Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Ridge
I’m barefoot, wearing running shorts and an athletic tee, sipping black coffee. I can’t believe Beverly is here in my house. And I can’t believe we slept in separate bedrooms.
She looks sleepy, her hair slipping out of her braid hanging over one shoulder.
Her white shirt is wrinkled from her suitcase, one of the sleeves half rolled and the other stuck at her elbow.
She is deliciously unwinding, being on California time, but still a little fuzzy from the time change.
If only I could smudge her lines a little bit more.
I shove the urge away as she gazes up at me from her perch on the bar stool, her lips pressed against a white coffee cup.
I didn’t realize having a woman like Beverly in my life could be so simple. Muffins in a takeout container and a purse placed on my kitchen island. The scent of coffee in the air and beams of morning light, causing a hazy halo effect around her head.
I made it a point to kiss her at every opportunity last night.
When I gave her a tour of my house, with her sunshine grin and a million questions.
In the kitchen, with her hands in the sudsy lavender water and her hair falling all around her face.
On the terrace, with my hip bumping into hers as I pointed out the ocean, the sunset colors lighting up her cheeks.
I admit, I wanted to do more than kiss her on the terrace.
The day I met Beverly in the library, I felt a pull toward her. But now that she’s here, it’s worse. Deeper.
Forbidden.
This is harder than I thought it would be.
Part of me wants to draw out our morning, but the other feels like if I don’t hurry, the week will be over, and she’ll disappear right before my eyes.
But I’m willing to respect her wishes and give it a try.
I need to settle into my role as Prince Charming while she’s here and keep my wayward thoughts to myself.
My goal for the day is to give her pleasure.
And not the kind that takes place in the bedroom.
I want to show her my regular world. Introduce her to my favorite neighbors.
Watch the surfers. Enjoy a romantic ride on the Ferris wheel.
Take her out to a candlelight dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant.
Pick up groceries at the local market and cook together.
Stay up late and watch movies. Linger over coffee and our favorite books.
Amble through our week and drift toward whatever moves us.
I have nothing to prove. I just want Beverly to enjoy her vacation at her own pace.
There is no ulterior motive. At least, I hope not.
I realize having her here softens the edges of my crazy world.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask, refilling her mug.
“Like a rock. I woke up early this morning and forgot where I was.” She laughs and crosses her long legs. She’s wearing comfortable shorts with a drawstring tie at her waist, and she’s barefoot.
I drag my gaze down her exposed legs to her feet, her pink toenails making me smile.
“What?” she asks.
I jerk my focus to her face, void of any makeup, her natural beauty on full display.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a guest in my home.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Her eyebrow cocks humorously, as if she thinks she’s got me all figured out.
“Why do you find that hard to believe?” I slide the coffee pot back into the machine. “I’m curious. What do you think of me, Beverly? And before you say anything, please know that I’m nothing like those stereotypical Hollywood actors portrayed in television interviews.”
“I never said you were,” she counters. I watch her lean her elbow comfortably on the granite bar top of the island. “I think you’re polite and laid back. You have an approachable nature.”
Now it’s my turn to cock an eyebrow. “An approachable nature?”
She laughs. “Yes. You’re not stuck up or full of yourself. And thank goodness you have a sense of humor. That’s very important to me.”
“Important, huh?”
I pull out the stool next to hers and sit.
I can practically feel the drag of her gaze over the hollow of my throat.
I swallow hard and urge her to continue.
I like knowing what Beverly thinks of me, and not because I want a big head.
It’s her honesty pulling me in for more.
A gentle reminder, I’m not a coward or a deadbeat dad at this juncture in my life.
I’m just a man struggling to figure things out.
“Go on,” I probe.
The tips of her fingers slide across my stubbly cheek, sending ripples of pleasure to my heart.
“You’re a good man, Ridge. I can sense that. I’ve seen it in the way you conduct business with your fellow actors and with your assistant, Arthur. And by the way, that Brit adores you.”
I gently lift her hand from my face and kiss the center of her palm. “I adore him too. I appreciate your honesty. I never have to wonder what you’re thinking because you always tell me the truth.”
“Humor, open communication, and honesty.” She counts each one off, holding up three fingers.
I press my lips together and nod, my thoughts diverting to my one-night stand.
“I also think losing our fathers has bonded us in a way nothing else can. I hope you’ll open up to me more about it this week. We’re so lucky we both had dads who instilled confidence and provided valuable life lessons before they passed. Right? We both turned out pretty good.”
I freeze on the stool, the word “father” an immediate dagger to my heart. If she knew the kind of daddy secret I’ve been keeping from her, she’d pack her bags and be on the first flight out for sure.
“Did I say something wrong, Ridge?”
I want to say it. I want her to know the truth. Instead, I fumble with my words. “No. You didn’t say anything wrong.”
“Then what is it? I know it’s something. Is it about your dad?”
My chest expands in a deep breath, her kind eyes holding mine captive.
It would be so easy to tell her the truth in this moment.
To finally get it over with. Address the elephant in the room.
But for some reason, I can’t do it. Selfishly, I want to enjoy our week together before she can judge me.
And I’m not saying she will. I sincerely believe she’s not that kind of woman. But anything is possible.
“There is something I’d like to tell you, Beverly… but I’m not quite ready.”
“Okay.” She averts her gaze and interlocks her fingers on her lap as if disappointed.
I shake my head. “Everything could fall apart. And I can’t let that happen. Not yet.”
She looks up at me, the concern in her voice evident. “But you will tell me?”
I lick my lips and stare right at her. This girl is good. I offer her a quick smile to reassure her that all is well within my world. “Of course.”
***
It’s a quiet evening near the pier. We take my boat to the modest Italian restaurant I love, far from the usual industry spots. No security, no paparazzi, just two adults sitting across a candle-lit table in a private corner, surrounded by the soft clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation.
Beverly notices right away my demeanor; my quiet intensity, unavoidable since my admission I have something to tell her.
I keep the conversation casual at first and tell her about a few of my most memorable roles in Hollywood.
She tells me about a couple of her beloved students, and we end by naming our favorite yacht rock tunes.
But after our main course of rigatoni and eggplant parmesan, our conversation soon veers into deeper waters.
I stare at the melting wax between us, very self-aware of what I’m about to divulge. I have to tell her. I need to tell her. It’s now or never.
“Everything okay?” she asks, lifting her wine glass to her mouth. “You seem a little off tonight. I know it’s none of my business, but if you’d like to talk about it…”
“—I have a son,” I admit, catching her off guard mid-sip.
She chokes, and I hand her my linen napkin from across the table.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that and startle you.”
“I’m fine… really.” She trades the wine for her water glass and takes a careful sip. Licking her lips, she stares back at me, the candlelight throwing shadows across her shocked expression.
My hands tremble slightly, and I smile up at the waiter as he delivers dessert. “Thank you,” I say quickly.
“You’re welcome. Would you both care for any coffee? Espresso? Cognac?”
“Maybe in a bit,” I mumble.
“Yes, I’m still finishing up my wine,” Beverly adds, pointing to her glass. Thank goodness she has my back.
The waiter gives her an accommodating smile. “Of course.”
When he’s out of earshot, Beverly leans low and whispers, “Let’s go back to the part where you said you have a son. How old is he?”
I motion to the dessert sitting elegantly between us, biding a few more seconds to gather my thoughts together. “Please.”
She obliges, and I watch her drag her fork across the cocoa-dusted topping of the tiramisu. As she’s about to lift the bite to her mouth, I reply, “He’s three months old.”
Beverly stops, her eyes going wide with revelation. She carefully sets the fork down and wipes her lips with her napkin again. “That’s how old Madison’s son is—Joey is three months old.”
I nod, my heart aching at the similarities. “You’re the only one besides my lawyer who knows about this. I haven’t even told Arthur yet.”
She frowns. “Why?”
I lean back in our quiet booth tucked away from the regular crowd. That’s one of the best things about this place: the privacy. No one is allowed in this corner of the restaurant unless they’re a server or a manager checking on us.
“It’s a long story.”
She calmly rests her folded arms across the edge of the table and stares right at me. “I’m all ears.”
I start from the beginning and tell her the entire, sordid truth.
However, I purposely leave out Whitney’s name, only telling Beverly that the mother of my son was once a high-profile actress.
I explain how things could get messy if word got out.
I’ll get to her name at some point, but not yet. And she doesn’t ask.
There are still legal ramifications if this news goes public before I’m ready.
I tell Beverly how I’ve needed time to figure things out.
It’s what I wanted. It’s what Whitney agreed to.
That, and the one-hundred-thousand-dollar-a-month payout to keep her mouth shut for now.
I’m thankful she’s kept up her end of the bargain, giving me space.
I can’t chance someone in the restaurant overhearing us, or Beverly unintentionally saying something to her family or one of her coworkers.
I have a lot to work through. But time is ticking.
Still, I’m bold and fully, unapologetically myself. And it’s hard. So hard.
Beverly listens, her quiet demeanor a welcome sounding board. I tell her about my anxiety, the demanding pressure of my career, and the expectations of fatherhood, which I’m not so sure I can handle. Especially being linked with someone like Whitney.
“I’m scared, Beverly,” I admit.
She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she reaches her hand across the table and softly caresses my knuckles.
I don’t need her to save me, but I need her to hear me. Thank goodness she’s listening.