Souvenirs (18 page)

However, the two of them were working things out. Sure there were bumps in the road, but they were talking. They were building a pretty good partnership, a friendship, on the ashes of their lies and disappointments.

Friendship was better than nothing.

“Was that okay?” Susan asked from her seat next to Bennett. The question saved Grace from her descent into self-pity.

“Great,” she said as she closed her notebook. “Let’s stop here. They need everyone in Special Effects for green screen work. I’ll work up these notes and we can review them tomorrow morning.”

The group left in unison. Laughter rang from the rafters and bounced back into the room.

Heaving a sigh, Grace gathered her things and returned to her office. Thumping her notebook and script onto the desk, she dropped into her chair and spun, only to stutter to a stop in front of the envelope perched between her computer keys. Anxiety warred with curiosity as she inched the paper free.

If I could go back, Grace, if I could do it again—us and not make a hash of it this time, I would. I’d do it all again. The same, but different.

She stared at the strong, clean handwriting until a tear dripped onto the ink.
Shit
. Scrambling for a tissue, she blotted the water, fearful of smearing the precious letters underneath. Then she put the note away and went to work.

Later in the evening, she sat next to Paul and Meg’s pool, her substitute lake, thinking of nothing but Ben’s words. Was it an overture or simply an apology? What was she supposed to do? Responding to an overture when one wasn’t intended risked embarrassment. Not responding to an apology was rude, especially when she owed him one as well. Whatever the required response, she was terrified but she wanted to talk with him. She
missed
talking with him.

Gathering her nerve, she reached for her phone and the contact list she’d brought out with her. A few quick keystrokes tilted her universe.

As the phone rang, she vacillated between hope and panic. The call connected, and she held her breath.

“Hullo?”

“I would too, Bennett.”

He didn’t speak, and panic danced through her toes and fingers. What had she done? This didn’t feel friendly, not in the least.

“Goodnight,” she whispered.

He still wasn’t talking. Maybe she had the wrong number. She hovered her thumb over the disconnect button.

“Goodnight, Grace.” His deep voice, his audible smile, banished her anxiety. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She overslept again, and by the time she walked into the studio, everyone was already on set. She tiptoed to avoid calling attention to her tardiness. No matter how many titles she had after her name, she’d never feel like a studio executive.

Debbie peeked around her massive bouquet, waving hello as Grace rounded the corner into her office. A bakery sack and cup of coffee were waiting in front of her chair.

Drink me was scrawled on the coffee cup. On the bag, Eat me (get your mind from the gutter, Idgie).

She dropped her bags into a forgotten pile. A note lay next to the treats and on top of a bright green file folder. Grace opened the folder first.
Business before pleasure.
Inside was her crumpled report and a spreadsheet of numbers in three columns and his explanations on the side. Every calculation and projection was easy to understand and thorough.

The bag became impossible to resist. She opened it and inhaled. Sugar, shortening, cinnamon. Removing the pastry from the bag, she sank her teeth into the cream cheese pastry in an unladylike bite. Icing and crumbs stuck to her cheeks and scattered across her desk, her lap, and the floor. She ignored them in favor of the coffee, moaning in delight at the combination of the rich brew and sweet cream cheese.

Satisfied she could keep her new treasure clean, she slid the card free of its paper prison.

Grace, I’ve never written a note to a woman. To a girl, yes. I was 10, and Lucy Sutton was in my primary class. We met in town on a Saturday morning and walked through the shops holding hands. I’d given up on such a simple gesture, resigning it to my childhood, until that day with you in Vienna. Lucy was the first girl whose hand I held, and you are the only woman who has taken my hand.

Thank you for calling me tonight. I’ve waited to hear those words for months. I know I was the one to silence them, and to have you offer them again gives me hope.

The cheerful chatter in the hallway was her cue for the morning meeting. Batting away a tear, she wiped the crumbs from her face as she stored the note next to the one from yesterday. When she arrived at the table, the actors were still in costume and fixated on new pages while Paul went through old business. Without thinking, Grace sat in an empty chair at the back, next to Gino. And Bennett.

“All right?” she whispered.

“‘Morning, boss,” Gino stage whispered.

Ben didn’t look at her, but he grinned into his coffee mug and nodded. “All right?”

Grace nodded and forced her attention to Paul’s announcements. When Bennett dropped his pages to the table, she scrawled a note across the top one without looking.

His quiet laughter scratched against her skin.

“Is your handwriting always this bad?” His voice was hushed, but the amusement was contagious. Gino caught it.

“Shh,” she scolded, turning to see the amusement on his face. The circuits in her brain shorted out. “It says ‘thank you for my breakfast.’“

“I knew you’d like it.” His eyes darkened as his gaze lowered to her mouth and his tongue darted along his lower lip. Her fingers twitched.

Gino elbowed her in warning, and Grace faced forward as Paul finished.

“Grace? What about you?”

“Umm.” She scanned through her notes, stalling for time as her brain restarted. Gino was shaking, covering his laughter with a cough. She kicked his chair, which made it worse.

“I’ve got soundtrack reviews for Fred. New pages are in front of everyone—hopefully these are the last ones. Debbie and I are coordinating the last of the travel. Mark, I think we can meet this afternoon about backgrounds.” Her synapses reconnected. “Props and models are fine. Costumes are good for me, but I’m not wearing them. What does everyone think?”

“Good, yeah,” came the general chorus.

“Great, then. Deb will have my schedule this week. I’ve got a few things scheduled out of the office.”

Paul’s wide smile hinted at a surprise. “I think Josh has a special request.”

The young grip cleared his throat and looked down the table toward her. “How would you feel about a LARP?”

“You mean hosting one?” Her stomach lurched. “That’s a big job, Josh. I mean it would be fun, and great publicity, but—”

“No. Sorry. Attending one. I’ve, uh, got this group of geeky friends.” He rolled his eyes at the laughter. “I know, pot, kettle. Anyway, they’re having a LARP in a few weeks on some property north of the city.”

Grace felt a grin split her face in half. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. They’ve been bugging the crap out of me to see if you could come.”

Susan looked up from her phone, grinning. “Can Ben and I go? This sounds like a blast.”

“I hate to sound like the new guy,” Bennett spoke up, “but what’s a LARP?”

“Think of it as
Shakespeare in the Park
for nerds,” Susan quipped.

“So we’d get to watch them act as the characters?” he asked. “And play along? Oh hell yeah.”

“You guys just seriously upped my street cred,” Josh said. “Thanks.”

Grace spent the rest of the morning in meetings. After delivering Ben’s spreadsheet and notes to Paul, she hid in her office and talked to her agent about the details of her coming out party at the library. She looked up when her door opened. Ted’s hair came into the room before he did.

“We’re about to roll film,” he said with a grin. “Wanna watch?”

She fought the urge to trample him in the race to her chair. One loud buzzer silenced everyone. Ben took his mark, and Susan took hers.

“And . . . action,” Ted whispered.

“Miss? Are you in the habit of visiting men at night in your underthings?”

“Underthings? You think I wear
leather
underwear?”

The room fell away as Ian and Zadie sprang into three dimensions. Their verbal thrust and parry sounded like music.

When the scene ended, Grace sprang from the chair, ducked under a camera, and skirted around Josh who was kneeling on the floor. Jerking Susan into a hug, she spun her in a circle and bounced up and down.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod. Thank you, thank you, thank you. That was . . . Oh, wow.”

Realization dawned. She was hugging a movie star. Grace froze and then backed up. “I’m so sorry.”

With a snort, Susan pulled her close and they spun once more for good measure. When they stopped, Grace turned to the corner where Bennett stood out of the way. Her breath hitched and her legs wobbled, but she walked forward and opened her arms. Encircling him in a loose embrace, she tried to focus on the wool scratching her bare arms rather than the man underneath.

It was fine until he put his arms around her, bent his head, and whispered, “I did okay, yeah?”

Her bones turned to soft wax as she flexed her hands on his back. “I’m glad I trusted you.”

His breath stirred her hair and tickled her ear. “Thank you.”

Every cell in her body screamed in protest as she retreated a step, then walked away. “Ted, I’m sorry. Did I ruin the take?”

“Nah,” the director laughed, “but I’m saving that for the outtakes reel.”

“Then I’m going back to my office before I give you more ammunition.”

Hours later, she felt Bennett’s stare before she saw him propped against the doorframe.

“It’s five. Time to go home.”

She waved, but he stayed put. With a huff, she gave in and packed. She could work from home. When he reached for her bag, she tightened her grip.

He sighed and pulled on the handles. “I have two empty hands, Grace.”

She relented and they walked out into the studio. Laughter combined with the bangs and thumps of clean-up. Groups made plans for video games or dinner and drinks. Though she kept distance between her and Bennett, she still heard the giggles behind them.

One of the costumers in front of them laughed too, but her glee melted when she met Bennett’s gaze.

He held the door and Grace walked out into the sunshine. It was nice to leave work relatively early. Maybe she could sit by the pool and work.

She unlocked the car, and Bennett opened her door before he walked around and put her bag in the passenger seat. His jaw was tense. Surely he hadn’t had a bad day. Had he?

“The girls in wardrobe are afraid of you,” she said.

“They gossip,” he answered. “I’ve not been mean to them, I’m just frosty. It’s good practice.”

She knew she ought to smooth it over, but she didn’t want to. Their comments had stung, and they should pay the consequences for being thoughtless—as long as he wasn’t mean.

“Do you know where I live?” he blurted the question.

She blinked at him and nodded. She’d insisted Meg get him the condo.

“I run every morning on the beach and watch the sun rise. I start at six if you’d like to join me.” As if remembering he wasn’t, he smiled but his lashes hid his eyes. “Any morning.”

Her knees wobbled, and she wasn’t sure she could walk much less run. “Bennett—”

His gaze snapped to hers. “It’s an open invitation. Just think about it.”

Chapter 18

Ben’s offer tempted Grace all the way to Malibu, kept her from working, and woke her in the middle of the night. Maybe she was thirsty. Yeah. Thirsty. Water always helped her go back to sleep.

Her path to the kitchen for water was blocked by random furniture she’d rearranged, an empty laundry basket, and trash bins full of worthless edits. The fridge was empty except for a blinding light, creamer, and a pitcher of filtered water.

The calendar on the freezer door caught her attention. It was almost June. A year ago, her mother had been practice packing for their trip, sparkling in anticipation. A year. Almost a year ago, she’d sat across the taxi from Bennett and introduced herself in generalities. She couldn’t go run with him.

When she was still awake at five, she put on her exercise clothes, slung her bags in the car, and left the house.

She drove with the top down and focused on the robotic GPS instructions as the fog clung to her skin. The waves weren’t visible, but when she slowed at an intersection, she could hear them. The salt breeze caught up with her.

Grace quit thinking. It wasn’t dinner, it was a run. In daylight. At the beach.

She parked next to the small complex and the end condo. The ocean loomed in front of her, green in the pre-dawn light. The waves crashed against the gray sand, warring with gravity in an attempt to reach the shore. The gulls cried as they battled the wind.

Now what? Should she knock on the door or wait? Waiting would be less awkward. Grace climbed from the car and stepped onto the boardwalk connecting the asphalt to the sand.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Bennett on his patio. Resting his foot on the railing, he leaned forward to stretch his hamstrings. His wide smile was visible over the top of his shoe.

“Hiya. I’m glad you could make it.”

She gulped. “Thanks for the offer.”

They walked their own paths to their destination until they reached the hard surface revealed by the retreating tide. Continuing their separate but together pattern, they finished stretching. Grace kept forgetting to move as she stared at the water. This close, the sea spray dampened her skin.

“It really is awesome,” he murmured. “It changes throughout the day. This morning it’s fighting with itself, and by noon it will be exhausted and quiet. But then it picks up at night. Like it’s been saving all that energy for one last gasp. Is it like this at Paul and Meg’s?”

Grace blinked up at him. “I don’t know. It’s not at this level there, and I’ve been too busy to walk down.”

“What a shame.”

“Yeah.” She looked first one way and then the other. A few runners were already out, but otherwise the beach was vacant. “Which way?”

He tilted his head to the right and loped away. Grace fell in beside him and the familiar pattern of step and breath dissolved her anxiety. Running next to him had been one of her favorite things on vacation, and she remembered his long-legged stride the way she remembered beats to favorite songs. The ability to keep pace with him had been a source of pride for her. Now it was too easy.

“You’re holding back,” she scolded.

He stretched out into a full, free run at his normal pace. It was the beat she remembered, and she smiled as his freedom became contagious.

Their breath found a tandem rhythm along with their shoes slapping the sand. They were together with no pressure, alone but not.

In the silence, Grace let her thoughts range over the past year, remembering good and bad. While there was more good, the bad was
really
awful. And then there was the overwhelming good, like the movie that had kept her from running on the beach until today.

Bennett had asked because he’d known she’d like it. He now knew everything about her, and she was happy about that. She was.

It didn’t matter that she’d friend-zoned herself. At least he understood she hadn’t used him to get her movie made or her producer credit.

Still, the rhythm of her feet echoed in her brain.
What if . . . what if . . . what if—

Bennett dragged her to a stop at the top of a dune. “Stop. Jesus! You’ll kill yourself.”

As she crawled out of her miry brain, she saw the concern lining his features. “Sorry. Something needed to get worked out of my head.” The sun rose over his shoulder. “Wow.”

He followed her stare and his voice dropped to the same reverent whisper. “Damn.”

The rising sun gilded the sea grass then tinted the sand from gray to pink to pearl to bone white. The water went from deep and dangerous green to teal capped with silver. Their shadows stretched across the beach.

It was beautiful here, and she would have missed it. Hidden from it or worked through it. Just like she did with everything else.

He walked down the dune and looked over his shoulder. Caught in his gaze, Grace lost her footing and ended up sliding down on her ass.

“Are you hurt?” he asked as he knelt by her side.

Her answer was dissolved into a fit of giggles, so she shook her head. Bennett’s lips twitched before his deep laughter rolled across the beach. He pulled her up, and they kicked against the sand.

“Race you back,” she teased as she broke into a sprint.

When his patio came into view, they slowed to a stop. Grace rested her hands on her thighs and gasped for breath. Bennett dropped to one knee, his chest heaving. Sweat and sea spray dripped from his hair and his nose, and his muscles rippled under his wet skin. He lifted his angelic smile into the sunshine.

“I won.”

She pushed him over. “You cheated. Your legs are too long.”

Still laughing, they trudged through the thick, sifted sand to reach the boardwalk.

“Can I come back tomorrow?” she asked in a whisper.

“Of course,” he whispered back. “I’ll even buy coffee.”

Her phone was ringing when she opened the car door. It stopped before she could reach it. Bennett stared from his doorway, frowning because she hadn’t started the ignition. He always worried.

Once on the road, she dialed the missed number. Meg’s cheerful voice came over the line. “I went down to talk to you and you were gone. You’re not at the office already, are you?”

“I went for a run. What did you need?”

“We need to shop for a ball gown.”

Cinderella is going to a ball
. Grace’s stomach flipped. “Are you still insisting on a formal party?”

“You’re going to be gone, living out of a suitcase, cooped up in buses, and working erratic schedules. You need to have some fun first, and Paul needs to carry a memory of why he married me. Besides, you want a cash cushion and nothing loosens purse strings like formal wear and champagne.”

Grace sighed. Meg loved a party. “Let me get caught up. We can go in a few days.” She looked at the empty residential street. “I’m merging into traffic. We can talk tonight.”

She ducked her promise by grocery shopping after work and then doing chores without turning on the lights. At eight, she called Meg and claimed exhaustion. She should have known it wouldn’t work for long.

Her pushy best friend barged into her room at five a.m.

Grace blinked from her pillow. “What the hell?”

“Hop up, sleepyhead,” Meg goaded as she put a mug of coffee in Grace’s hands. “I’m here to help you get ready.”

“Meg—”

Her friend opened the closet and spun to her, her mouth hanging open. “You did laundry.” She made a show of running from room to room before returning to the closet. “You
cleaned
.”

“Ha, ha,” Grace grumbled. “Yes, I did chores. And I was up late doing them, so why are you here at the ass crack of dawn? I’m going running this morning. I don’t need help with gym gear.”

“Good. You get dressed. I’ll slap a bag together for later.”

They bent to their tasks, but Meg wasn’t silent for long.

“What bothers you most? About him?”

“That he’ll get tired of my life and run. I’d like to myself, every once in a while.” Grace sighed and perched on the edge of the bed. “Meg, he’s special. He’s used to more highbrow things than I am. What if I embarrass him?”

Meg frowned at her. “Do you remember what you told me when I met Paul?”

“He’d be lucky to have you, and you never failed at anything.”

“Gracie,
you’re
special.”

“I’m a nerd.”

“You are
not
a nerd. You’re intelligent, and you’re creative, and you hang out with nerds.” Meg grimaced. “Okay, so maybe part of you is a nerd, but not all of you. You aren’t just one thing. Neither is he. And you’re not giving him a chance.”

Grace stopped tying her shoes. When had Meg joined Ben’s fan club? And how did she know . . . “My mother called you, didn’t she?”

“Yep,” Meg said as she tossed a scarf into the bag.

Grace reached for it. “I can’t wear that to work.”

“It’s beautiful.” Meg snatched it back. “It’ll look great with this.”

“You don’t know where I got it.” Grace rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time to argue. He’s waiting.”

Meg shoved the bag into her hands. “I know sweetie. Trust me—wear the scarf.”

Tightening her fingers on the handle, Grace gulped and left for her run.

Their second morning together in two days left Ben late for work. Long after Grace had driven away, he’d sat in his living room and replayed every moment. It was almost impossible to jog while ignoring the demands of a body that craved holding her.

She thought while she ran, and she’d abandoned her earphones to listen to the sounds of the wind and waves. He wanted to pull her to a stop, to walk instead of run, to watch her face while they talked about whatever kept her eyes focused on a distant point.

Instead, he listened to her breath, watched her shadow, and enjoyed how her wet shirt clung to her breasts. And he came to work at least thirty minutes after her so they could diffuse the gossip. This morning he kept his phone to his ear as he walked in the door.

“How’s it going with my new agent?” he asked. Fiona’s delighted laughter was contagious.

“Tickety-boo. I found a desk for Emily, and now I feel like a real office.” Her tone grew more official—his bossy Fe. “I’m getting calls from people who want a quote about your new movie.”

He looked around the metal hangar that had become his third home. They were in the final stages of studio work. The crew was packing for location shoots, but every non-busy person turned to wave a greeting. Grace’s disembodied voice reached him from the prop department.

“Nob? Are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, what?”

“How are things with her?”

“Slow. Scary. Fe, what if—”

“No what-ifs. You’ll go down a storm. Now, do you want your standard ‘no comment?’“ Fiona pulled her voice into a laughable impression.

“Tell them I’m enjoying my time on set. The cast is top-notch, and the crew is one of the finest I’ve worked with. Coming to work every day is a pleasure, and I’m looking forward to seeing the finished film. The fans of
Partners in Time
will be right chuffed with the results.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my shirty Nobby?” Fiona teased him. “I’m on the job. Call your mum.”

He got a cup of tea before joining the morning meeting in time to hear the usual status run down. His pages marked his chair, and he sank toward it as he swung his attention toward the front of the room. Everything else faded as he saw Grace and the scarf circling her neck.

“You gonna stand there with your ass up in the air?” Gino whispered, grinning.

“Shit,” Ben muttered under his breath as he sat. “Thanks, mate.”

It took every bit of concentration and training to get him through the day of filming. Finally free of his costume, he shrugged into his jacket as he saw Grace turn out her office light.

“Here, let me.” He grasped the handle on one of her bags, tugging in encouragement.

For the first time, she surrendered it without a fight. “Thank you.”

“Today went well, I think.” Ben opened the door and looked around the lot before shouldering it all the way open. They emerged into the evening and fell into step. She wasn’t running.

“It did. It’s fun watching it all fall together.”

He stowed the bag in her car and stopped her before she escaped. “You look nice.”
Aw hell.
“Wait. Wrong word.” His mind reeled, spinning in search of his vocabulary.
I’m bodging it.

He reached for his only lifeline—the tempting scarf. “I remember when you bought this at the market in Rome.”

A tendril of her hair curled around and through his fingers in greeting. She looked up at him with those big brown eyes and the freckles on the bridge of her nose. He took a deep breath and hoped he wasn’t pushing too hard.

“Susan and Morris have invited me for dinner. Would you come to keep me from being the gooseberry?”

“We put gooseberries in pies, Bennett.”

“I’ve had a few third men who should have been in a pie.”

When she didn’t answer, he pushed a little harder. “It’s only dinner.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’d like to go.”

Yes.

From the studio through the Hollywood hills, he kept one eye on his rearview mirror, worried she’d change her mind and turn around. But she didn’t. She even parked next to him and waited so they could walk to the Wrights’ door together. Susan met them, ushered them through the kitchen for beer, and then out to the backyard where Morris was grilling burgers.