makeup on than I’ve worn since my sister’s wedding, I still look like a regular gal, not the kind of supermodel you’d see on Ridge Wilson’s arm.
I’m a schoolteacher living on a modest income in the burbs. What you see is what you get.
Oh well. At least I’m comfortable in my own skin. And I come bearing gifts.
I reach into my handbag and pluck the tiny loaf of homemade banana bread from inside.
I wrapped it in aluminum foil and tied the gift with colorful raffia ribbon.
One side is dented from being pressed against my body in my purse all evening.
But that won’t detract from the heavenly smell and taste of what’s inside.
Smiling, I open the door and walk out with purpose.
“Here,” I say, presenting the loaf to Ridge with two hands. “I hope you like homemade banana bread.”
His eyes go wide, and his mouth gapes. He slowly stands and gently takes the present from my hands. “Are you kidding me? You brought me a gift?” He seems… shocked.
“Banana bread,” I reiterate. Our eyes lock, and I hold my breath again.
“I love banana bread.”
His response is everything I could have ever dreamed of. Killer smile. Dancing brown eyes. Words of gratitude.
“Seriously. You just made my entire day.” He walks over to the bar cart and sets the loaf down. “I’ll probably eat the whole thing on my way back to the hotel after the shoot tonight.”
I’m standing there with my hands linked together, my fingers twisting nervously in front of my peasant blouse. “Well, I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Please, relax and have a seat. The crew might be a while dealing with all those kids. I should’ve warned you, filming is a hurry-up-and-wait kind of game.
” He gestures to the armchair across from his seat, and we both sit at the same time.
I giggle at the randomness of it all, sliding my hands across the arms of the supple leather.
“Your scene in the library was amazing tonight,” I finally say. “How do you do it? How do you conjure up emotions like that in front of all those people watching you?”
Ridge shrugs and takes another sip from his water. “I do a ton of research before I get into a new character. Some of it comes from spending time with people who have been in similar circumstances. Other times, I draw from my own personal experience.”
I nod, tracking with him. “As I was watching you, I think I became so emotional because I could relate to what your character was feeling.”
“How so?”
I pause and offer him a humble smile. “It reminded me of when I was a teenager. I was fifteen when my dad died.”
His brow furrows, and he leans forward, his voice quiet and gentle. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Beverly.”
“Thank you.” I watch him bow his head.
“I lost my dad too. When I was eight.”
I blink back at him. No wonder he was so amazing in that scene, drawing from his own heartbreaking experience. To become that vulnerable in such an honest way is a gift. He was totally believable playing a grieving father to a son in that particular scene.
“Wow. I’m sorry for your loss too.”
“Thank you.”
I tilt my head, questions swirling in my thoughts. “How do you recover from a scene like that when it hits so close to home? I mean, you saw me in the shadows afterward, blubbering like an idiot.”
“You are not an idiot,” he reassures.
“You know what I mean. How do you do it? I’d have to spend the next week in bed.”
I watch Ridge set his water on the coffee table between us and lean his forearms on his thighs. He tents his fingers together, his forehead wrinkling in thought. “I want the audience to feel like they’re witnessing a real-life moment.”
I nod with understanding.
“I want my interpretation of my character to have a natural and believable quality to them. I can’t always draw on my own personal history…,” He pauses, as if remembering something. “But when I can, it’s definitely more powerful.”
I nod again. “So powerful.”
He looks up at me with a melancholy smile, and I can’t help but think there’s more to his story.
“What about you?” Ridge asks.
My heart races. How did I even get in here with this gorgeous, thoughtful man?
“What about me?”
He sits up and rests his ankle across his knee, his arms spread wide across the back of the couch in a relaxed posture. “Tell me something more about your life.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Well, I already know you’re a kindergarten teacher. You’re single with no children. You’re not dating. And you’re naturally beautiful.”
I roll my eyes as I try to stifle a huge grin. “Oh, stop trying to butter me up.”
He chuckles. “I’m not. You are stunning.”
I swallow hard, my gaze darting from my fidgeting hands in my lap to his handsome face several times. I decide to be bold and open up to Hollywood heartthrob, Ridge Wilson.
“To be honest, sometimes I wonder about my life.”
“Why?” he asks. “With what little I know, you seem self-confident and positive about everything.”
“I am, for the most part,” I agree. “But compared to you, I live a very small life.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
I sigh. “It’s true. I have an inner circle of people that I love. They’re valuable to me, but it’s a small circle. No entourage. No adoring fans. No media coverage. We’re talking small.” I gesture with my index finger and thumb with a sliver of space between them.
The look he gives me from across the table is worth a million dollars, and I wonder why this famous man is so interested in my life. I have nothing to offer. Nothing but myself.
I keep talking. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve lived my life in this way because I like it or because I haven’t been brave?”
“It sounds like you’re holding back. What are you scared of?” his voice rumbles.
My stomach flits with butterflies. “Well… so much of what I want reminds me of the things I read in books or things I’ve seen in some of your movies.” I wrinkle my nose. “But shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“What is it you want, Beverly?”
I demurely dip my head, knowing he’s a gentleman. Knowing he won’t laugh at me when I tell him exactly what I want.
“I want the fairy tale, Ridge. I want the happy ending.”