They sat on the sand, and Zach pulled the sandwiches and sodas out of the bag. After everything was divvied up, she angled toward him. “You’re on.”
“First, try that.” He tapped the sandwich in her lap and unwrapped his own. “It’s not quite at the level of Charley’s tacos—but close. They assured me it would survive the trip. Spread this on it first, though.” He retrieved a container of the topping from the bag, along with a plastic knife, and passed them over.
She unwrapped the gargantuan sandwich, removed the top piece of bread, added a generous portion of the separately packaged mixture, then took a bite.
An explosion of tangy flavors tickled her taste buds.
Wow.
“You weren’t kidding. This is incredible.” She examined the sandwich close-up. “What else is on this besides pastrami?”
“Swiss cheese—and coleslaw that’s put together with homemade Russian dressing. They bake their own bread too.”
“The deli doesn’t happen to have a branch on the West Coast, does it?”
“Nope. It’s a family-run business.”
“It would be worth a trip to Atlanta just for this.”
“There could be other reasons to visit Atlanta someday.”
She peeked at him.
He was focused on his own sandwich and didn’t dwell on that comment, but it wasn’t hard to read between the lines.
Without pushing, he was letting her know he had a vested interest in her decision about the movie—and her career.
That made the new deadline all the more difficult to deal with.
She nibbled at the sandwich, letting the steady splash of the surf and the caw of the gulls soothe the cacophony in her mind. In a few minutes, she’d fill Zach in on her news—but first, she wanted to hear about Atlanta.
“Tell me what happened with your dad.”
She continued to eat as he gave her the highlights of his trip, and her heart warmed as he wrapped up with his dad’s plan to come to Hope Harbor.
At least Zach’s story had a happy ending.
“You must be over the moon.” She smiled at him as she picked up a piece of coleslaw that had escaped from her sandwich and fitted it back in.
“At the very least. Maybe over Mars. It was more than I’d hoped for. More than I’d prayed for. I would have been satisfied to be invited inside and treated civilly. For Dad to do a one-eighty . . .” He shook his head, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “It was beyond anything I could have hoped for.”
“When is he coming out here?”
“Thanksgiving, if his recovery progresses as we expect. Appropriate, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
“I assume Stephanie and Frank will be there too—and Dad suggested I invite any other close friends.” He picked up the second half of his sandwich but shifted his attention to her. “He also asked if I had a girlfriend.”
The mouthful of pastrami she’d swallowed got stuck halfway down, and she groped for her soda. Took a swig. “What did you say?”
“No—but that’s not what I wanted to say.”
His answer didn’t surprise her—but his candor did.
“I thought we’d decided to . . . that we were going to try to keep our relationship low-key?”
“I’ve been trying. It’s not working.”
For her either.
Despite her efforts to suppress her growing feelings for the man who lived in the house next door, he’d also begun to take up residence in her heart.
But until she decided what to do about the movie—and her career—it would be safer for both of them if they kept their feelings on a low burner and gave themselves space to see where the electricity led.
Easier said than done, though.
Yet more important than ever, in light of her news.
She set her sandwich back on the paper in her lap. Filled her lungs with the salt-laced air. “Can we switch gears for a minute?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m picking up serious undertones here.”
“More like frustrating—and nerve-wracking. Simon’s here.”
He frowned and set his sandwich down too. “Here, at your house?”
“Not at the moment—but he is in Hope Harbor. He showed up yesterday with the news that the deadline for the movie decision has been changed to this weekend.”
Despite the golden light cast by the dipping sun, Zach’s complexion seemed to lose a few shades of color. “Why the shortened time frame?”
She briefed him. “Of course, Simon is pushing me to accept—ASAP, now that the studio has agreed to address my reservations about language and nudity.”
“Which way are you leaning?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
He hesitated. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
Several beats passed as he studied her.
Then, instead of a verbal response, he set the paper holding his sandwich beside him, leaned close, and captured her lips in a kiss that answered her question far more eloquently than words ever could.
It was the sort of kiss that made a woman forget about everything but the man whose magic touch chased every care away.
Until all at once, he jerked back and uttered four words that hurt far more than the jeers and taunts of her childhood peers.
“That was a mistake.”
As the harsh, ragged declaration hung in the air between them—and Katherine’s shattered expression registered—Zach’s stomach twisted.
Way to go, Garrett. You know her history, know rejection is her Achilles’ heel. Could you have been a bit more diplomatic—and articulate?
“I’m sorry.” He touched her hand, willing her to accept his contrition. “Not about kissing you, but for my motivation. Trying to influence your decision is selfish—and wrong. You have to choose what’s best for you . . . even if the idea of you leaving makes me sick to my stomach.”
The shock on her face faded. “Oh. I thought—”
“I know what you thought. I’d attribute my tactless faux pas to jet lag, but a three-hour time difference isn’t enough to qualify for that excuse. Forgive me?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “I have a thicker skin than I used to after living in the rejection-rife world of Hollywood, but I’m still too sensitive to snubs and put-downs. Leftover baggage from my youth, I suppose—another button Simon knows how to push.”
And that brought them back to the movie offer.
If he couldn’t make the decision for her, perhaps he could help her arrive at the best one—even if the outcome wasn’t in his favor.
“Why don’t we talk about the movie for a few minutes? If the studio has caved to your demands, what’s holding you back?”
She rewrapped the other half of her sandwich, twin furrows creasing her brow. “I’m afraid if I do it, I’ll be sucked back into the whole Hollywood scene and it will be harder than ever to break free afterward.”
“Take that concern out of the equation. Think of the movie as an isolated decision, with no bearing on anything else. In that context, would you do it?”
“Yes.” Again, no hesitation. “It’s a wonderful script. Working opposite the male lead would be a dream come true. The director is exceptional. The character I’d play is a woman who would require every ounce of my skill to bring to life—but that sort of challenge is what drew me to acting in the first place. From the artistic and creative standpoint, it’s a no-brainer.”