The One That I Want (13 page)

He exhaled. “Okay, you caught me. After everyone else left the Knightsbridge that night, I asked Rosemary which town her friends were from. She said Mirabelle Harbor. You told me you were a junior high English teacher. On a hunch, I thought you might work in the town, so I looked up the school’s website. And there you were.” He bowed his head. “I pretty much wanted to crawl under a rock.”

He glanced up at me—his expression sheepish and embarrassed, yes, but his eyes told me more of the story. He looked pained. Truly disappointed in himself. I could tell he was genuinely sorry for having hurt me. He wasn’t just going through the motions of an apology. At least I didn’t think so. The guy was an actor, after all.

When I didn’t immediately reply, he swallowed and said, “That’s when I looked up your address. And, uh, when I contacted my agent.”

“Your agent?”

“Yeah. See, there’s a database for the Dane Tyler Fan Club members. A record of all the people who’ve ever joined. And there was a Julia Meriwether on that list. Number 49202, just like you’d said.” He rubbed his forehead and I could see a thin sheen of sweat forming. He was actually…nervous. “So, then I Googled you, and—”

“Wait, what? You Googled
me?
”

He nodded. “I came across your husband’s obituary. I read it. All of it.” He paused and swiped at his forehead again. “Julia, truly, I’m so sorry. I was incredibly out of line at the theater. When I think about what I’d said to you—”

“Dane?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve groveled enough. Really. Your apology is accepted.”

I don’t know why I did this next thing, but I reached out and gently touched his arm—an added gesture of reassurance. He seemed to need it, and I wanted him to believe what I was telling him.

He lightly covered my hand with his. Just briefly. Just long enough only for me to feel the warmth of his palm on my knuckles.

“Thanks,” he whispered, pulling his hand away. I did the same.

In the silence that followed, I heard a few people talking and some footsteps from down the hall, moving leisurely toward us.

“So, who are you bringing to the Closing Night party on Saturday? A friend? A boyfriend?” he asked, a glint of pure curiosity in those blue, blue eyes.

“Neither,” I was forced to admit. “I’m not coming. I gave the tickets away to two of my friends. Sharlene and Elsie.”

“W-Why? Are you busy that night? Out of town?”

I shook my head. “No. I just hadn’t really thought it would be a good idea after…um, well, after last time. I wasn’t sure you really wanted me there, so—”

“They’re
VIP
tickets,” he sputtered, half laughing and half indignant. “We only give those out to family members,
very close
personal friends, or huge theater donors.”

“Then I guess you should’ve given them to someone like that,” I retorted, “since I don’t fit any of those categories, do I?”

He leveled a speculative gaze at me, his jaw dropping open and then closing again. “Okay,” he said finally. “I misjudged you when we met. You misjudged
me
when I sent the flowers and the tickets. No more assumptions, Julia Meriwether Crane.”

The voices and footsteps behind us were closing in now.

Dane leaned toward me, tugged at my sleeve, and motioned toward the red EXIT sign at the other end of the hall, which led to the back door of the radio station. “Meet me at the corner of Western and Spring in ten minutes. Look for a dark-blue Lexus. It’s my rent-a-car for the month.”

“What? No. We’re not leaving here together—”

“You’re right. We’re leaving
here
separately.” He pointed to the speckled floor tiles we were standing on. “But, I’m picking you up and taking you back to my old neighborhood, just for a couple of hours, I promise, so we can talk uninterrupted. I know a great place.”

My head swirled with a funnel cloud of thoughts that both conflicted and were just plain confusing. “But why would you want to—”

“A million reasons. The question you should be asking is why
wouldn’t
you want to go to a place that has the most amazing brownies in North America.”

“Brownies?”
I squinted at him. Was this about food? Because it seemed to be about a whole lot more, but I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it.

“See,” he said with the unmistakable tone of triumph. “You’re intrigued, aren’t you?”

More like speechless. I stared at him, mute for a moment but, yes…undeniably, intrigued. I nodded, but I also said, “Dane, there have to be scores of people here who—”

“Want to talk to me?” he said, finishing my sentence. “Maybe. But I’m done talking to most of them for today. We, however, are not done with this conversation yet.” He motioned between us with his fingers. “I said no more assumptions. I’m a man of my word, no matter what that skanky chick from the
Tinseltown Buzz
said about me or whatever fiction about my life they’ll run next week in that crappy little tabloid everyone knows as the
Hollywood Kerfuffle
.” He grimaced. “Ten minutes. Will you meet me, Julia? Please?”

“Don’t you have to perform tonight?”

“Nope. The theater’s dark on Monday.”

“I’m told getting into cars with strange men is dangerous.”

“True,” he agreed. “And I may be a strange man, but I’m not a
stranger
to you anymore, am I?”

I didn’t answer this. I thought I’d had enough of dealing with men for a while. All of them, with all of their issues. But this was a pretty unusual circumstance. It also wasn’t a “date” or anything. It was just a conversation. With the movie star I’d always dreamed of talking to in person. And though I wasn’t going to admit it to Dane, no, I didn’t think of him as a stranger.

The people behind us were talking loudly, probably trying to get Dane to turn around and chat with them. The door back into the reception room suddenly swung open and a reporter lady I hadn’t seen earlier said, “Oh, good! Mr. Tyler, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I had a few more questions about—”

“Just a moment, please,” he told her, never looking away from my face. Waiting for my response.

I bit my lip and nodded. “Fine,” I whispered. “But you’d better not be exaggerating about those brownies.”

He laughed. “I’m not.” And then turned back to his adoring public and the always insatiable members of the press.

I walked down the hallway in a daze and pushed open the door leading to the stairs and the street below. Was I really going to go somewhere and have a private conversation with my film idol? I never would have imagined—

“Jules,” a voice behind me called.

Kristopher
. Oh, damn.

Walking past Dane Tyler and the crowd in the hall, Kristopher shot the actor a distrustful look and trailed me to the exit door. “Leaving already?” he asked, blocking my retreat.

“I’ve been here for a couple of hours,” I informed him. “It’s time for me to go.”

“Saw you talking with the big movie star,” he said with fake jollity. “Looked real…
friendly
between you two.”

To me, his words had the uncomfortable ring of an accusation. My defensiveness rose in response.

“Yes, well, it was pretty loud in the reception room. Were you in there?”

“For a bit,” he said. Then he glanced at his watch. “Hey, got any plans for dinner? I was thinking of grabbing a couple of sandwiches at the deli, or maybe going somewhere more romantic, and—”

“I’m sorry, Kristopher. I
do
have plans. I need to meet someone in just a few minutes actually.” I noticed Dane had disappeared from the crowd down the hall. He did say he was a man of his word. If he told me to be ready in ten minutes, I was guessing that wasn’t just an estimate on his part. “I have to get going now. Perhaps another time?”

Kristopher crossed his arms. “What are you doing?”

Jeez!
None of your damned business
.

“Getting dessert,” I said simply.

He snickered in apparent disbelief. “After all of The Gala pastries in there?” He pointed in the direction of the reception room. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” I said with finality, realizing the instant the words were out of my mouth that they were one hundred percent true. I did want to talk with Dane for a little longer—brownies or no. “See you later,” I said to Kristopher.

I pushed my way past him to the landing, headed down the stairs, and exited onto Western.

My ex-high-school boyfriend wasn’t quite as easy to shake as I’d hoped, though.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, his long legs having no trouble catching up with me and matching my stride.

The parking lot for the radio station and for several of the local businesses skirted the sidewalk next to us. At the corner of the lot was the intersection of Western Way and Spring Street.

“Where are you going?” he asked me as I race walked right past my vehicle.

I didn’t have to give him an answer, though, because just then a speedy dark-blue Lexus zipped out of the parking lot and idled at the corner. Dane was in the driver’s seat. He revved the engine impatiently— just for effect, I more than suspected—and motioned for me to hurry.

A little laugh escaped my lips as I skipped toward the car.

Kristopher did not look remotely amused but, then, he wasn’t in on the joke.

I waved him off with a pleasant, “Gotta go! Talk to you soon,” and hopped into the passenger seat of Dane’s rented car.

Kristopher squinted after me and got as far as saying, “Is that Dane T—?” before Dane hit the gas and we sped away.

Literally.

The guy was driving at least twenty miles above the posted speed limit.

I glanced over at him, his eyes crinkled in good humor.

“So, did I interrupt an important conversation back there?” he asked lightly.

“No. To be honest, I was glad to get away.”

He grinned. “Thought so. The look on your face was one I recognized. I’ve been there. Often.” He slowed down for a stop sign, almost deigning to actually stop. “Now, we need to get you a taste of these brownies. They’re orgasmic.”

Over the sound of the car stereo, which was, interestingly enough, set to 102.5 LOVE FM, I wasn’t sure if I’d misheard his comment. “They’re, um,
organic?
”

His grin broadened. “That, too.”

Chapter Eleven

He wasn’t lying about the brownies.

“Oh. My. God,” I murmured after taking my first bite. The burst of buttery batter plus real milk chocolate, which played hide and seek with thin ribbons of caramel, melted together on my tongue, creating a sensation that fit my notion of Nirvana.

“I told you I was a man of my word.” Dane looked smug, but deservedly so. “Best in North America, right?”

“I’ve never tasted better,” I admitted.

The Lovin’ Spoonful Bakery, located in an unfashionable section of Highbury Park, matched the picture-perfect definition of a hole-in-the-wall joint. The brick veneer looked hastily constructed. The stone steps were crumbling. The paint had begun chipping on the walls and door. Everything about the place should have said “dilapidated”…except that, on the inside, it wasn’t.

The shop was absolutely teeming with customers. All locals, from what I could tell. And they’d packed the place until it was standing-room only.

It provided an interesting contrast to our afternoon tea at the radio station. The reception room had been sardine-packed as well, but the vibe was entirely different. I realized why after only a few moments: No one was pestering Dane or trying to get his attention in any way. No one asked for an autograph or the answer to any personal questions. Considering the number of individuals per square foot, there was no invasion of privacy. None at all.

In fact, the only person who approached us was the owner—an elderly gentleman with a silver afro, smooth dark skin, and the warmest smile I’d ever seen in my life. When he walked up to us, huddling as we were in a corner of the shop and devouring our brownies, he brought such pure energy with him that it felt as though the room actually got brighter.

“Julia, this is my man Samuel,” Dane said, introducing the two of us. “He’s the creator of the best brownie in North America—quite possibly the world.”

The man’s smile grew even warmer as he grasped my hand in his. “Ahhh, don’t believe him. Our young Mr. Tyler is exaggerating again.”

I shook my head. “No, sir, he’s not.”

Dane nodded his approval at me, and the man just threw his head back and laughed. “I like her, Dane. You showin’ her the old neighborhood today?”

“Yeah. Thought we might swing by the park, check out the school, maybe bum around for a while in Liam’s apartment.”

“Then you’ll need some extra treats for the road.” Samuel took a step back toward the bakery counter with eager customers crowded all around it. He had a couple of assistants packaging orders and ringing up the totals, but they were clearly struggling to keep up with demand.

“Step over here,” he told Dane. Then the older man winked at me and disappeared behind the counter.

“I love him like a father,” Dane whispered. “More, actually.”