25. Alana

TWENTY-FIVE

Alana

All you need is love … and tacos.

~ Unknown

“ Y ou sent me tacos!” I take each one out of the styrofoam container, placing them on a tray on my island. “And chips and guac! I feel so spoiled.”

“Do you like them?”

“Are you kidding me? Who doesn’t like tacos? Are these from Mitzi’s?”

“They are. I got you one of each of my favorites.”

This man. I stare at the tacos as if they arrived in an iconic forget-me-not blue box from Tiffany’s. They’re better than a two-carat diamond. They’re perfect. He’s perfect.

“There’s just one problem,” I tell him.

“What’s that?”

“You’re not here to eat them with me.”

“I … well.”

He pauses, and I almost say something .

Then he says, “I didn’t know how soon we should see one another after last night. I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“I told you, Stevens. I want to see you. And my life is about to be a sideshow at the circus—no. Forget the side show. I’m the full three rings.”

I sigh, then I ask him. “Are you busy today?”

“I actually just got in from surfing and took a shower. I didn’t have anything else planned. No tours. No jobs. Just me and the octopus book.”

“Well, bring your book and yourself and come up here. I leave early tomorrow morning to head to LA. That is … if you want to come over.”

“I do. Definitely. I’ll be there in less than a half hour. I’ll stop for more tacos.”

“I can share.”

“I don’t want you to. I got those for you. Start eating while they’re warm.”

“I’ll just put them in my warming oven on a very low temp. They’ll be fine. I’ll wait for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“And Stevens?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me too.”

My stomach flutters with nerves when I hang up. He’s coming here. It’s not like he hasn’t been here before. But then, I had no idea. And now … now he’s … him.

I putter through the house. There’s nothing to tidy. Nothing to clean. I’m a ball of energy with nowhere to release this buzz in my veins.

My phone rings and I literally jump.

Mother.

I’m tempted to let her go to voicemail, but with the premier and party tomorrow, I need to take this.

“Hello. ”

“Well, don’t sound so happy to hear from me, darling.”

“Hello, Mother. It’s great to hear from you.”

“Alana. Please.”

“I’m kidding. How are you?”

“I’m great. And I had your dress taken to your condo. Everything is set up there. Hair and makeup will arrive at three tomorrow. Do you have everything you need?”

“I always do.”

“True. True. That Brigitte is an asset, isn’t she?”

“She’s a wonderful person. And she’s funny and amazing. I gave her a raise this week.”

“Good. Good. You want to keep the good ones, Alana.”

“Anything else you wanted to tell me?”

“Do I need an agenda to call my own daughter?”

“No, but you usually have one. Right?”

“Touché. No. I have no agenda, but to tell you I saw your interviews and they were fabulous. You and Rex look perfect together. The ideal Hollywood couple. He’s a nice man, you know. You could do much worse.”

“We aren’t in love, Mother. He’s a friend. A colleague. We respect one another. We’re not actually dating. We never were. You know that.”

“I think he’d be glad to come to an agreement, darling. A union between the two of you could be like Hepburn and Tracy.”

“They never married, you know.”

“Yes. But they were a force. Nine films together and a twenty-six year affair. That’s common-law marriage nowadays. You and Rex could be like that. Iconic. And powerful. It’s so good to have an ally in this business, Alana. It softens the blows, gives you someone on your side of the fence. And you like Rex. Feelings can grow.”

“Not happening. I appreciate your concern. It’s just … not happening. Please drop it. I already told you he and I are only doing this until our premier. Then it’s over. ”

“Maybe you’ll reconsider.” She hums. “I’ll back off. I’m patient and I can wait.”

There’s a knock at the door—Stevens.

“Mother, I have to go. We’ll talk when I’m there, okay?”

“What’s your rush, dear?”

“My … uh … yoga instructor just arrived.”

I open the door and smile at Stevens. Then I step back so he can come in. He’s carrying his octopus book and a paper bag identical to the one my tacos came in. His hair is a little windblown. He smells clean, and he looks amazing in a white T-shirt with a surf logo and khaki shorts.

And he’s wearing his glasses. Good night. This man will be the death of me in those glasses. And we both know he only wears them for reading, so he’s wearing them just to taunt me now. And I am here.for.it.

He slowly removes them down his nose and then, as if he didn’t just tease me, he says, “Hey, should I put these in the kitchen?”

“That’s your yoga instructor? I thought she was a woman,” Mother says from the other side of the phone.

“Yeah … She … No … He … It’s a man. Okay. See you tomorrow! Bye.” I click my phone.

It rings immediately and I turn off the ringer.

Stevens stands there with an amused half-smile on his face as though seeing me stammer through my goodbye to my mother was the best part of his week.

“My mother.”

“Ahhh.”

“Come in. Come in,” I say, somewhat flustered by the phone call.

It feels like she’s here, lurking in my home—invading this private moment that should be just me and Stevens.

Instead of walking toward my kitchen, Stevens takes a step in my direction. He runs his palm down my cheek.

“You seem a little rattled. Everything okay? ”

“Yes.” I look up into his calm brown eyes. “No … Sort of.”

I blow out a breath.

He sets the bag of tacos on my entry table and pulls me into a hug.

“What’s got you unsettled?”

I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and sinking into the comfort he’s offering.

“My mother. She’s … pushy, demanding, overbearing …” I look up at him.

His eyes are so tender. Concern is etched across his forehead, like he’d absorb anything for me, stand between me and whatever distresses me. If only he could. I won’t let him. What I face regularly is not something I want anywhere near him. He’s too good.

“I’m making her sound horrible. She’s not, you know.”

“I believe you.” His voice is soft and compassionate.

He runs the back of his hand down my face and tips my chin up toward him. I think he’s going to kiss me—I want him to. But he just smiles softly.

“Let’s eat tacos,” he says. “I’ve found tacos solve many problems. And the ones they don’t solve, well … they don’t hurt.”

“Is that so?”

He steps back, retrieves his bag and walks toward the kitchen.

“You don’t think so?” he asks, setting the bag on the counter and opening it.

“I don’t know. I haven’t ever tested that theory.”

“Yeah. That’s what Brigitte said.”

“What did she say?”

“She said you don’t eat tacos unless they have tofu. Something like that. Is it true?” He’s got a teasing look to him when he glances at me. “Do you eat tofu tacos?”

“I have.”

“Are they any good?”

“Compared to what?”

“Carne asada, shrimp or mahi mahi?”

“I don’t know. ”

“You … you’ve never eaten those kinds of tacos?”

“Um … no?”

He stares at me like I’m joking.

“My diet’s pretty strict. It’s part of my job.”

He nods. “Well, let’s dig in then. Get ready to be utterly corrupted.” He wags his eyebrows and rubs his hands together mischievously.

He moves through my kitchen, pulling down plates after opening a few cabinets to find them, pulling open the warming oven after finding it on the first try, and placing the tacos on plates alongside chips and guacamole. I grab down glasses and pour us some sparkling water.

“Eat outside?” he asks like he’s been here a hundred times.

“Sure. I’d love that.”

He carries our plates and I follow him out onto my deck.

There’s this contagious ease to him, like nothing can shake the foundation he’s standing on. He oozes quiet confidence without saying a word. Even in the moments when he’s slightly awkward, the strength of something deeper permeates the atmosphere around him.

My mother’s looming presence has been properly relocated to LA, just like that. All it took was one solid hug from Stevens and she vanished like a specter being chased by an exorcist.

He takes his place in the same chair he sat in when we shared our dinner here the other night. All that time, he was Wordivore, and I didn’t have a clue.

I take my seat next to him. A breeze blows in from the water, rustling through the treetops, cooling the air while the sun shines down to warm us.

I bite into a taco—the one with carne asada. It’s so good I actually moan. And, I guess I close my eyes because when I open them, Stevens is staring at me with a full smile on his face and a glint in his eye.

“I wish Mitzi could have seen that. She would have gone nuts. ”

“She likes it when people enjoy her tacos, huh?”

“She would love it if Alana Graves moaned while eating one of her tacos.”

I smile. It doesn’t bother me to be Alana Graves when he puts it that way.

“I’d love to meet her,” I say, knowing full well the complications that would invite into our lives—his especially.

“You will. One day. I hope.”

He takes a bite of his own taco, exaggeratedly lets his eyes flutter shut and lets out a moan that’s a little too enthusiastic. Then he cracks open one eye and peeks at me.

“Am I being mocked for my taco love?”

“Never.” He winks at me, then his smile spreads across his whole impish face.

I want to kiss him, really kiss him. And I want to spend the rest of my life on this porch eating tacos and making him smile just like that.

“You’ll meet Mitzi,” he says. “But for now, I want to keep you to myself. I’m selfish like that. It’s one of my many flaws. You’ll discover them all in due time.”

“I think I’m selfish too.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to keep you to myself too.”