Chapter 2
Carter
“Oh, wow. That’s beautiful.”
My eyes search for where that voice came from. I recognize that voice. The throngs of people at the farmers market take up space around me, but I zero in on her like a shark seeking out its prey. Damn. She’s gorgeous. Dark hair, tan skin, yellow dress, and a pair of bright white Keds.
She’s leaning over a table and admiring a piece of jewelry from one of the vendors. I drop the stem of whatever the hell vegetable I just had in my hand as I walk closer to her. Magnetized like I never have been before.
The last time I saw her didn’t last near enough time, but I haven’t been able to forget her for some messed-up reason. I felt like the world’s biggest asshole leaving her alone the other week, but I had to get Senator Walden back home. I couldn’t sleep that night, worrying something had happened to the pretty girl with the sweet smile.
“You made these?” she asks; the awe in her voice a hundred percent real. “They’re so pretty.”
“You buy one, and I’ll give you the earrings half off,” the vendor offers as she holds up the matching silver earrings to the dangling necklace she’s twisting in her fingers.
“Oh, I couldn’t.” She puts the jewelry back down. “Tell you what. My birthday is in a few months. If I save up the money, I’ll come back and buy them as a gift for myself.”
“You do that, and I’ll throw the earrings in for free.”
She reaches out and covers the woman’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Have a beautiful day.”
“I will. You do the same.” Her smile lights up the already bright California sun, and when she tucks some hair behind her ears, her eyes, bluer than the sky, shine. In the dark, I knew she was pretty, but now… I rub my fist on my chest, never in my life feeling this tightness, but then again, never seeing this kind of beauty.
She’s different. Classic.
Bending at the waist, she picks up a basket and lazily walks to the next booth.
And I follow her. Yeah, definitely like a shark. Circling.
But why? I haven’t even looked at another girl since Zoe. But this girl… It’s fucked up, I know, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her.
Everyone glances at her. Everyone. And she’s completely oblivious. Tasting a piece of fruit and then licking the pad of her thumb. Leaning over to smell flowers. Putting a hat on her head and laughing in the mirror. God… she’s absolutely gorgeous and totally clueless.
A little puppy jumps on her, and she shrieks, then giggles. “Hi there, handsome.” She squats down and rubs behind its ears, then angles her head up at the owners. “What a cutie pie.”
“Thanks. We think so, too.” The woman leans in closer to her man, and the pretty girl stands, smiling with just a tilt of her lips.
A moment of melancholy washes over her, but she quickly pushes it away and continues walking until she sees a fruit stand. Then her eyes light up, and she smiles again, but this time, it reaches her eyes.
“Sir, would you like to try our bacon cheese?” I tear my gaze away from her long enough to look down at the teenager working. “Sure.” I take a piece from her, pop it in my mouth, and then mumble, “Thank you.”
“We’re here until four.”
Pushing past the next table, I come to a halt. She sets her basket on the table and smiles at the man, the only man wearing a cowboy hat in miles, and I don’t even try to make myself inconspicuous as I watch their interaction.
“You don’t happen to have any more cherries, do you?”
He takes off his hat and nods at her; removing the obstacle makes him look younger than I originally thought. “No, ma’am, I don’t. But I’d be happy to let you know when we get some in.”
“Well, I’m here every week, so I can just check back next time.”
“Be more than happy to give you a call and set some aside for ya.”
Don’t do it, I say to myself and hope she can pick up my thoughts, no matter how crazy they are. Please don’t fuckin’ do it.
“That’s kind of you, but I’ll be here next week to check just the same.”
“I’m Cody.” He rushes the introduction as she backs away.
“Billie, nice to meet you.”
He crosses his arms. “Pleasure’s all mine, darlin’.”
She ducks her head as she tucks a stray hair behind her ear again, clearly a tell she’s uncomfortable one way or another without having any idea how sexy cute she is. “I’ll see you around.”
“Looking forward to it.”
It pains me, physically hurts my chest, to watch another man try to pick her up. I know she’s not even close to being mine and that I can’t have her, but I don’t want to watch someone else hit on her while I stand by and do nothing.
She crosses the walkway and stops at the booth next to me, lifting a bouquet to her face and closing her eyes as she smells the flowers. Her face stretches into a smile, and she lays the bundle in her basket, then hands the woman a five dollar bill.
A girl like her should have a man who gets her flowers every damn day if she likes them. And not the cheapest bundle like she just got, either. She should have the biggest one they make. It pisses me off she’s alone and buying herself flowers.
I know why, and I don’t fucking like it, so I walk away from the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I have to. Because I can tell just by looking at her that she’ll make some lucky man extremely happy. And I don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of that.
“Hey, Car. How’s it goin’?” Mr. Johnson greets as I stop at his stand.
“Same shit.”
“Different day,” he continues. Not only is he one of the suppliers for my parents’ restaurant, but he’s one of the nicest, most hardworking men I’ve ever met. His skin is practically leather from fishing out at sea, but his dull blue eyes shine with wisdom and gratitude.
I angle my head at his cooler. “What do you have today?”
“Tuna. Beautiful.” He opens the lid. “So popular today, I only have a half dozen left.”
“Then I’d better get some before they’re gone.”
He wraps up two pieces, and I pay him, leaving a hefty tip. He calls to me, lecturing me on being wasteful with money, and when I turn around, she runs smack dab into me. Again.
“Shit. Sorry, honey.” I grab her arm to keep her from falling.
“It’s okay.”
“You sure?”
She rubs her other arm where I collided with her and gazes up at me. Christ. Didn’t think it could get better, but up close, it somehow does. Her eyes aren’t just blue; they’re almost turquoise. Her skin is like porcelain, and her smile is literally, figuratively, and seriously the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“I’m fine.”
Someone clears their throat, and I look past her to see an older gentleman waiting impatiently to get around us. “Excuse me, sir.” The shy thing she’s got goin’ on is hot as hell, and she ducks her head as she scurries away from me. I remember her. God, do I remember her. But she must not remember me. Which stings.
Part of me wants to chase her, wants to find out what it is about her. But it’d be a bad idea, and I know it. Someone as sweet as her is way better off without the toxicity of me souring their existence.
I’m too fucked up to give someone like her what she needs. Physically? Oh, hell yeah, I could give her what she doesn’t even know she needs. But emotionally? Nope.
My last relationship was with Zoe. We were good together because we were both in the spotlight. Both a little vain. We met when we were young, and everything about us was just… scripted, almost. I cared deeply for her, but so much of us was public that, at times, I wondered what we would be like if that wasn’t the case.
After her death, I lost the easy-going guy I used to be and turned into a man who is despondent and closed off. Which, at the heart of me, is not who I am. And I hate it, but I’m at a loss of how the fuck to get back to who I used to be and move on without feeling even more guilt.
I continue with my shopping, getting some fresh basil and hand-pressed olive oil, and just happen to follow her over an aisle. As she’s admiring some charcoal drawings of the city, I stop and wait even though I know I shouldn’t. I need to leave.
Jesus.
When she starts to walk away, I don’t want her to. Not when I didn’t want to the first time, not without at least talking to her again.
Going against everything I know to be true, I can’t let her walk away. But I also can’t let her see how messed up I am, so wearing the mask I’m so used to, I open my mouth to make either the biggest mistake or the best decision of my life.
Maybe she can make me forget enough to try to move the fuck on. But Christ, what kind of asshole am I? As much as I like the way she looks, my gut is telling me there’s more beneath her creamy skin. A lot more.
If I was standing here with one of the guys who was being like this about some chick they’d seen for a whole ten minutes of their life, I’d tell them they’re acting like a fucking stalker. And maybe I am, but there’s gotta be a reason I’ve run into her twice now.
Fuck it.
“Are you gonna look at me, or you just gonna pretend you don’t see me standing here?”
Billie
“I’m gonna pretend I don’t see you standing there.”
The sexy stranger laughs, and of course, the husky sound matches his deep voice. “What’s your name?” He’s forward. I remember him from the other night. If I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t been able to forget him.
“Why?”
I finally look up at him and try not to drool. He’s so handsome, but up close like this, he’s perfection. His skin is perfectly tan in the bright sun, and the white shirt he’s wearing makes his eyes even greener. California boy. I have to bend my neck back to look up at him, which isn’t anything new for me since I’m only five-foot-three.
I saw him and got so lost in my trance that I didn’t even see when he went to move and ran right into him. Then he smiled, and I practically melted. He’s handsome, but he’s also got a swagger about him… like he doesn’t give a crap what anybody thinks. I like that.
“I’m Carter.”
“Billie.”
When he sticks his hand out, my manners kick in, and I extend my own. Mom raised me with manners, after all. His fingers close over mine, the warmth soaking into my cold hands, and I try not to pull away too fast.
“Where are you from?”
“What makes you think I’m not from here?”
His eyes trail down my body, past the place where my dress hits my thighs all the way down to my tennies before they come back up and stop on my face. “You have an accent.”
“I do not. Why does everyone say that?”
“Because you do.”
I roll my eyes, seeing exactly where this is headed and wanting no part of this guy’s notches. “It was nice meeting you, Carter, but I’ve gotta go.”
“Wait.” He rubs the back of his neck, and the surfer boy charm vanishes right before my eyes. In its place is a nervousness I would have never thought he had in him. “Can I get your number?”
“Why?”
When he laughs this time, it sounds forced, and I can’t believe he’s anxious about it. “You’re really gonna bust my balls, aren’t ya?”
“I’m not doing anything to your balls nor do I want to.”
He moistens his bottom lip with a roll of his tongue. “Oh, honey, don’t say things you don’t mean now.”
I cross my arms. “Why are you calling me honey?”
He looks into my basket, eyeing the organic honey I purchased, and then he smirks. “You’re sweet, aren’t ya, Billie?” He takes one step closer, and I get a whiff of him. He smells clean… like soap and the ocean. “The dress, the hair, the damn smile. Those fuckin’ eyes. Sweet, baby. Like honey.”
I put one foot behind the other and focus on backing away from him. If he’s the kind of guy to come up to me at the farmers market, lord only knows how many other women he’s picked up whenever and wherever he feels like it. I get the feeling he’s a good guy, but there’s no way a guy like him would want anything more than just one night with a girl like me. And I won’t be that person again. “Bye, Carter.”
“You’re a smart girl to walk away from me.”
“You haven’t given me a reason not to, surfer boy.”
His face remains impassive, but a darkness flashes in his eyes… almost like a kink in his armor that can only be seen when the sun hits it at a certain angle.
He doesn’t try to stop me, and I don’t look around too much because I don’t want it to seem like I’m seeking him out. But I do want to make sure he doesn’t follow me or anything. Just because he’s good looking doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.
Just as I get to the sidewalk, I walk down a block and then rush to the opposite corner, hearing the squeak of the brakes from the bus. I hurry to the stop, and as soon as it pulls up, I hop on.
“Hey there.” I smile at the driver.
Reginald smiles back. The older gentleman with dark skin and curly dark hair pulls the handle to close the door. “How ya doing today, Miss Billie?”
I set my basket down on the seat and dig through my purse to find my bus pass. “I’m good, thank you.”
I’ve been riding this route every week for about three years. And almost every time, Reginald is the driver. It’s nice to see a familiar face and kind eyes.
I sit down, and he turns to look at me when he’s at a stoplight. “Do you have any plans this weekend?”
“Nope. They didn’t have cherries, so I think I’ll make oatmeal butterscotch cookies. I’ll bring some to you next time I come shopping.” Like I always do. I love cooking and dabble in baking cookies. I always make too many, though, so I give them to people I know. Plus, I just enjoy seeing them happy.
“You know I’d never turn down one of your treats.” He chuckles and pulls through the intersection.
“How’s your grandbaby?” His daughter had a little girl a few months back. Cutest little baby with chubby cheeks and eyes so big and brown I already feel sorry for her daddy when she grows up.
“She’s perfect.”
He’s focused on the road, but I smile regardless. Leaning back in my seat, I look out the window at the palm trees as we pass. The ride to my place is exactly two point four miles from the market, and when he pulls up to the stop down the street from my apartment, I gather my belongings and say goodbye before getting off the bus.
I lug my basket into my kitchen, put the flowers I got for a steal in a vase, then get out everything I need to make mac and cheese. Even though I know the recipe by heart, I still pull out my recipe box and find the card with Mom’s very distinctive, swirly handwriting on it. In my suitcase, at the very bottom, my mom left me a stack of recipe cards with my favorite meals on them.
Placing the white index card on the countertop, I hum as I grate some cheese, pretending I’m happy but not believing it even one little bit.
* * *
My work week is normal—boring and irritating since my boss is a jerk—but uneventful for the most part. I haven’t had another nightmare, which is great. I have thought about Carter, which is weird. Wondering if I did the right thing by walking away.
I go to the market on Friday, and then again next week, finally able to score some cherries. The cute farmer asks me out, but like last time, I politely decline and secretly wish I’d run into Carter again.
There’s something about him. It’s hard for me to trust a stranger, especially since I’ve seen too many nice guys turn bad. I always tell myself they’re all the same just to stay closed off.
I take the same bus home, promising Reginald another tin of cookies and vowing never to tell his wife that he eats that much sweet stuff.
As I’m cooking my dinner, my phone rings just as I put it in the oven. When I see it’s an unavailable number, my hands begin to shake. Not like anybody ever calls me, but if it’s work, I have all their numbers, and I rarely get telemarketers, so it freaks me out a little bit about the unknown.
I know it’s implausible, but I worry it’s my mom. Hope it’s my mom. I miss her so much, and I hate that some days I can’t remember what her voice sounds like, or that every time the phone rings, I wish it’d be her on the other end. But then I fear maybe the police have tracked me down to tell me she’s not around anymore. Or my dad somehow found me and will tell me I need to come home because my mom’s sick. So many scenarios and so much fear, but I still flip the screen open and hold the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Is this Miss Bishop?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“Hi. This is Roger Casey. I’m calling about the résumé you sent in for the ad for the new Soap Opera reality show.”
“Oh, my God. Really?” I almost forgot I did that a couple of months ago, totally on a whim.
He laughs. “Yes, really. We’d like to see you in person and chat to see if you’re eligible for the final auditions.”
Ohmygod. Okay. Stop acting like a fool. “Yes. Okay.”
“Are you available tomorrow evening? Say s-”
“Hello?”
“Miss… hear me?”
Shit. Shit. This stupid, stupid phone. “One second. I’m running outside right now. My reception is awful in my building.”
I can’t hear if he answers, but I rush to the sidewalk to get a signal. “Hello?”
“Can you hear me now?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry.”
“Technology, right? I was saying… does seven o’clock work for you tomorrow evening? I know it’s short notice, but to be quite frank, you weren’t on the initial call list, but the person in front of you backed out at the last minute, so if you can’t make it, I’m afraid we’ll have to move past you.”
I’ll make it work somehow. “Yes. I’ll be there.”
“Great. We look forward to seeing you then. My assistant will email you the details.” Oh, thank God, I don’t think I’m going to remember much of this conversation, I’m so caught off guard.
“Thank you so much.” I smile as I hang up and hug my phone to my body, unsure how I feel about the whole situation.
I’ve struggled since I’ve been here to land any type of audition. I’ve had a couple of call backs, and one role as an extra in a crowd, but nothing else. And now I’ve stooped so low as to audition to be on a reality show. But the winner of this contest show is guaranteed a spot on one of the network’s six shows.
If I win, it would be ah-mazing. It’d be a dream come true if I got to act in a soap opera. It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I came out here because I think it’d make my mom proud. We used to watch soaps together, and she’d always say how she wished I would end up with a man like one of the stars. So if I can land a role, she would be so happy and she’d be able to see me and know I was okay. I don’t have the desire to be on the big screen; in fact, until I came here, I never even thought about actually acting. The only reason I did is because it’s something I thought would make Mom proud.
I haven’t been able to dedicate a lot of time to pursue it as much as I’d like. The random audition here and there, but it’s hard to find the time to even make those with my hours at the restaurant.
Because I need money, and the only way I’ve been able to make ends meet is as a waitress at a high-end restaurant. The cash from my mom secured my apartment and filled my fridge with some groceries the first week I was here, but it didn’t last forever. I’ve been at the same restaurant for a couple of years now, and I have this vision of a producer or director walking into Savoring and giving me a job on the spot. It’s so silly. So until that happens, which is pretty close to never, I’m a waitress… because nothing is more cliché.
This whole reality show thing is not at all something I actually want to do, but the audition I’m going to is one that benefits me more than it will make me uncomfortable. If I make it onto this contest, it’ll give me exposure and experience, plus the winner gets the guaranteed job.
The possibility that I have even the slightest chance makes me so happy. Makes me think I’m finally doing something my mom would be proud of.
When I turn around to go back into my apartment building, frustration and irritation inch up my spine because I can’t believe what I just did. I reach for the knob and turn it, but I already know what’s going to happen; it doesn’t budge. “Crap.” I ran out of the building so fast I forgot to grab my key.
Hopefully, one of the guys I see in the hallway sometimes with badges or shirts that have some type of security logo on them comes around to let me in. I’ve never actually talked to any of them, but it makes me feel better knowing they’re here.
I plop down on the cement block with a dramatic sigh and wait.