“So,” Warner starts, peering into my cart. “Is this what you eat before a movie begins shooting?”
My gaze doesn’t follow his. I know what’s in there. Carrots, leafy greens, apples and berries. To be fair, we’ve only just begun shopping.
“Sort of,” I answer. “This movie allows for a little wiggle room. It’s not like I’m shooting a beach vacation film.”
Warner scowls. “That top you wore in the photo shoot looked like half of a bikini.”
Playfully I tap the tip of his nose. “Does that upset you?”
He tosses a frozen pizza into the cart. “Not after what happened this morning.” He runs his hand over my lower back, as if remembering what it looks like without the fabric of my shirt to cover it.
My scar. The playful atmosphere evaporates.
Warner’s hand stills. “What’s wrong?”
“You saw my scar.” I couldn’t hide the embarrassment in my voice even if I wanted to.
His eyebrows knit together. “So?” He points a finger at his brow bone. “I have a scar too.”
“That’s nothing like mine.” I picture the long strip of mottled flesh, the color three shades darker than my skin.
Warner’s hand drifts again, then stills over my scar. Quietly, he says, “I fell asleep in the shallows, and I woke up submerged.”
I swallow. It’s the second time today he’s said that. “Is that from something? Lines like that are usually delivered to me from a script.”
He raises two fingers, holds them over the center of his chest, and taps twice.
It’s in this moment that I realize I’m in danger. Warner is too good to be true. He must be an apparition, a mirage, a delusion. I’m torn between wanting to run from these feelings, and accepting everything Warner has to offer, soaking it all up like the parched desert I drove through to get to this town.
I opt for the latter.
Leaning in, I tuck my leg between his knees and grip his arm. He lowers his lips, I arch up to meet him, as if this is the most natural thing in the world to do. His mouth presses to mine, gentle and perfect, and my eyes flutter closed.
I don’t see the person at the end of the aisle. Nor do I see it when they pull their phone from their pocket and take our picture.
21
Tenley
“I knew it.” Barb smacks her hands together, and Shirley startles.
“Knew what?”
Barb pushes her glasses higher up on her nose and shows the phone to her friend. A whole minute is wasted when Shirley tells her she can’t read it. Barb enlarges the font and silently thanks her grandson for showing her how.
“I’ll be damned,” Shirley whispers.
“You ready for this?” Calvin stands two feet from me, stuffing a donut from the craft table into his face.
“All set.” I nod, grabbing a pear and adjusting the front of my cream silk blouse. Wardrobe has me in a navy blue skirt and matching jacket for today’s scene, but it’s too warm to wear the jacket while I’m standing around waiting for filming to begin. I bite into my pear, taking care not to drip the juice onto the jacket folded over my forearm.
“Thanks for canceling on me at the last minute on Saturday. I was almost to the coffee shop where you told me to meet you.” Calvin tries to tuck his left hand into his pocket, but his jeans are so tight he barely manages to fit in anything more than up to his knuckles. “It would be good for us to be seen together. People love it when they think the leads are getting together in real life.”
I have to resist curling my lip. There’s nothing wrong with Calvin, like some really obvious fatal flaw. He’s just not the handsome, charming, intelligent cowboy I want to spend time with. “I told you I had to go grocery shopping.”
“Great excuse.” He rolls his eyes and finishes his donut. “Have you been to The Orchard yet? It’s the only place I can stand to eat in this small-ass town.”
“Apparently it’s either that or the craft table for you.” I swipe a finger over the chocolate at the corner of his lip. “It’s too bad we don’t have a kissing scene today. I could’ve enjoyed your donut vicariously.”
They call us to the set, and we stop being Tenley and Calvin, longtime friends. I become a big city lawyer addicted to her job and her email, and Calvin turns into a stoic, irritated cowboy. We maintain those roles for the next five hours, until the director, Ari, tells us he thinks he has what he needs.
I’m in my trailer, washing the makeup from my face, when my mom calls. I look at Lauren, the person who has been tasked with dog sitting Libby while I’m filming, and thank her for her time. She slips out with a quick wave as my phone rings. I hit the button for speaker and begin talking.
“First day went well, I know that’s why you’re calling.” My robe falls open as I lean into the mirror, dragging a cotton pad dipped in makeup remover over my eyes. “We shot the scene where I first arrive at the ranch and I’m horrified. Calvin was great. Very convincing as a cowboy.”
My mom’s quiet for a second, then says, “Have you not seen Dirty Laundry today?”
“No, I have not, because I don’t waste a moment of my precious life on that nonsense.” As I say it, I remember how recently that nonsense turned out to be truth.
My phone dings as I rub moisturizer on my face. I lean over and see a message has come through.
“Take a look at what I just sent you,” my mother says, her voice terse. I’d bet fifty dollars her lips are pursed right now.
I stifle a sigh and navigate to my messages, opening up the newest one at the top.
My fingers fly to my lips and I suck in a very audible breath.
“Uh-huh. Now do you see what I’m calling about?”
My mind races, thinking back to two days ago in the grocery store. Nobody bothered us. Nobody said anything, or stared, or acted differently at all. The cashier was polite and friendly, joking with me and asking Warner how his kids were doing.
“Mom, I—” I look into the mirror and picture her on the other end of the line. “I’m not sure what to say. The man in the photo is Warner Hayden, the guy who was teaching me about ranching. I’ll be more careful from now on. I’ll—”
“Don’t change a thing.”
“What? Why?” Libby’s collar jingles from the ground beside me, and I stoop to scratch her between the ears.
“Are you serious? Tenley Roberts and a mystery man? Especially after what Tate did to you? Gold, Tenley. Brilliant.”
I bristle. I don’t like reducing Warner, or the feelings that are developing between us, to a publicity stunt.
“I have real feelings for him, Mom.”
She laughs. “That’s obvious from the picture.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I fall quiet, not sure what to say next. I focus on pulling on my jeans and T-shirt and wait for her to move onto the next subject. I know she will, because she’s not good at reading between the lines, or hearing what’s unspoken. And I’m not good at telling her when I’m upset.
“Can you keep seeing him?”