Chapter Seven
The warmth of The Diner nearly made Erin whimper. She pulled off her gloves and slid into an empty booth. Things were happening too quickly. First Warren had stripped her bare—in more ways than one—with the outstanding oral. And now he was asking questions that hit entirely too close to home. The only reason she’d agreed to this stupid idea in the first place was so that she could forget how shitty her life had become for a night.
And, yeah, maybe she’d wanted to spend some time with the infuriating man. She was chalking that one up to temporary insanity. There was no other excuse for it.
She took off her hat and dropped it on top of her gloves. Her coat could wait until the heat had worked its way into her bones. She wished she could blame her shakes on the chill, but it wasn’t even close to the truth.
Thank God Warren decided to be such an ass, or I never would have made it up and down that ladder.
That, and she hadn’t looked down once. Her fear of heights wasn’t as crippling as it had been when she was a teenager, but being more than ten feet off the ground still made her woozy if she wasn’t careful. She’d barely sat back when the waitress, Dorothy, appeared, a speculative gleam in her eye. “Fancy seeing you two in here.”
Good God. She forced a smile even though the last thing she felt was happy. They should have picked somewhere—anywhere—else to warm up. The damn Joneses’ barn would have been a better alternative than stepping into the one place guaranteed to get the gossip mill churning.
Sure enough, Dorothy pinned her with a look. “So, Mini Me, how long are you back in town this time? Seems like it’s been longer than a weekend.”
It was only a matter of time before her failure and humiliation were trotted out for everyone’s amusement. She just wasn’t ready to deal with it yet. She opened her mouth to give some lame excuse about the holidays, but Warren beat her there. He shot a charming smile at Dorothy. “Now, Dorothy, you know good and well how Erin feels about those kind of questions.”
Dorothy flushed, shooting her a guilty look. “Can’t blame me for asking. We’re all curious as to how long you’re going to stay. Miss Nora and her bridge club are even placing bets.” She darted a glance around. “Not that you heard that from me.”
“Of course.” Erin pulled at the cuffs of her coat. Bets? So that was what her life had come to—entertainment for old biddies who had nothing better to do than talk and play cards.
Dorothy finally seemed to realize how uncomfortable she was making Erin, because she straightened. “Coffee for both?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Warren’s smile never dimmed. “And whatever delicious pie you made today.”
“Oh, you flatterer.”
“Nah, I only speak the truth. In all my traveling, I’ve never had pie as good as yours, Dorothy.”
Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you? Not that Erin could argue the deliciousness of the pie, but that wasn’t the point. She waited for Dorothy to walk away to hiss, “Suck-up.”
“You didn’t want to be in the spotlight. I made sure you weren’t.”
There was too much knowledge in his dark eyes. Here in the bright light of The Diner, it was impossible to ignore the questions he’d voiced up at the water tower. He knows. He might not know the specifics, but he knows everything isn’t rainbows and sunshine. The temptation to confess everything to Warren almost overwhelmed her. Instead, she cleared her throat. “You picked truth.”
“I did.” He didn’t so much as twitch.
She almost went with some bullshit one-off easy question, but once again, her mouth got away from her. “Do you ever see yourself doing this?” She waved at The Diner. At this time of night, there were only a few booths occupied, but in so many ways it represented everything that Wellingford was—stuck in its ways and clinging to the past…but also warm and friendly and with a great heart.
“Doing what, exactly?”
“Settling down, putting a ring on some poor unsuspecting woman’s finger, maybe popping out a few screaming kids.”
He shook his head. “When you put it like that…”
Though part of her wanted to clarify that she didn’t think it was that bad—after all, Marcy was more than happy with Erin’s brother—she kept her mouth shut. She and Marcy weren’t the same type of person. She didn’t have a stable part of her life, while her best friend was rock solid in every way that mattered. No, that kind of thing wasn’t for Erin. She’d hit the ground running as soon as she found her feet again.
It was just taking a little longer than she expected.
What am I going to do with my life now?
That was the million-dollar question.
Warren shrugged out of his coat and set it on the seat beside him, and then leaned back and stretched his arms over the booth. It brought her attention to the truly spectacular cut of his chest. Guilty, she forced herself to look at his face…only to find him watching her. He gave a slow grin that made her stomach erupt into butterflies. “Like what you see?”
“Sure—as long as I forget who it’s attached to.” The words didn’t come out nearly as sharp as she intended. Instead, they were soft and almost pleading. Get your shit together, Erin. “You’re stalling. Answer the question.”
“I’m not stalling.” He shrugged. “And I don’t know. If I could settle down anywhere, it would be in this town. My granddad’s here, and he’d be tickled pink if I got married and gave him some great-grandbabies to spoil.” He paused while Dorothy brought their coffee and pie and shuffled off. “But I can’t help but wonder if there’s too much of my parents in me to ever make that work. If I’ll wake up one day with that itch to move, and it’ll eventually drive a wedge through me and any theoretical wife.”
He was looking at her far too intently. She took a hasty sip of her coffee and choked when she found it just this side of scalding. Warren didn’t rush to fill the silence that descended between them, though. He just kept watching her with that strange expression. She touched her mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No.” Just that. Nothing to give her any clue into what the hell he was thinking.
She took another sip, more carefully this time. Well, this is awkward. “Warren—”
“You can talk to me, Freckles. I know we aren’t exactly best friends, but if there’s anyone in this town who will understand without judging, it’s me.”
Understand? Probably. Be able to keep his mouth shut and not make her feel even worse? That was the part up for debate.
Erin stared into her coffee, but it didn’t magically provide any answers. The truth was, she didn’t have a single damn person to talk to. Her parents tried their best, but everything they said was colored with the fact that they wanted her to move back here permanently more than anything else in the world. Aaron would try, too, but everything was so cut-and-dried with him. He loved being a deputy and he loved Marcy and her daughter with everything he had. It never occurred to him that not everyone dreamed of a life like that. And Marcy…Marcy was just as bad as Aaron in her own way. As glad as Erin was for both her best friend and her brother’s happiness…a part of her definitely felt left on the outside.
She sipped her coffee, but it bought her a grand total of two seconds. This was it. She could shut him down and he might actually back off for good…or she could take a tiny leap of faith and see what happened. She glanced up to find Warren watching her again. It’s not forever. It can’t be.
But it could be for tonight.
Maybe if she thought that enough times, she’d actually believe that she could shut off the tumultuous feelings that showed up every time he did.
She sighed. “They kicked me off the show. I had a starring role and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut long enough to actually see opening night.”
“What did they do to push you over the edge?”
She blinked. Everyone else who knew the truth had instantly jumped in with how she never managed to keep her temper under wraps, all seeming to imply that it was totally and completely her fault that this happened. And it was. She hadn’t managed the self-control to keep from laying into Randy. “What makes you think it was provoked?”
“I know you, Freckles. You’ve been working toward a starring role for years—you wouldn’t just shit that away without a damn good reason, temper or no.”
She took a bite of her pie and had to close her eyes while she savored the cinnamon and apple, perfectly balanced by flaky homemade crust. By the time she could focus again, Warren was halfway through his slice. What did he ask? Oh, yeah. What Director Douche did. “So you know how in The Little Mermaid there’s Flounder? Well, the girl playing it is maybe twelve and sweeter than anyone has any right to be. Everyone loves her, and she works her ass off. She’s better than some of the adults I’ve seen.” It made her angry just thinking about all that talent being crushed under Director Douche’s shitty attitude. “The director is one of those old school ‘it takes a firm hand, spare the rod and spoil the child’ kind of personalities. She screwed up one single line and he laid into her harshly enough that even the most badass actors on stage were shocked. And no one said a damn thing.”
“You did.”
“And look at me now. Fired, homeless—” The surprised look on his face had her filling in. “Yep, homeless. Turns out being a starving actor isn’t all that glamorous, and landlords don’t like being paid in smiles.”
“I’m sorry.” He actually sounded like he meant it.
“Me, too.” She sat back, her appetite gone. “I thought I had finally reached the tipping point. This was going to be the role that made me, the one that opened doors I’ve been banging against for years. And now it’s all gone. If I go back now, I’m going to be starting over from scratch—from less than scratch. Can you be lower than rock bottom? Because I’m pretty sure that’s where I am right now.”
“Do you want to go back?” He didn’t ask it like he had an opinion one way or another. Another change of pace.
She sat back and made herself really contemplate it. “I don’t know. My instinctive reaction is to say ‘hell yes,’ but that’s as much my contrary nature as anything else.” She sighed. “I love Broadway. I love being on stage and the high that comes from performing. There’s nothing in the world like it. I don’t want to give that up.”
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming.”
Because there was one. “But I don’t miss the rat-infested apartment with the creepy landlord, and I don’t miss the drama that comes when you have any number of actors together.” She poked at her pie with her fork. “So, yeah, I don’t know.”
“You’ll figure it out.” There was absolutely no doubt in his tone or face. He believed she would get her shit together. He might actually be the only one in her life to have that unrelenting belief in her.
Realizing that made her stomach twist up in knots.
For the sixty-fifth time in the last few days, she wondered what she would do if she weren’t trying to be a Broadway actress. Drama was in her blood. She’d never be happy with a boring desk job or something monotonous.
A thought drifted up from somewhere inside her. I wonder if Wellingford’s high school has a drama department?
It wasn’t an answer. It wasn’t a plan. But it was a tiny light in the sea of darkness she’d been drifting in ever since Director Douche handed over her walking papers. “You’re right. I will figure it out.” Saying it aloud lifted a weight off her chest that she hadn’t been aware of. She took a deep breath and offered him a smile.