LUCIA

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, which was the truth. Driving back from my phone call, I’d felt buoyant and hopeful, like I’d recaptured that feeling Josie felt I’d lost. But as soon as my head touched the pillow, sleep evaded me, my mind crowded with thoughts. Modeling. Writing.

Calvin.

“So I came here. Before I was a model the only thing that calmed me down was reading and writing,” I said, nodding at my journal.

“Prose?” he asked.

“Poetry,” I replied, loving the tree-sound at the end of that word. I always had. Calvin looked impressed.

 I’d finally found the journal (I never left home without it), but even though I’d had that feeling since we’d gotten here, nothing came. I tried to write for more than an hour and ended up tossing it back on the floor in frustration.

But still. At least I tried—for the first time in years.

“Is something bothering you? Keeping you awake?” he asked.

You, I wanted to say. That and…I was horny. Like really turned on, in a way I hadn’t been in months. Maybe years. And Calvin was not helping, sitting a foot away from me looking scruffy and adorable. He pushed his glasses up his nose and I almost sighed.

“Well…I mean, I tried to write a poem and it sucked and I suck and everything sucks,” I said, laughing.

He smiled. “Writer’s block?”

“Of epic proportions,” I said. “I haven’t written a poem in more than seven years. But I carry my journal with me, always. This is the first time, the first place, that’s inspired me in a long time.”

We looked at each other. Fuck, he was sexy.

“What were you…why were you, um, writing about me?” he asked.

“Remember when we were in the woods? At your grandfather’s campsite?”

His green eyes darkened. “I do, yeah.”

“There was this moment…I don’t know, I feel silly saying it now…” I trailed off. With the exception of Josie, I really never talked about writing. With anyone. And now here I was freely sharing with Calvin.

Again.

“You were sitting on this log and telling this story about your grandfather. It was just…I don’t know, the trees behind you, and the way you were describing things. The color of your eyes. The fresh, clean air.” I paused, feeling embarrassed again. “I don’t know. It felt like a poem. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” he said, flashing me that crooked grin again. “I know exactly what you mean. I feel it when I read. When I used to spend my summers up here I’d spend the whole day watching customers, or listening to what they said to my grandfather. Watching their interactions. Or we’d go to some weird, Big Sur event and something totally unusual would happen. And I’d think: this is a story. And I’ve never been a writer, but there are moments I wish I could be like you.” He nodded at my journal. “Pick up and write about it.”

I nodded. “That’s exactly it, that feeling. I love it so much.  And it used to be easier for me. But I got out of the habit,” I said softly. “And I haven’t even really thought about it in years. Not until we came here. In Big Sur.”

“Big Sur tends to have that effect on people,” he said. “I think that’s why writers used to come up here. There are literally no distractions, nothing to take you out of that moment you’re describing.” He looked around the floor. Books were scattered everywhere. “Have you been here all night?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “I haven’t been able to just sit in a quiet bookstore in a long time. They used to be my favorite places in the whole world. Like my church.” I ran my hands along a small stack of poetry anthologies. “Now there are too many paparazzi, too many fans.”

“I thought you loved that though,” he teased.

“I do,” I said quickly. “Or…I did? I don’t know,” I paused, looking at him. “This might seem strange, but just three days up here and every other part of my life feels fucking miles away.”

“You haven’t tried to phantom-check your social media once this entire conversation.”

“I know,” I said, laughing and squeezing his arm. “Is it strange though? Do you think my reaction to being up here is weird?”

“Not at all. Before the start of every summer I would dread coming. I’d miss going to the movies, or seeing my nerdy friends or going to the mall. MTV, my computer, my Nintendo. I was young and desperate to be connected to the world in that way. And even though I loved my grandfather, my parents always told me the way he lived was different. Bizarre. So on the long drive up, every summer, I’d beg my parents to turn around,” he said, shifting another inch closer to me. “And I swear to you…within the first 36 hours it was as if my other life never even existed. And I’d hate leaving in the middle of August. Hated it. There’s an isolation up here, but it’s not bad necessarily. It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world and living here changes you. Irrevocably.”

I smiled, placing my hand on his arm and leaving it there.

He was quiet for a moment, studying me. I felt my cheeks heat.

“I hope you can keep this feeling with you when you leave,” he said. “When you go back to Los Angeles. Tomorrow.”

“Me too,” I said, trying not to think about it. Trying not to think beyond this perfect moment. “And actually—” I cleared my throat, suddenly nervous, “I just signed a big contract with a makeup company. In Paris.”

His eyebrows shot up his head. “Really? Lucia, that’s amazing.”

“Yeah. It is,” I said. “For two years I’ll be the face of Dazzle Cosmetics.” I did a jazz-hands thing over my face and Cal laughed.

“What does being ‘the face’ of a cosmetics company entail?”

“Oh, millions of ads. Commercials, billboards, being in magazines. I’ll be moving to Paris actually. To fulfill the contract.”

His face lost a little of its brightness, and I reached over to touch his knee. “It’s okay. I’ll be back,” I said, although I wasn’t sure who I was soothing: Calvin or myself.

“Oh yeah,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I wasn’t…I mean, what do I care? Are you excited?”

“I am,” I said, ignoring that strange sensation that kept popping up. “This is the kind of thing that takes a modeling career to the next level. You know, make me even more famous.” I liked to brag about these things online, tease Josie about it. But suddenly, facing Calvin, I felt vain and shallow. “Opportunity of a lifetime,” I finished, glancing at my nails.

Cal cleared his throat, picking up a book and flipping through it. “I’ll, um…I was joking before. I’ll kind of miss you. I mean, everyone, really. Having a bunch of Hollywood celebrities up here has been the most excitement we’ve had in decades.”

Calvin was so fucking cute and there was a fire and a storm outside and absolutely no one around. “I’ll miss you too,” I said, because the why the fuck not? After tomorrow I’d never see him again anyway. “I’m just happy you finally started paying attention to me.”

“Are you serious?” he asked, incredulous. “You think I’ve been ignoring you?” He was half-laughing and I joined in.

“Either you’ve been ignoring me or you’re the most respectful man I’ve ever met,” I said. “I basically walked around naked for days and you barely looked up from your book.” I slid closer, pressing my leg against his. He pressed back.

He blushed deeply, looking away. “I looked a couple of times,” he said softly.

I watched that lust come into his gaze again. God, I was hungry for that.

“I remember,” I said. “But other than those very few times, what’s your excuse?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t want to be like every other guy. You know, slobbering over you. Staring at you like some kind of object.”

“Oh Calvin,” I laughed bitterly. “I’m a model. By definition I’m an object,” I said, something I used to feel a lot more comfortable with. Now the words were like sand in my mouth.

“You’re not, though,” he said. “Not to me.” He was staring at my lips.

The rain was coming down in sheets now, the fireplace making me feel warm and wanton. And this was not part of the plan. The plan was: land a huge makeup contract. Finish out a provocative photo shoot for Shay Miller’s new clothing line. Fly to Paris, begin initial stages of world domination.

 But really, what fucking plan? What future? There was just me and Cal, alone in a beautiful bookstore, surrounded by miles and miles and miles of forest. I lifted my sweatshirt over my head, tossing it. Underneath I was wearing a plain white tank top and I could feel my nipples hardening under Cal’s hungry look. I watched his throat as he swallowed.

“Can I read you a poem?” I asked.

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