CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE SETTING WAS PARADISE: blue sky, palm trees, golden beach and gentle surf. The soundtrack worked, too, a pleasing combination of waves hitting sand punctuated by seagull calls. On the deck of the beach house, Vance basked in good cheer that was as warm as the sunshine, even though the woman he’d have in his bed that night was standing in front of him, arms crossed over her chest, shaking her head. “I’m not going to do it.”
“Jeez, Layla,” he said, proffering the hair clippers again, “you’re a soldier’s daughter. All I’m asking—”
“Not going to do it. Nuh-uh.”
He ran his fingers through his too-long hair, managing to avoid clunking his skull with his cast. Hey, progress. “Baby...”
“I like that it’s longer,” she said, coming forward to touch it herself. “Another inch and I think it might have a wave. Even curl.”
“Bite your tongue.” He batted her hand away. “My hair wouldn’t dare do that again.”
“‘Again’?” Layla’s eyes narrowed. “You had curls at one time?”
“Of course not,” he lied.
She smiled, clearly delighted, and sidled closer, pressing her sweet body to his. “Vance Smith. I bet you were the cutest thing.”
He copped a feel of her butt with his free hand and couldn’t help but smile back. “It was a crime, what she did to me.”
“Who?” She leaned up to kiss his stubbled chin.
It tickled, and he made a mental note to shave before bed so he wouldn’t whisker-burn the soft and tender place between her thighs he meant to explore for at least half the night. She bussed him again, and he slid his hand to the back of her head, holding her in place for a real kiss. Lips to lips. Tongue to tongue. God, he loved that lemon icing taste of hers.
“Who?” she said against his mouth.
He lifted his head. “What?” Damn, the woman distracted him. “Oh, who. My mother.”
“So it’s her DNA that’s responsible for the ringlets?”
Vance kept his arm around Layla, pleased to have her pretty face so close. “Probably. But what I meant was how sneakily she cultivated my head of hair.”
Layla smiled again. “Do tell.”
“You know what an active kid I was. Sports, bikes, you name it. Go, go, go all the time. So when I was in the sixth grade and she didn’t hound me to go, go, go to the barber, I didn’t complain or question, because it gave me more play time. Didn’t give a thought to why I wasn’t seeing scissors even though Fucking Perfect Fitz kept regular appointments.”
“Fucking Perfect Fitz has hair straight as a stick.”
He loved how his brother’s nickname just rolled off her tongue. So he had to kiss her again, and tongue that tongue, and generally just enjoy the hell out of himself for a few minutes. Who knew something so fine could come out of that battlefield promise?
Maybe there was something to this Beach House No. 9 mystique, after all. Griffin and Jane certainly seemed to think so. The man was different than he’d been overseas—his smile more ready, his restlessness calmed.
When Vance’s kiss for Layla ended, she was still fixated on the subject of his long-ago style. “So, Rapunzel, your hair just kept growing...”
“Into ringlets, like you guessed.” Huh. He hadn’t meant to confess that to her, but he’d told her so many things about himself. Maybe more than he’d ever told anybody. Certainly any woman. “Fat ringlets.”
“To his shoulders,” a new voice added. “And when our family went on vacation that summer, every day someone mistook him for a girl.”
Vance whirled to confront his brother, climbing the steps to the deck. He looked as put-together as ever—not as GQ as Baxter, but pure dean’s list in khakis and a sports shirt. His face looked tired, though, a strain around his eyes.
It only pissed Vance off more that he noticed the change. “What the hell is with you, Fitz?” His day had been so damn happy. “Rain on someone else’s parade.”
“Is that any way to talk to the guy who saved you from a rattlesnake?”
Stepping away from Layla, Vance glared. “That’s such crap. You were wrong—it was a garter snake, which someone with your IQ should have realized.”
Fitz managed to look down his nose at him, which was quite a feat considering he was shorter. “Isn’t it the thought that counts?”
“When you shoved me away, I landed on my chin.” He tapped the scar. “Five stitches, bro.”
“It just furthered your romance with the intake nurse in the E.R.” Fitz shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Should I be jealous?” Layla’s voice broke into the tension.
Fitz shifted his gaze. “She knew his insurance number by heart. One look at those curls and the ladies were charmed.” A small smile curved his lips and he looked younger, almost like the 14-year-old who’d believed he’d been saving his little brother.
It twisted Vance’s gut. Sometimes Fucking Perfect Fitz made it almost impossible to hate him. “So what do you want this time?”
His brother looked away, then looked back. “The other occasions... The first time was to urge you to contact Mom, the second to return the ring. But now...I’m here for myself, V.T. To make things right between us.”
Vance just stared at him.
“You’re my little brother,” Fitz started.
“It’s not like I’ve forgotten,” Vance said, impatient. “I’m the screwup, the can’t-be-trusted, the not-good-as-you.”
“Those are your words, not mine.” Fitz frowned. “And I’m not here to insult you, dammit. I’m here to make sure you understand about...about me and Blythe.”
“Not that again. Jesus, go find another dead horse to beat, will you?”
Fitz wore a familiar dogged expression, however, the same one he used to have when digging into an extra credit problem set for Advanced Calculus. “I swear that I didn’t make any moves on her before she broke your engagement.”
Vance rolled his eyes.
“Sure, I thought she was beautiful and I couldn’t believe—”
“She’d tie herself to the black sheep of the family? But that didn’t last, did it?”
Fitz sighed. “It just happened, okay? But not before—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Layla interrupted, surprising them both. She stomped over to Fitz and he retreated until the small of his back smacked the railing around the deck. Her forefinger poked him in the chest. “Just apologize to your brother.”
Fitz blinked. “Wha—”
“I’m an only child,” Layla said right over him, “but even I know there’s a no-poaching rule between siblings, breakup or no. So tell Vance you’re sorry and maybe you have a chance of him forgiving you.”
Vance’s mouth twitched. God, she made him want to smile, for championing him yet again, and for humbling Fucking Perfect Fitz for perhaps the first time in his life. Because, yep, his brother just stood there, his mouth half-open, the dumb look on his face saying he didn’t know what to think or do next.
A few minutes of silence passed. Finally Fitz looked from Layla to Vance. “She’s right, V.T. I...I beg your pardon.” Then he held out his hand. “Are we good?”
Vance strode forward, for all the world appearing as if he was intent on sealing the peace with a handshake. At the last second, though, instead of meeting Fitz’s palm, he shoved at his brother’s shoulders, hard, sending him toppling over the railing and onto the sand four feet below. Then he peered down at the other man through narrowed eyes. “You ass. It’s not going to be that easy.”
Fitz lay flat on his back, his hair disheveled, his button-down shirt askew, his gaze on the blue overhead. A sudden memory flashed in Vance’s mind. Two young boys, shoulder to shoulder, finding shapes in the clouds. Usually something so tame would bore restless Vance, but Fitz had found a pirate ship in the sky and was spinning the tale of two buccaneer brothers who spent a lifetime together fighting side by side, gathering riches and helping the poor. Figured Fitz’s sea bandits were Robin Hoods, Vance mused now.
Though different from each other, they’d been close as kids. Later, when Vance was semi-estranged from their parents, Fitz had tried to retain the brotherly closeness—when Vance wasn’t deployed he’d called on a regular basis and dropped by for a beer on occasion, no matter how cool a response he’d received in return.
Fucking Perfect Fitz, always doing the right, responsible thing.
He’d counted on that, Vance realized, and had been shocked by his brother’s hooking up with Blythe. It had sliced deep, he realized now, much, much deeper than being dumped by his fiancée. And he’d been grieving over that break with Fitz ever since.
It just happened, his brother had said, referring to falling in love with Blythe. And Vance remembered saying similar words to Layla, too, explaining their instant combustible chemistry. Sometimes things just happened.
“What now?” Layla asked, coming up beside him at the railing to peer curiously over the side.
He glanced over at her, and it brought to mind her uncle Phil and his Buddha voodoo. He’d talked to Vance about grief. You could use it for the positive, the aging hippie had said. It could give you an understanding of how quickly life passes. Then you’d appreciate the world more. Then you’d be kinder to your fellow man.
To your brother.
“Now?” he said to Layla on a sigh. “Now I guess I better get ol’ Fitz off the sand. Offer him a beer.”
His brother still looked a little dazed as Vance stood on the beach, staring down on him. “You breathing?” he asked, his voice a bit gruff.
It was Fitz’s turn to sigh. “I’ve got enough air for another crack at that apology I owe you.”
Vance reached out a hand to help Fitz up.
“I think I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind. You might just knock me down again.”
Without a word, Vance kept his palm outstretched.
After another moment, Fitz met it with his own. His grip was strong and even after he was on his feet, his fingers stayed folded around Vance’s. “I’m sorry.” Fitz swallowed. “What makes it worse was that you were going through a bad time and my involvement as part of it meant I couldn’t be there for you.”
“Yeah,” Vance replied, his voice still gruff. Losing his brother had been much worse than losing Blythe.
“Like I said from the beginning,” Layla interjected cheerfully. “He’s not so fucking perfect, after all.”
Vance had to grin. “Hey, the lady’s right. And that puts me in a much more forgiving mood.”
“Do that,” Fitz said, serious. “Forgive me. Please.”
“Okay.” Vance nodded, then clapped his brother on the shoulder. “We’re okay.”
Then he got out the beer. And pretty soon he and his brother were shooting the shit in the sunshine with cold brews at hand and a pretty girl who just looked at them with an enigmatic smile in her eyes. Before the sun went down, Fitz had grabbed up the clippers and turned his perfectionism toward Vance’s hair.
Look, Vance thought, in sudden surprise. His damn happy day was back.
* * *
IT WON’T HURT TO SAY GOODBYE, Addy reminded herself as she made her way to the door of Baxter’s high-rise condo. She tugged on her light cotton tunic, then flicked a piece of lint from her jeans. It won’t hurt to say goodbye.
Of course, she’d already thought she’d said goodbye—wasn’t it twice now?—but here she was, on Baxter’s turf. That damn carton of ledgers, she thought. She should never have let him carry it away. But when he’d called about getting the stuff back to her, it had seemed smarter for her to make the collection herself rather than suggesting he come to Crescent Cove.
This way, she’d control the situation.
Leave when she wanted. As in, immediately upon receipt of the box.
Baxter answered the door dressed in a pair of jeans and a Superman T-shirt. She stared, surprised by the casual attire. He’d been in similarly relaxed gear the other night at Captain Crow’s, she now remembered. It had seemed somewhat out-of-character then, but still, it had been after work hours. It was noon now, though. A weekday. Why wasn’t he in one of his elegant suits?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think when I said I’d meet you at home. You could have brought the box to your office and I would have picked it up there.”
He shrugged. “Come in.”
Still, Addy hesitated. At his workplace, the handover could have been totally businesslike. But now she was going to have to walk into his living space, raising the memory of the last time they’d been together in these rooms. The bed. The tie. His body. Oh, God.
Better to avoid that, she decided hastily. “I’ll wait right here while you get the box.”
“Addy—”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
Baxter gave her a wry smile. “You’ve been bothering me for six years.”
What to say to that? “Really, if you’ll just give me the box, I’ll get out of your hair. I’m sure you’re eager to return to work.”
An odd expression crossed his face.
I hate my job. He’d uttered those words that night in the darkness that he’d said was safe for secrets. She hadn’t gotten the chance to delve into the statement—he’d run as if he’d found the sentiment as startling as she did. But now wasn’t the time to discuss it with him, either. It was none of her affair, after all, even though she felt a pang of sympathy for Golden Boy Baxter for the first time in her life.
If it was true, he had to be suffering. Where did job dissatisfaction fit on the Baxter Smith Life Schedule? It wasn’t as if he could just up and leave the family business.
And now guilt stabbed her, as well. He might be in distress and she wasn’t even gracious enough to walk into his home. With a grimace, she took a step forward. “Okay, I’ll come in,” she told him. “Just for a minute. Just long enough to collect the ledgers.”
He followed her into the living room. “Don’t you want to discuss what I found?”
She turned, eyebrows rising. “You looked them over?”
“I told you I would. I’ll keep all my promises to you from now on, Addy.”
Oh, she wished he wouldn’t say things like that. And she wished that the navy T-shirt didn’t turn his remarkable eyes an even darker blue and that when she saw the S emblazoned on the cotton covering his broad chest, she didn’t think of Sexy and So Good in Bed.
She curled her fingers into her palms, hoping the bite of her nails would get her mind back on track. “Could you glean anything about the state of Sunrise Pictures’ financials? When Max Sunstrum closed the doors, could you tell if it was in the red or black?”
Before Baxter could answer, she lifted her shoulders in a self-deprecating little shrug. “And please, make it simple. Because I’m going to confess I don’t actually remember which one is better, even though I took an accounting elective in high school. Mr. Finney was a complete tool. The only thing I actually know about red and black is that I don’t look good in either one.”
His mouth twitched. “No?”
“No. Too harsh for the pale hair and the pale complexion. I once tried cherry-red, which is supposed to be okay on blondes...” She subsided, realizing she was chattering about nothing. “Sorry, I’m on full babble. Used to be that I’d eat when I was nervous. Potato chips are good nervous-eating food. Or cookies. Now I talk.”
He smiled.
Had she just confessed she used to gorge on junk food? “Oh, God, I’m still doing it, aren’t I?”
“Why are you nervous, Addy?”
I’m worried it’s going to hurt to say goodbye. She looked away from his gorgeous face and bit her lip. “Please put me out of my misery. What did you learn?”
He took her hand and led her to the sofa. His fingers were warm and sure, and she remembered them playing with her hair. She remembered being curled against him the other night in his bedroom. Then, she’d closed her eyes for just a moment and had let herself pretend again, pretend that he was hers.
Which was no way to prevent the hurt when she said goodbye.
So she slipped from his hold and perched on the edge of the cushions. The box of ledgers sat in their carton on the coffee table in front of her and she gestured with the hand that was missing his touch. “So...?”
“I’m no forensic accountant, but I’m pretty good at reading a balance sheet. From what I can tell, the company was in solid shape.”
“Oh.” Addy slumped back on the cushions. “So...so Max shut it down in order to shut Edith down.”
“Well—”
“Are you sure?” Addy asked. It was silly of her to feel such disappointment—thanks to her mother and father, she knew firsthand about lousy marriages. But...poor Edith. “Maybe you misread them. I imagine you went through them late at night, after a long day at work—”
“I’ve been a part-timer since two days ago, Addy.” Baxter was focused on her face. “I quit my job.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “I... Well... Wow.”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums up the response of everyone in the office and in the family. I went to work there out of expectation, not any interest of my own and I’d never given myself enough time off to realize that until...until you.”
“Me?”
“Until you made me start thinking with my heart, I didn’t look inside of it.” Then he scooted down the sofa and picked up her hand. His head bent, he idly played with her fingers.
Her own heart started to pound at that casual touch. And it made her absurdly proud to think she’d played some part in his change of direction if that’s what he truly needed. “Keep me posted on your next adventure then, will you?” She smiled as he looked up. “That’s what it’s going to be, you know. Now that you’ve given yourself permission to enjoy life instead of just working through it.”
Baxter stilled, and then he smiled, too, his head shaking ruefully. “Once again, I can only wonder at my idiocy of six years ago.”
“You should forget about that.”
“I can’t. Not when I need you near to remind me of abstract ideas like adventure and enjoyment.” His gaze turned serious. “Listen, Addy. I’m...I’m in love with you.” She jerked, and her hand almost slipped from his hold. But he firmed his grip and said those words a second time. “I’m in love with you, Addy March.”
Her mind was reeling, her heart was knocking around in her chest as if it was trying to get away. “But...but. You can’t. The BSLS says you have to be dating someone for a minimum of six months before that can come up.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Honey, we both know I’ve been a fool about that. The BSLS is just B.S.”
She’d kind of thought that herself, but... “No, Baxter. Please don’t say that. Please don’t say any more of this.”
“You don’t feel anything for me?”
She felt so much that it scared her. But this wasn’t pretend time, this wasn’t fantasy. “Addy March doesn’t get the golden guy,” she whispered.
“Not so golden,” he replied. “Think about it. I don’t have a job, I don’t know what my future holds. I only have wishes. That you care for me. That you might be in love with me, too. That you’ll let me start my adventure by going to Paris with you.”
Paris with her! She closed her eyes at the thought and images flashed through her brain. Hand in hand on city streets. Holed up in the back row of a dark cinema. A sidewalk café table for two. Swallowing hard, Addy opened her eyes. “Do you speak French?”
He shook his head. “Can’t even claim that. I’ll have to rely on you.”
“Baxter.” She was whispering again, as if a normal voice might burst the hope that was building in her chest. “Baxter, I...”
“If you’re in love with me, say it,” Baxter urged. “Or if you aren’t, go ahead and tell me. I can take that, too.”
“Well, of course I’m in love with you,” she told him, a bit annoyed that he might doubt that. Yes, he’d been her go-to crush for years, but she was a grown-up now who knew the difference between made-up emotions and real ones that were lodged in her heart.
He grinned, and she realized he might have been a bit nervous himself. “Addy.” He pulled her close and kissed her.
She came up for air some minutes later, breathless and thrilled and...scared all over again. “Oh, my God,” she said, and tried scooting out of his arms. “This is going to be a disaster.” She was whispering again.
Baxter put his forehead against hers. “Now what?”
“It’s really going to hurt to say goodbye now.”
“I told you, I’d like to go to Paris with you.” His mouth pressed against hers once more, a quick firm kiss. “If you’ll let me.”
“I mean, when it ends. When we end.”
He groaned and pulled her into his lap. “I’m not looking for endings. I’m counting on forever.”
She turned her face into his neck, breathing in the spicy male scent of his skin. Yes, her feelings for him were real, but to believe in a relationship... “I’m afraid that it won’t last.”
“Addy, people do find lasting love. My parents are devoted to each other and happy. My aunt and uncle are the same.”
“I know,” she mumbled. But her parents’ marriage had been so ugly and the divorce no prettier.
“My darling pessimist.” Baxter’s arms tightened on her. “What if I could show you a sign?”
“What kind of sign?” she asked, suspicious.
Without answering, Baxter kissed the top of her head and then reached toward the carton of ledgers. “I found some of that personal correspondence you’ve been searching for when I was looking through the business records.”
She stared at him. “I didn’t give them more than a glance.”
“Then it’s a good thing I took longer with them than you did.” With a little flourish he pressed a paper into her hands—a delicate sheet of stationery covered in blue ink.
Addy swallowed and glanced at Baxter. “It’s dated 1927. That’s when Sunrise stopped making movies.”
He nodded. “Read.”
Addy turned her attention to the handwriting, which was feminine, though not particularly elegant.
Dear Max,
To commemorate this day you are closing Sunrise for good, I wanted to tell you all that is in my heart.
I know you loved the movie business and you’d be happily making pictures into the future, but you’ve given it up for me and I’ll be forever grateful. I couldn’t take the rumors and backstabbing any longer. I felt as if the critics and gossips had found a loose thread and were pulling on it harder and harder, faster and faster, until soon I would be naked and exposed, with no protection whatsoever. Perhaps I could have survived that with you as my buffer, but then came the rumors of the affair and the cruel way you were portrayed in the papers. It made me desperate to leave the business.
You are a generous, good and loving man. The speculation that you might hurt me or my career became intolerable. We should never have made The Egyptian! It all started with that picture and that ridiculous piece of jewelry the papers call The Collar. I’ve decided against selling it, thinking that would only add to the already unsavory notoriety I have received because of it. Drat Nicky! He refuses to take it back. I think he’s using his so-called unrequited love for me to fuel his latest brooding performance (another of the Aston Agonies, as the critics like to call them). The public will be lined up to see it, eager to know if his looks have suffered due to the “Edith Essex Affair.” Don’t think this isn’t part of his scheme.
When I looked out at the ocean this morning, I thought about throwing The Collar into the water, but you know me. My childhood makes it impossible for me to squander something so valuable. So I’ve put it safely away—we won’t have to look at it or think about it any longer.
Which means our life will have no more pretense or pretend in it. All will be real now, our love and our beautiful cove. Just you and I tucked away in the beach house, alone except for any additions that might happen to arrive (and yes, that’s a clue to the surprise I’ve been hinting about!).
I am ever grateful to you for discovering me and making me a star—and then unmaking me into nothing but the woman who loves you with all her soul. You once called me your beautiful dreamer...now, finally, my greatest dream has come true.
Always Yours, Edith
Addy looked up, a smile stretched across her face. “Edith and Max were happily married. He gave up Sunrise because it’s what she wanted.”
“You got your happy ending, Addy.”
At that, her smile dimmed. “But she died only a little more than five years after writing this.”
“Maybe that’s a sign, too,” Baxter said. “A sign that we shouldn’t waste time worrying about what-if when we can be loving the heck out of each other instead.”
A tear fell onto Addy’s cheek and she quickly moved the letter aside. Baxter linked his hands at the small of her back and pulled her forward to lick away the moisture. “No crying, honey, unless it’s from exhaustion.”
“Exhaustion?”
“Yeah,” he said, getting up from the couch with her still in his arms. “I’m going to make love to you until we’re both too tired to get out of bed.”
Oh, Addy thought, a little punch-drunk on emotions. She wasn’t going to be leaving, after all.