Chapter Five
Ridge
I chuckle, my face growing hot, knowing I’m about to burst Beverly’s bubble. “I can assure you, fairy tales are highly overrated.”
“Really?”
I lock eyes with hers, humored by her gumption, and clear my throat. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”
Her lips lift into a sly smile as she cocks her head. “Try me.”
“Okay.” I stand and toss my empty water bottle into the recycle bin. “It’s true that romance is one of life’s greatest pleasures. And ending a book or a movie where the characters find genuine happiness with somebody is no small feat.”
“I agree,” she says.
I turn and face her. “But do we really need more love stories that end in a standard happily ever after? I mean, I get it. It’s entertaining. It’s box office gold, I should know. But in reality, we are the main characters of our own lives. We’re still whole even being alone, and that’s okay.”
She scowls. “What are you getting at, Ridge?”
I quickly sit, energized by our conversation, anxious to make my point.
“Your story will still continue even if you’re not in a relationship, or if the romance with whoever you’re with burns or fizzles out.
Endings don’t need to be either happy or tragic.
Frankly, why does there even need to be an ‘ending?’” I quote, my fingers near my face.
She points at me. “Well, you’ve been cast in a vast majority of romantic movies that end with a kiss or riding off into the sunset with your forever girl by your side.
You’ve shown the world your troubles are over, and the ultimate goal of being in a committed relationship has been achieved, all wrapped up in a tidy bow with the perfect music playing in the background.
I, for one, love movies with a happy ending. You know why?”
“Lay it on me,” I deadpan, flicking my hand.
“Because it offers someone single, like me, reassurance that my own happily ever after is possible.”
“But that’s Hollywood,” I scoff.
She doubles down. “No, it’s not. It can also happen in real life. Just ask my sister.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m sure your sister has a very compelling story I’d love to hear about. But the obligatory happy ending is a fantasy in Hollywood. People love romantic movies and rom-coms because they’re like comfort food, and for good reason.”
“How?”
“Well, isn’t it fun to watch the actors make out in the end?”
She giggles, her cheeks lighting up with a pinkish hue. “Yes.”
I smile. “Isn’t it supremely satisfying to see the sexual tension resolved and the characters with relatable flaws deemed worthy of love?”
“Oh, Ridge. We’re all worthy of love.”
“Yes, but the movies give us a false narrative that tells us someone else can fix us when, in reality, we have to find a way to fix ourselves. Can’t you see?
We’ve been inundated with these happy endings since childhood.
A princess gets her prince. One kiss solves everything.
The End. It’s unrealistic, Beverly. And I apologize for being a part of the box office fantasy you care so much about. It’s all a lie.”
“Maybe you just haven’t found your princess yet?”
Her comment makes me growl, and her laugh pings the air.
What is it about this dark-haired beauty that leaves me wanting to prove a point?
And what point am I trying to make anyway?
How real-life couples aren’t capable of a Hollywood ending because of the woes of reality?
That a part of me is drowning in regret, knowing my son will never live an everyday life with two loving, committed parents raising him in a nurturing environment?
I don’t say this out loud, but the bottom line is, I don’t believe in happily ever afters. Never have. Never will.
But I have to admit, I like the hope shining brightly in Beverly’s syrupy eyes. Not greed or opportunity, ambition or power. Real, genuine hope and optimism that life can lead you down the road to true love.
I poke fun at her again. “Believe me, Beverly. There aren’t any princesses in La-La Land.
They’re all more like glowering villainesses out to destroy everything in their path.
” Visions of Whitney come to mind again, and I have to turn my back on our conversation.
I busy myself with grabbing another water and flinch when I feel Beverly’s hand on my back.
“Hey,” she says.
I turn, and our faces are mere inches from one another. Her skin is luminous, and her smile warm and accommodating. I feel like a schoolboy enamored by his favorite teacher. And isn’t that what she is? Maybe she can teach me a thing or two.
“We’re just bantering, Ridge. You know, having a conversation. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”
“You didn’t,” I say, averting my eyes. “I think I’m just tired.”
“Oh.” Her soft voice holds disappointment. “Well, I should probably be going anyway. It’s getting late.”
I reach for her hand and slip my fingers between hers. She jerks her head to look right at me, the hope in her eyes still a glimmer.
“I like you, Beverly.”
She swallows, her words coming out in a whisper. “I like you, too, Ridge.”
“Can I have your number? I’d really like to see you again while I’m in town. Maybe this week we could meet for dinner when I have some time off?”
She blinks back at me and smiles, realization crossing her pretty features that whatever this thing is between us isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
“I’d love to, Ridge.”
Several hours later, I’m sitting in the backseat of the car service Arthur arranged for me, being whisked through the suburbs toward my high-class hotel in downtown Atlanta.
Even at this ungodly hour, the Saturday night traffic is intense, the bright headlights and high beams of oncoming cars making me wince.
I’m tired and hungry, ready to collapse into my empty bed and sleep.
I reach into my duffle bag for my room key, my hand hitting the aluminum foil-wrapped loaf of banana bread Beverly gifted me earlier.
My mouth lifts into an instant smile, and I grab the treat like a starved man receiving a ration.
Ripping into the loaf, my mouth salivates as the scent of homemade goodness titillates my nostrils.
I take a huge bite and immediately moan with relief, the comfort food filling the gaping hole of hunger at the center of my belly.
The buttery taste, paired with the sweet ripeness of the banana, has a subtle caramel flavor; the texture is moist and soft.
I’m floored by Beverly’s generous gift and make a note to offer her a present the next time we meet.
Leaning my head against the expensive seat rest, I savor each bite and chew slowly while pondering Beverly’s words regarding my library scene with Jacob.
She told me she was moved, brought to literal tears, witnessing the scene unfold.
I admitted to her how some scenes hit closer to home.
Little did she know how close this one actually hit tonight.
I was gutted, but I managed to keep my composure; my acting skills definitely came in handy and helped me keep my emotions in check.
I was on the verge of telling Beverly the truth about my son.
Only my lawyer knows about him. I haven’t even told Arthur.
But I held back. She couldn’t possibly understand how I don’t believe I have what it takes to be a good father or to even co-parent with someone like Whitney.
It might be best if this child never met me at all.
I need to figure this one out. I’m on a personal journey of self-reflection that requires continuous effort. But maybe having someone like Beverly to talk to could make a difference?
“Almost there, Mr. Wilson.”
I blow out a long breath and quickly wrap the remnants of banana bread into my duffle bag, my hunger dissipated. “Thank you.”
The vehicle pulls up to the swanky entrance, and a doorman immediately opens the car door. I duck outside, and I’m relieved there are no flashing bulbs from the paparazzi, one of the perks of filming in Atlanta instead of LA.
Once I’m inside my room, I kick off my shoes and collapse on the king-sized bed, spread-eagle. My eyelids are heavy with impending sleep. But before I doze off, I lift my cell phone to my hooded eyes and fire off a quick text message to Beverly.
I loved your banana bread. I ate most of it on the car ride to my hotel. Thanks again for the enchanting evening.
I wait a few seconds, knowing she’s probably fast asleep and won’t respond at this late hour. But then I notice the little text bubble percolating with a reply. I sit halfway up and lean on my bent elbow, anticipating her response.
The words, You’re welcome, Captain pop up, followed by a smiling emoji. I laugh out loud.
See you soon. I type back.
I hold my breath as I watch the text bubbles, knowing her dainty hands are typing from across town. The same hands I held earlier, her firm grip keeping me from completely falling apart.
I’m counting on it.