Chapter 22

Hayden

Victoria

Heading home

Elation fillsme at the sight of Victoria's text on my screen. I've been edgy and bored all day. It's my day off and I'm supposed to use this time to relax, but knowing that she's on set, I'm not, and that I'll get to spend as much time as I want—as she wants, at least—with her tonight, I can't settle, no matter how much I try.

It's frustrating to be like this too, since I actually feel good about the movie. Brady showed me some of the footage he's gotten so far, and even though I was doubtful about this angle, it's actually working really well. And as much as I was kind of laughing on the inside about Brady rejoicing in the "gritty realism" of the mud and dirt around here, he's right. For the first time in a while, I'm excited about the movie I'm making, rather than just slogging through to get the paycheck.

It's an odd combination of excitement, anticipation, and nerves that has me unable to settle, coming from both my feelings for Victoria and my feelings about the film.

As soon as I get her text, I spring into action. It'll take me as long to get to her place as it takes her, and assuming she was already in the car when she sent the text, she should beat me there, but not by much. Perfect. Gotta make the best use of our time, limited as it is.

See you soon

After shooting off the text, I grab my keys, stuff my feet into shoes, pull my baseball cap low over my eyes, snag a hoodie just in case it's chilly when I come home, and I'm out the door. I've had the house to myself today, for the most part. Brady and some of the other stars are on set, working on scenes I'm not in. Aurora Cole has today off too, but she spent the day at a spa she found a couple hours away, so I get out the door without having to answer any questions.

The drive into town doesn't take as long as I remember, though I'm not sure if that's because I'm more familiar with it or the anticipation thrumming in my veins making time speed up. Probably a mix of both.

Soon enough, I'm pulling to a stop in front of Victoria's house. Her car's in the driveway and light peeks through the curtains of her front window. A smile stretches across my face as I take in the sight.

Home.

Her house radiates that kind of comfort and warmth with its tidy front lawn and buttery yellow exterior, complete with a small front porch boasting two white wrought iron chairs with floral cushions and a small table. I can just imagine Victoria out here drinking her coffee on weekend mornings. And some part of me wants to paint myself into the chair opposite her. I know she has a kid, and said kid would be around too, I'm sure, but I doubt a pre-teen wants to drink coffee on the front porch in the mornings. She'd probably still be asleep.

Yeah, she's asleep, and Victoria and I are drinking coffee on the porch, the air fresh and crisp, the sun starting to warm the cool air.

It's a fantasy. A vision of normalcy that I'll never manage to attain, though I've always longed for it.

That's why I convinced my parents to let me attend the public high school in Malibu for one disastrous year.

My sole experience with high school was through TV and movies, with my own education primarily taking place with tutors on the sets of those same types of shows. My mom often played a mom, and when she was traveling to shoot, I went with her, getting tutored alongside the child actors working on the film. And since her schedule was so unpredictable, I still studied with tutors even when we were home. It was easiest that way.

But I always longed for the kinds of friendships and relationships depicted on the shows. So when Mom landed a TV show that filmed in LA, I convinced her and my dad to let me go to school. They thought that was a good idea and started researching the private schools other actors' kids attended.

That wasn't what I wanted, though. I wanted to be normal, or at least as close to it as I could manage, and I knew that an expensive private school wasn't the experience I was looking for. I wanted it real and gritty. Maybe that's why Brady's obsession with gritty realism on this film makes me laugh. It reminds me of my own teenage desires, though I have to admit that his version of it works a lot better.

Because things definitely got gritty. And as lonely as I often was growing up, I never felt more lonely than my sophomore year of high school, surrounded by other kids my age, unable to relate to any of them, and therefore unable to make friends.

I'd had no trouble striking up friendships on the various sets I hung out on growing up. But making friends with the few other kids on set was a lot easier than being lost in a sea of hundreds of kids who already seemed to know each other.

And once they found out who my parents were, everyone wanted a piece of me. I went from having no friends and being fairly anonymous, to having everyone know who I was, but still having no friends. Only people who wanted to use me to get them in to cool parties and movie premieres.

I learned that the hard way when I finally got invited to my first party. But when I showed up, they asked why I hadn't brought any of my famous friends with me, then proceeded to ignore me. I didn't stay long. And I didn't bother going to another party.

After that, Mom's show got canceled, she landed another movie role that took us to Vancouver, British Columbia, and I was never more thrilled to use a tutor than I was then.

So this normal, possibly boring fantasy of coffee on the front porch with Victoria is an old ache for a life I know I'll never have.

Reaching for the door, I box up that fantasy and all its attendant feelings, focusing instead on what's in front of me. I have this. Tonight. These couple of months while we're shooting the film. No sense in wasting time wishing for the impossible when what we have is pretty great.

She opens the door with a smile. "Hey. You're here."

Stepping inside, I reach for her immediately, wrapping my arms around her waist and dipping my head for a kiss. Once my lips touch hers, everything feels exactly as it should be, the lingering ache from my fantasies and reminiscing swept away by her presence. Her fingers wrap behind my neck, caressing the hair at my nape the way she always does, the way I've come to crave, and I sigh into her mouth.

When she drops back to flat feet, ending the kiss, she smiles up at me, and I have to kiss her one more time.

She kisses me back but turns away. "Let me close the door, at least. We don't need to put on a show for the whole neighborhood." As she closes and locks the door, she glances at me out of the corner of her eye. "Though you are an actor. Maybe you're into exhibitionism?"

Laughing, I shake my head. "No. I'm not that kind of actor."

That makes her laugh too. "I feel like that kind of film wouldn't need as much costume help."

"You're probably right about that," I murmur, stepping behind her and dropping a kiss on her neck.

She reaches up and rests her hand on my head. "Are you hungry?"

I nip at her skin. "Just for you."

That has her laughing again, and she turns in my arms, resting her hands on my shoulders, one eyebrow arched. "So period sex doesn't gross you out?"

I shake my head. "As long as you feel up to it."

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I have towels. And a shower. I'm sure we'll be fine."

I grin. "That's my girl."

"Okay, but seriously, though," she says, stepping out of my arms and heading for the kitchen. "I'm starving. So I need food before we do anything else. And since we have all the time we want, there's no rush. Do you want to eat too, or are you just going to sit and watch me eat like a weirdo?"

I prop my shoulder against the doorway to her kitchen, watching her move around, totally at home in her space. I like this. It's comfortably domestic in a way it would be too easy to get used to. But no amount of reminding myself that this is temporary does anything to change the way I feel. "Whaddaya got?"

She glances at me from the open refrigerator. "We keep it pretty simple around here, even more so when Erin's not here and I'm on my own for dinner. I dunno. I feel like I need to cook when she's around, you know? Give her decent meals, eat at the table together, and talk about school and friends. You know, all that normal family stuff."

Humming, I shake my head. "I'm not an expert on all that."

Straightening from the refrigerator, she studies me for a beat before resuming her perusal of the fridge's contents and shaking her head. "Sorry. I know you're famous and in movies and stuff, but I'm not one of those women who've memorized your Wikipedia page or anything. I don't remember you being much of a child star." She narrows her eyes and glances at me again. "Though you were in a couple of those teen comedies, weren't you?"

Chuckling, I nod. "Yeah. Mostly bit parts, but I landed a lead role in one, and that's what launched my career." I scratch the scruff on my chin, finding it a little odd to talk about this. Most people know the broad strokes of my life story before they've even met me. "My parents are in the biz. My mom's Grace Barlow, and my dad's Ethan Stone."

She gives me a quizzical look. "Where did Maddox come from then?"

"I chose my own name when I started auditioning for films," I tell her with a grin. "Anyway, my parents divorced when I was a kid, and I spent a lot of time on set with my mom. Since I was there, I ended up filling in bit parts here and there growing up, but when I decided I wanted to be an actor, my dad told me I needed to stop trading on their connections and land a part on my own. Realm of the Lostwas the first film I managed to get without either of my parents working on it. I auditioned, and they chose me for a supporting role. And when that director got attached to Anything You Need, he reached out to me." I spread my arms. "And the rest is history."

Sometime during my story time, she closed the fridge, leaning against the counter next to it as she listened. Her eyes widen when I finish. "I guess that wouldn't leave room for a regular routine of home-cooked meals and homework around the table afterward."

Laughing, I shake my head. "Not exactly, no."

She looks away, staring off to the side and tapping her fingers on her lips, clearly thinking, and I'm dying to know what she's thinking about. Pointing a finger at me, she swings her gaze my way again. "The mom in me feels like I need to cook for you because while it sounds like you probably had a lot of cool experiences, your childhood also sounds incredibly lonely." My diaphragm freezes at her succinct—and painfully accurate—assessment of my childhood. How could she possibly have deduced that from the little I said? "But the other ninety percent of me is just starving, so giving you a nice, homey meal at the table might have to wait for another time." Neither of us acknowledges that it's very possible that'll never happen.

Turning around, she pulls open the freezer and grabs a bag. "When I need a quick and easy dinner, either on my own or with my kid, this is my go-to." She holds up the bag so I can see the picture of perfect looking chicken nuggets on the side. "They're pretty good," she says, a little defensively. "These are breaded pieces of actual chicken."

I raise my eyebrows. "As opposed to …?"

A small smile claiming her lips, she shoots me a sideways look as she pulls out the basket from the air fryer on the counter and pours some nuggets into it. "You don't want to know."

Watching her decide how many chicken nuggets to cook hits me again with that sense of belonging, like this type of thing could easily fit into my life on a regular basis. Her home feels so much like a home with its stack of papers on one end of the oak tabletop with white legs and matching chairs, the pictures and drawings held onto the fridge by magnets, the school photos of her kid lining one wall, photos of the two of them together next to them. Plus the various art prints, the bookshelves, the cushy furniture with the cozy throw pillows and fuzzy blankets. It's the perfect place to wrap yourself in the warmth so freely offered and rest.

"I really like your house," I tell her as I survey the space, taking everything in. I didn't look around much the last time I was here. Our time was short, and she'd held all my attention.

She looks up, surprised, setting down the plates she pulled out of the cabinet. "Oh. Thank you." Glancing around, she shakes her head. "Sorry I didn't have much time to clean."

"No, it's perfect," I murmur, walking into the living room. "Don't apologize. I like it. You can tell people live here." In one corner of the living room, I spy her sewing table, a spare dining room chair pulled up next to it, a pile of clothes and fabric spilling off it. There's an ironing board stowed between the table and the bookshelf flanking it, about half the shelves dedicated to sewing supplies. "This is where the magic happens, I take it?"

She comes around to see what I'm looking at and laughs. "Something like that."

Turning, I catch her hips and tug her into my space. "I'm glad I'm here."

Pressing up on her toes, she kisses me. "Me too."