Chapter 5

Susie was in dirty laundry hell. She had nothing clean that was suitable to wear. What exactly did one wear to breakfast with a movie star? She wanted to look good without looking like she was trying too hard.

Dane had kissed her. It had been nice. She rolled her eyes. It had been more than nice. If she let herself, she could have a serious crush on him.

She scanned her closet again in case something new appeared. It was still filled with the same old jeans, T-shirts, and one lone cocktail dress. Sequins were probably too fancy for breakfast.

She opened her pantie drawer. It would have been a lingerie drawer, but she didn’t think cotton panties and sports bras from Costco really qualified as lingerie. She was down to her last pair of panties—the granny panty ones that came up to her ears. The only bra not dirty was her uniboob strapless tube bra that was about five sizes too small and fit like a rubber band around her chest. There was no lifting or separating or deep breathing.

Like a college kid who hadn’t gone home in two months to do laundry, she riffled through her dirty clothes and sniffed out a bra with an underwire. She leaned against the closet door and carefully slipped her good foot through the leg hole of the granny panties and then gently pulled the panties over her bad foot. She’d forgotten how hard it was putting on clothes with an injured foot. She put on her bra, grabbed a dark-green T-shirt that matched her eyes, and a pair of boyfriend-cut jeans. She tossed the shirt over her head and shoved her arms through the armholes and hobbled to the bed to slip on her jeans. Once she was clothed, she swiped on a little mascara, finger combed her long black hair, and called it a day. This was the best she could do with the time she had.

She found him sitting at her kitchen table sipping a cup of coffee and typing on his phone. He looked good at her kitchen table—relaxed and comfortable.

“The cinnamon rolls smell like they’re almost done.” She hobbled over to the oven and turned on the light. They were golden brown and gooey. “Thanks for putting them in for me.”

“No problem.” He glanced up and his mouth dropped open.

“What’s wrong?” She turned around in case the oven was on fire or something.

“Nothing.” He covered his drop-jawed expression with a smile. He wagged his phone. “I logged onto your internet. You really should password protect it.”

“From who?” She grabbed a mug from the cabinet by the sink, shoved it under the coffee maker, popped in a Starbucks K-Cup, and hit the start button. “The only people who live around here are me and Milton. I’m pretty sure he thinks the internet is the missile defense system created by Ronald Reagan in the 1980s. He’s old. Technology confuses him. He still uses a typewriter—not even the electric kind. A couple of months ago, I brought his typewriter in to show my students. They were stunned that it didn’t have a screen and that you had to put paper in it one piece at a time.”

“Still, you should password protect your internet. Someone could come by and steal all of your financial information.” He really looked concerned.

“As a middle school teacher, I don’t have any financial information interesting enough to steal.” She snapped her fingers. “Although, I did receive a very nice offer from a prince in Nigeria who claims to be my distant relative. If I send him twenty thousand dollars now, he’ll send me ten million next month.”

“Ha ha, very funny. Still, you’re out here all alone. All you have is an aggressive hen and a surveillance donkey to keep you safe.” He pointed to himself. “And you let a stranger in your house. That is a terrible idea. I could be an ax murderer.”

“I thought the same thing, but it turns out you’re not.” She blew on her hot coffee before taking a sip.

“How do you know? I could be a charming movie star by day and an ax murderer by night.” He was honestly concerned.

“Oh yeah, where’s your ax?” She pointed to the window above the sink. Dawn tinted the horizon pink and orange. “And it’s daytime again, so you’re out of luck.”

“You have a point. Still, you shouldn’t let strangers into your house and you should protect yourself against identity theft.” He set his phone down and stood. “You should sit down and elevate your foot. I think I should take you to the hospital.”

“Give the man a cup of coffee and he gets pushy. Should we discuss your caffeine intake?” She smiled as she took a sip of her coffee.

“You really need to have your foot X-rayed.” He was beginning to sound like he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

She waved it off. “My orthopedic surgeon is married to one of my best friends and will be here in a couple of hours. He can look at it then. I just took several ibuprofen, so I’ll be fine.”

“Sit.” He pointed to one of the benches at the kitchen table.

“I’d love to but these crutches don’t have a cup holder and I love my morning coffee.” She nodded toward the oven. “Can you take those out for me?”

“Sure. I’m sorry, I should have offered.” He seemed flustered. “And, um, thanks for the coffee. I would have made you a cup, but I wasn’t sure how long you’d be.”

What was all that about? He was acting weird. Maybe he didn’t really want to stay and judge Potato Cannon Wars. He’d probably gotten in touch with his director or manager or assistant and he was needed somewhere else at five something in the morning.

“It was very nice of you to offer to help judge Potato Cannon Wars, but if you have other plans, it’s okay. You don’t have to stay.” She was trying to give him an easy exit.

“What do you mean?” His face fell. “Do you not want me to stay?”

He opened the oven, grabbed the pot holder from above the stove, and set the cinnamon rolls on top of the stove.

“No, I’d love for you to stay, but you seem a little … um, distracted.” She leaned against the counter. “I was just giving you an easy out in case you’ve over committed.”

“No, no. I’ve canceled everything for today.” He leaned against the counter next to her. “I’m looking forward to Potato Cannon Wars. It’s not every day that I get to judge such a prestigious contest.” He thought about it for a second. “What do they win?”

“Well, mainly it’s just bragging rights, but the overall winner does get to take home the Golden Potato. It’s a one of a kind. I superglued a plastic potato on top of one of my old soccer trophies. We have a ceremony at the end where last year’s winner passes it down to the new winner. And every participant gets a bright smile and a firm handshake from me.” She shrugged. “I give away gift cards too. Over the years, I’ve found that no one really cares about the prizes. They just enjoy showing off their work.”

He thought about that for a second. “You’re right. I have a wall full of awards, most of which I can’t remember, but the most gratifying thing was being recognized for my work.”

“That sounds like the ‘It was an honor to be nominated’ speech. I’m not that magnanimous.” She shrugged. “Call me shallow, but I like to win.”

“I saw that. Teacher of the year seven years running. Here, let me get your coffee so you can sit.” He took her mug and set it down on the kitchen table. “I googled ‘woman wins chicken on Mexican game show.’ I can tell you like to win.” He laughed. “The best part of the video is the looks on the faces of everyone around you, including the host. They were like, ‘Why is she so excited, she just lost the car.’ It was hilarious.”

Susie hobbled over to the kitchen table and sat down.

Dane opened the freezer, pulled out two more ice packs, and brought them to her.

“Thanks, but I only need one. I think my nose is fine.” She handed him the other ice pack.

He put it back in the freezer.

An awkward silence weighted down the room.

“About earlier, why were you flustered?” Since there was already awkwardness, why not pile on more?

He swallowed several times. “You make me nervous.”

“Really? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. Usually I just frustrate people. I must be branching out.” She couldn’t remember making anyone nervous before. Maybe he was just shy around strangers. He hadn’t seemed shy earlier.

“Is there anything we need to do for the cinnamon rolls?” He plastered on a fake smile.

“Yes, thanks for reminding me. There’s a bowl of cream cheese frosting in the fridge.” She elevated her foot. “If you could take it out, please, so it will loosen up.”

The frosting wasn’t the only thing in the room that needed loosening up.

“Did you get ahold of the rental car company? Are they bringing you another car with an actual spare tire?” Maybe circling back to their first encounter would lighten things up.

“Car … yes. Spare … anyone’s guess.” He set the frosting on the counter and then straddled the bench right next to her and lightly touched her cheek. “You make me nervous because I’m attracted to you. I’ve been attracted to many women, but none of them has ever made me nervous. I love it.”

His lips came down on hers, softly … tenderly. He took his time like he wanted to savor the flavor of her. He cupped her face and deepened the kiss. His tongue darted into her mouth, gently exploring.

She melted into him. Every single molecule in her body tingled. She wanted more and had to restrain herself from climbing into his lap.

The kiss ended and he leaned back. “Wow, we have some amazing chemistry.”

“That’s an understatement.” Her body was drowning in lust hormones. She’d never had a fling. Now seemed like the perfect time to have one.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I have a fake girlfriend.”

“Is that like having an imaginary friend?” She looked around. “Is she here with us now?”

“No.” He laughed nervously. “Rachel Mays and I are really good friends. The studio likes to capitalize on that for the free publicity, so they started a rumor that we were together.” He rolled his eyes. “Actually, the media thinks we’re an on-again, off-again couple, only no one seems to notice that we’re only on while shooting a movie and then after for promotion.”

“That sounds kind of sad. It makes me sad that you can’t date whomever you please.” A thought struck. “Is it in your contract or something?”

“No, but it’s smart. You can’t buy publicity that’s as good as juicy gossip.” He grinned, but it didn’t seem like he thought it was very funny. “If we have a fight, it really puts things over the top. I could do without the drama, but Rachel gets a kick out of it. Plus, the studio likes it, so it gives me more freedom to do the types of projects I want.”

“I thought I was a workaholic, but you really live your work. At least I get to date whomever I’d like—well, provided it’s not a parent of a student, a registered sex offender, or a goat.” Not that she’d date any of those, even if she weren’t a teacher.

“They don’t force me to have dinner with her … I just … go with the flow, I guess you could say. It makes things easier. Really, there’s no one else to date in LA. Everyone’s either looking to capitalize on my fame or pitch me this great idea for a screenplay. No one is interested in getting to know me.” He shrugged. “I’m not interested in getting to know them either.”

Did Rachel know she was his fake girlfriend? “I sort of know what you mean. I haven’t found anyone interesting enough to date in a long time. It’s hard when you spend all day with middle schoolers and live out in the country. I’ve tried online dating, but it was a disaster. Everyone’s online profile is a fantasy … go figure that people would lie on the internet.”

He threw up his hands. “Who knew?”

She didn’t want to harp, but before anything else happened between them, she needed to make sure. “Does Rachel know you’re not really together?”

He busted out laughing. “Yes, it was her idea. We grew up doing commercials together. At this point, she’s more like my sister.” He gagged. “Every time we do a love scene together, we have to keep from laughing. In our last movie, they had to cut away to our body doubles and cut out all of the dialogue because we couldn’t get through it. Rachel kept singing pow-chicka-pow-pow like we were in a 1970s porn. The director was so mad he almost walked off the set. It still cracks me up just thinking about it.”

She couldn’t help but mirror his grin. “How do y’all do it? I mean fake it so well.” She thought about it for a second. “I guess that’s why it’s called acting.” If he was telling the truth, and he really didn’t feel romantic toward his costar, that made his performance in In the Middle of Love all the more impressive.

He shook his head. “Smoke and mirrors, like we were talking about earlier. The thing with Rachel is just work.”

He was telling the truth. He had to be.