Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Ridge
I saw goodbye in her eyes, and I didn’t like it.
Beverly can’t leave. Not yet. At least she gave me tonight. And I’m going to milk it for everything it’s worth. I’m going to pull out all the stops and show her just how romantic a guy I can be. She deserves it after the Whitney fiasco I put her through today.
Having her around has been a welcome change.
The way she compliments strangers and always offers a polite “please” and “thank you.” How she lingers in a pause when listening to the birds or the ocean waves.
Her motherly smile when she held Roman. The way she makes me laugh when I’m feeling uncertain or scared.
She gives away little pieces of her big heart with her immense love every single time I’m around her.
Beverly is love personified. And she’s what I’m looking for.
I want her by my side while I raise my son, not Whitney.
Now, if I could only find the right words to convince her otherwise.
“I’ll be in my room packing unless you need help prepping dinner,” she says, standing at the bottom of the stairs. The way she’s looking at me with those melancholy doe eyes leaves me pining.
“That’s fine. I’ll be in my office for a few minutes.
I need to make a quick call and get the ball rolling on your itinerary change.
I mean… if you’re still positive you’re ready to leave?
” I hold my breath and watch her lips tip up into a beautiful smile.
Gosh, how will I ever get along without her smile?
“I’m sure.” She turns and disappears upstairs.
I lean against the wall and cross my arms. “I don’t know,” I holler after her.
“That didn’t sound very convincing to me.
” I can hear her laugh echo through the hallway.
I sigh and clutch the back of my neck with my hand, knowing I’ve lost this round.
Thank goodness I’m still in the fight for another night.
Several minutes later, I’m in my office and have Arthur on the phone.
We start our conversation with mild chitchat: me asking him how he’s been since we last spoke, and him asking me about Beverly’s visit.
As a trained actor, I use my skills to full advantage when I bring up the subject of her leaving.
“It’s been great. But I need you to rearrange her flight itinerary. She needs to head out tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” His English accent holds concern. “Why? What’s happened?”
I pace back and forth in front of the wall of windows overlooking the terrace and private dock.
The distant glimmers of sunshine on the Pacific Ocean ping like diamonds across the surface.
There is so much I want to show Beverly, places I want to explore with her.
Friends I’d like to introduce her to. Now, I’ve only got one night left.
Go big or go home, right? Unfortunately, she will go home once Arthur changes her flight.
“Nothing has happened.” I fib, not ready to divulge my secret baby or Whitney’s antics to my right-hand man. “Her, uh, sister needs her back in Georgia, that’s all. And this actually works out in my favor as the production team wants me to come to the LA studio and do some overdubs.”
“Overdubs?” Arthur replies with indifference.
“Yup. I’ll fly back to Atlanta another time, and Beverly and I will pick up right where we left off. It’s all good, my friend.”
Arthur is silent on the other end, and I fear I’ve dropped the call.
“You there? Arthur?”
“I’m here, just wondering what it is you’re not telling me. You know I’m a vault. My lips are sealed.”
I’m not ready to tell Arthur the whole sordid story of how I became a father. And even though I know he’ll be happy for my new lot in life, I’d rather tell him in person, as friends should.
“You worry too much.” I force a laugh. “So, about Beverly’s itinerary. Text me with the change, okay?”
“Aye-aye, Captain. I’ll text you within the hour.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up and make my way into the kitchen.
I check the refrigerator for the ingredients I had delivered earlier while we were at the hotel.
This dinner tonight is essential. I want Beverly to understand how I feel about her.
My signature dish of seared scallops and mushroom risotto is a great warm-up.
Beverly finally comes back downstairs looking refreshed in a pretty pale-pink sundress, and I insist she relax outside in a comfortable hammock with a glass of wine while I prepare dinner. I don’t want her lifting a finger. I want to cater to her every whim.
“Think of me as your personal cabana boy tonight, okay?” I say cheekily.
“A cabana boy?” She giggles. “You’re too much, Ridge.”
I love the way she grins at me as I set a lovely table on the back deck overlooking the water.
I add a generous sprig of vibrant red bougainvillea I plucked from my trellis as a centerpiece, placing it in a bud vase.
I rummage through the antique sideboard credenza in my dining room and pull out linen napkins along with my best china and silver.
I make sure Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack croon their vintage songs over the outdoor speakers, serenading her with love.
Like I said, I’m pulling out all the stops for this one.
We sit next to each other during dinner, and I feed her the first bite of a seared scallop fresh out of the pan. Her body rises in a deep, satisfied breath as she chews with pleasure.
“You like?” I ask.
“Mmm-hmm. More like love.”
I can’t contain the joyous smile plastered across my face.
We leave the dirty dishes in the sink and end the day with a sunset cruise around the bay, me pointing out all the magnificent homes owned by local celebrity friends and wealthy business owners.
The colors of the sky at dusk are a splendid tapestry of sweeping oranges and bold cherry whisps among the clouds, making her stare wide-eyed at the horizon.
I feel calm and relaxed after I coax her to sit on my lap, my arms wrapped around her waist and my chin on her shoulder as she helps steer the boat.
We glide effortlessly along the surface of the water, the wind blowing through our hair.
Knowing these are quite possibly our last romantic moments together rocks me to my core.
The soft ache in my heart grips the edges of our final hours as the sun slips into the ocean.
I want to tell her how much I love being with her.
How I enjoy listening to her hum while doing mundane things like scrolling through her phone or fixing her coffee in the mornings.
The way she talked to Roman in a sweet, high-pitched voice.
I could’ve watched her like that for hours.
Her subtle, “I’m done” look, which is more adorable than concerning.
When she unknowingly mimics my gestures, like cocking an eyebrow at me, or wrinkling her nose.
Her playful banter and random facts, as well as her rabbit holes about cloud formations or California beach town populations, are magnetic.
I love her childlike curiosity. Her clumsiness on that first day we met, spilling coffee on my white shirt, but still running the conversation like a boss.
Her voice when she’s sleepy. Soft and raspy, her Southern accent luring me in.
I could listen to her talk that way until dawn.
The bottom line? I’m not interested in a filtered, Hollywood version of Beverly. I’m drawn to this woman just as she is, for being herself. The confidence. The kindness. The comfort I feel being in her presence. She’s the whole experience, and I love every bit of it.
“Help me out?” she asks, bringing me back to reality.
We’ve arrived at the dock, and the crew ties us off. She’s standing near the edge of the boat with an outstretched arm. I link my fingers through hers and keep her steady as she steps onto the wooden planks, the briny, dark water lapping against the sides of the boat from the lazy current.
“Have a good evening, Mr. Wilson,” one of the deckhands says.
“You too.” I pull out a fifty-dollar bill and pass it off to him before I follow Beverly to the back gate of my home. She walks right past it.
I stifle a grin and lazily follow her down the path from behind, my hands buried deep in my pockets. We meander past the other homes, lamplights shining across the walking course around the island. We’re both quietly admiring the darkening heavens with a few noticeable stars starting to appear.
I watch Beverly stop and hug herself, her head tilted, and her eyes focused on the night sky. I’ve seen that look before. She’s in deep thought.
“Do you ever feel your dad’s spirit in rays of sunshine or in the stars at night?” she asks.
I’m taken aback by her comment, her big heart, and her love for her family on full display.
I realize she’s homesick. And I know I didn’t do her any favors by bringing her to the Hotel Bel-Air to meet my infant son and his infamous mother.
I do my best to try and answer, boldly standing closer to her.
We’re inches apart, the faint scent of her perfume tickling my nose.
“Well, I do think about my dad when I’m out on the ocean. He loved boating. And fishing. I guess those are the times I feel closest to my dad’s spirit.”
“Hmm,” she mumbles, looking right at me. Her expression is filled with sorrow. “I miss my dad.”
I press my palms against her bare arms and gently squeeze. “I know you do.” I’m astonished when she walks into my embrace and lays her head against my chest.
“It’s the weirdest feeling, Ridge. It’s like there’s this place you can’t return to and a feeling you didn’t know you’d miss so much until it was gone.”
I press my lips to her soft hair and hold her close. “I understand. And I owe you an apology.”
Beverly steps back from me and frowns. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. I shouldn’t have brought you to the hotel today. That was insensitive and tactless of me. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes scroll my face, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Before I can ask, she starts walking again.
“You have a son, Ridge. You’re a father now, and Roman deserves everything you can give him while you’re on this earth.”
“I know. And I’m going to give it to him. I promise.”
She stops and smiles at me. The same big grin that does funny things to my insides and makes me glad to be alive. “Good answer. Now kiss me one last time under this glorious star-filled sky by the water. But only if you mean it.”
I take a step forward and gently hold her head in my hands, my fingers combing through her long hair. My voice rumbles with desire when I say, “Oh, I mean it.”
I press my lips against hers and pour out every thought, every feeling, every desire I have for this woman, knowing deep down I want more. So much more.
I only hope that moving forward, our stars might align so we can make more happen.