Chapter 13

Victoria

Brittney bursts through the door,eyes wild. "Oh my god, Tori, you'll never believe who I saw today!"

I hold up the sticky note Anna gave me a few minutes ago. "I bet I might. Hold on a sec. Let me grab my things, and you can tell me all about it outside." After getting my purse, I wave at Anna. "See you tomorrow. Bye, Dr. Banks!" I call down the hall, waiting for a muffled response, and then tug Brittney back through the front door.

She snatches the sticky note out of my hand and studies it like she's looking for a treasure map in invisible ink. "This must be why he didn't come back to the shop."

I raise my eyebrows, taking back the sticky note and striding toward my car. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to use this phone number, but I don't want to lose it until I know I don't want it. "Explain," I demand.

"It was totally surreal," she begins. "A couple people came into the shop and said that Tracey over at Beans said one of the movie stars came in for a coffee today, but since no one saw any famous people wandering around downtown, we thought maybe she was just overexcited. Or she'd acted like a nut and scared him away from the rest of town. And then I saw him through the window a little while later, strolling in and out of shops, scruffy and unassuming with a hat and sunglasses on, acting like a normal tourist. Oh my god, Tori!" She grabs my arm and gives it a shake. "He came into my shop!"

She fills me in on how she waited a few minutes, watching him like a hawk the whole time, before confronting him.

"Brit!" I protest when she tells me what she said to him. "No! Please tell me you're joking. Or exaggerating. Please please please tell me you didn't actually say all that to him."

She looks at me, mildly affronted. "Of course I did! It's the truth, and I know you wouldn't tell him anything like that, but he needed to know. And clearly I didn't scare him off. He found your work and left his number for you!" She lets out a stifled squeal, like it's been building up for a while and she needed to let a fraction of it out so she doesn't explode, like the steam valve on a pressure cooker. "Are you going to call him or text him?"

"I haven't decided. I might not contact him at all." I look down at the small square of yellow paper. Anna tried to use neon sticky notes once, but Dr. Banks demanded she switch back to standard yellow. A smile ghosts over my face at the memory of that office drama.

"Sure you will." Brit bumps my shoulder with hers. "Look at you. You're grinning at just the thought of talking to him. And wouldn't it be nice to be able to have a conversation with him while you're not dealing with costumes? Or pretending to, at least? You can pretend he's just a normal man."

Rolling my eyes, I look at her. "But that's the problem, isn't it? He's not just a normal man. And anyway …" I look back at the sticky note and shake my head. "My track record with normal men isn't exactly stellar, is it?"

"All the more reason to give the movie star a shot, I say." She pulls me into a hug. "Go get Erin. Go home. Have a glass of wine after you put her to bed and at least text the man to let him know you got his note."

I snort. "Not much of a note."

She shrugs. "Clearly he couldn't scribble much else with Anna watching. He was trying to be incognito. Look, he didn't even write his name, just his initials."

Nodding, I hug her again. "I'll think about it."

She points a finger at me as she steps backward. "I'll hold you to that."

I stare at the sticky note for a long time before climbing into my car to pick up Erin and head home. I do my best to focus on my daughter and put aside my thoughts of Hayden Maddox and what it means that he stopped by my office and left his number, but by the time dinner's over and I've finished helping her with her homework, she just wants to veg and watch YouTube in the scant hour before bedtime, leaving me to stew in my thoughts.

Is it creepy that he came to my office? It feels like it should be, but somehow it's kind of … sweet, I guess? Endearing, in a weird way?

According to Anna, he seemed flustered and only left the message because she insisted. Which makes me think he showed up without a plan. It's not like he stalked me online, found my workplace, then waited outside for me to come out. That would be creepy.

Instead, he came into town hoping to bump into me, found Brittney's shop, and she told him I worked at the dentist's office, then sent him out for a walk until closer to closing time. He must've happened by, decided to stop in on a whim, and …

Well, I suppose I'm just projecting what he might've thought or felt. I don't know. And I won't know unless I take Brittney's advice and use his phone number.

What if he's busy? Or asleep? Or … with somebody?

My brain is a pro at coming up with a million excuses why I shouldn't reach out to him. And maybe I shouldn't.

In addition to the latest list, there are the reasons I gave him when he kissed me—not wanting to be the subject of town gossip yet again and the fact that he's leaving once the movie wraps.

Though according to Brittney, the second part is a good reason to have a fling with him. How can I get my heart broken if I know there's a time limit, right?

The gossip thing, though …

What if nobody knows?

That thought shouldn't be as intriguing as it is, but …

Maybe nobody has to know.

I fish the sticky note out of my coat pocket, staring at it for a moment before I gather my courage, type the number into my phone, and send off a text.

Hey, it's Victoria.

Part of me wishes I could send something witty or flirty, but I can't even remember how to flirt—if I ever really knew—and while I might be entertaining the idea that tangling myself up with Hayden Maddox isn't the worst idea I've ever had, I'm not overly interested in encouraging the prospect either. If he really wants me, then just texting him so he has my number should be enough.

My phone vibrates with a text alert almost immediately, kicking my heart rate into high gear.

Hayden Maddox

Hey! I wasn't sure I'd hear from you

I wasn't sure you would either

What changed your mind?

I don't even know what to say to that. Should I tell him the truth? There's not much to tell there, anyway.

I don't know. I guess I just wanted to see if it was really you.

He responds with a selfie, one corner of his full lips turned up in a closed-mouth smirk, clearly not wearing a shirt, though it only includes a little bit of his shoulders and upper chest.

It's really me

Feeling devilish, I shoot back a quick response.

I'm not sure a selfie proves anything. You could be a catfish pretending to be Hayden Maddox. That selfie could be on the internet somewhere.

Go ahead and do a reverse image search. See if you find it.

Even if I can't find it, that doesn't necessarily prove anything

Just then my phone starts ringing, and I let out a squeak of surprise. With a quick glance toward Erin's bedroom where she's firmly ensconced with her iPad, headphones on, oblivious to the fact that I'm actually flirting via text with a movie star. And now he's calling me on the phone!

Hitting the button to answer, I slip into my bedroom. "Hello?"

"Does this prove it's really me?" he asks, his deep voice sliding over me like velvet. God, he sounds sexy.

"Hmm." I'm committed to the bit, and I can't help continuing to play coy. "Voice changers exist. Surely there's some kind of app that makes anyone sound like a famous movie star. Tell me something that only Hayden Maddox would know about me."

His low chuckle makes me shiver, and I'm glad he's finding this entertaining instead of annoying. "I know you're a dedicated mother, a talented seamstress, and a fantastic kisser."

My breath catches, my mouth hanging open because I don't know what to say to that.

"Victoria?" he prompts when I don't respond.

"You're a good kisser too," I murmur at last.

He answers with another warm chuckle, and I swear to god, I could melt into a puddle right here on my bedroom floor just from talking to him on the phone. I feel like a seventh grader getting a call from my crush, all giddy and giggly and thrilling with anticipation. Because a phone call is only the beginning.

"Since we're both such fantastic kissers," he says, "maybe we should do it again sometime."

The giggle I've been trying to hold back escapes at his suggestion.

He groans. "Ohhh, oof. Ouch. You're laughing at the idea of kissing me again?" I can hear the smile riding his words, and my own stretches across my face.

"No, no. I'm not laughing at the idea of kissing you again." No, that thought makes me want to incinerate if I linger on it too long. Especially if I think about it without also thinking about all the complications such a course of action is likely to bring. Those complications immediately sober me. "No," I repeat. "Kissing you isn't funny at all."

"Well, that's good," he murmurs. "I'm relieved to hear it."

"The thing is …" I start.

"Uh oh. That's never a promising way to begin a sentence. It never ends well for the person on the other end. ‘The thing is, you slobber like a Saint Bernard.' Or, ‘The thing is, I'm dying of a terminal illness.'"

"That last one seems worse for the one saying it, don't you think?" I interject.

"Ah, well, I suppose that's true. Still, it's not great for the person hearing it either, is it? You find someone you like, only to learn that there's no future at all. It's tragic for everyone."

"No terminal illness on my side. Even so, there's not really a future here, is there?"

He's silent for a long moment. Then, "No, I suppose not. But that's not exactly unusual for me."

"Not much of one for happily ever afters, huh?"

He laughs softly, though this time it sounds almost regretful. "Not really, no. I've only ever seen them in movies, after all. And no one knows better than an actor that movies aren't real."

I hum, not sure where we go from here. "I guess you're the one dying of a terminal illness then."

"What?" he splutters. "Did my doctor call you by mistake?"

Chuckling, I shake my head, even though he can't see me. "No. I just mean you're the reason there's a definite end date. You're leaving in a couple months."

He grunts. "Probably closer to three. I know the schedule has us here for two, but realistically? Shooting always takes longer than planned."

"So you have three months to live." I'm grinning, unable to let go of the joke.

"Or we do." He sounds much more serious than me, and that gives me pause.

Three months tops to spend with a movie star. Assuming we both like each other enough for it to last that long.

"Look," he breaks into my thoughts, "I know you're concerned about the small-town gossip mill. And while I'm not saying it's exactly the same, I'm familiar with small populations and gossip, because while Hollywood might seem huge, it's actually not. The point is, I know how to be discreet. If that matters."

If that matters. Of course it matters. "That's good to know," I say slowly, not entirely sure how to respond. We've cycled between dorky and flirty and now it feels serious, but with an undercurrent of sexual tension I don't know how to navigate. I've never been in this situation before. My dating experience is paltry, at best, and it's never ever felt like this.

"When can I see you?" he asks, his voice quiet and urgent and sending a thrill through my blood.

"I'll be there tomorrow evening."

"Perfect. I'll make sure Mia knows I need you to check on something with my costumes."

That has me sitting up straight. "What? What's wrong with your costumes?" I worked my ass off to make sure those were perfect. There shouldn't be?—

His chuckle stills my whirling thoughts. "Nothing right now. But I'll make something wrong with at least one of them if it means I get you alone in my trailer."

"Oh." My cheeks heat with a blush, and I'm grateful he can't see it. "Of course."

His soft laugh echoes my own. "Make sure you have a sewing kit handy. I plan on tearing a seam while shooting tomorrow."