Summer with a Star (Second Chances Book 1) (5 page)

Tasha inched farther away on the bench as they crowded in. Spence twisted to check on her, his smile drawn tight. There wasn’t a thing she could do, though. She licked her ice cream down to the cone, then, after a few seconds of deliberation, gave up and started in on Spence’s after all to keep her hand from turning into more of a mess.

She was halfway through circling her tongue around the side of Spence’s ice cream, smearing chocolate across her cheek, when a boy with a baseball cap who had crowded around to get a look at Spence asked her, “Are you his girlfriend?”

In a snap, all eyes were on her. And there she was, holding two ice cream cones with chocolate on her face, frozen.

“Tasha’s a friend.” Spence came to her rescue. He broke away from the older couple he’d just snapped a pic with and dodged around the three young women to Tasha’s side. “Thanks for holding onto that for me.”

He took the cone from her hand and touched the side of his mouth, nodding to the chocolate on Tasha’s face.

“Thanks.” She wiped her burning face with the back of her hand.

Spence smiled, licking his cone.

“Eew,” one of the kids said. “She was licking that, you know.”

“She
must
be his girlfriend,” the boy with the baseball cap replied. “Although I wouldn’t even let my girlfriend lick my ice cream.”

A flash of memory hit Tasha. They’d been kids still, but already she’d had stars in her eyes for Brad. He had blueberry ice cream. He’d asked if she wanted a lick. Her ten-year-old heart had exploded with joy. The boy she liked wanted to share his ice cream. She’d said yes, of course. Brad had held out the cone to her, then swiped it back with a “psych!” as soon as she’d reached for it.

Fresh embarrassment washed over the old memory. She stood.

“I’ll take the bike back to town,” she said, edging her way around the bench. She searched for a trash can, then cut away from the small crowd to throw out her cone, appetite gone.

“Give me a second and I’ll come with you,” Spence said.

“Can I have your autograph before you go?” Monica asked.

Tasha trashed her cone, then skirted the crowd to head back to the bike. “You look like you’re busy,” she told Spence. “I can take the bike back while you finish up here.”

A quick buzz went through the crowd, as though they might get a treat.

“No, really.” Spence caught up to her in a few strides. His broad shoulders were tense, even though he kept his smile firmly in place. “I’ll come back with you. I said I’d help pay for switching from two bikes to the tandem.”

He had. Tasha held his eyes for a second, reading his need to get away in them. So much for superstardom. She glanced past his shoulder to the tourists who had gathered. A couple of the adults nodded and waved and went on their way, like sensible people, but just as many of the young people, the girls especially, hung around the stand looking like Spence was the ice cream.

“I guess it would be hard to ride that thing back with only one person,” she said.

“Thanks,” Spence said. She had the feeling that word was his rote response to everything. He twisted to wave at his fans. “It was nice to meet you all.”

“Do you want me to throw out the rest of that ice cream for you?” Monica asked, darting forward.

“Um, sure.” Before Spence could fully answer, she snatched the cone from his hand.

Tasha moved on, Spence close behind her, before she could see what the giggly girl would do with the cone, but she doubted it would end up in the trash.

As soon as she and Spence were back on the bike and in motion, moving away from the pier and the dispersing crowd, Spence let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan.

“At least I managed to make it a week before anyone knew I was here,” he said.

Tasha rode in front of him again and was glad he couldn’t see her pinched expression. She waited until she was sure she wouldn’t sound sour before saying, “Hard to keep a low profile, huh?”

“You could say that,” he answered.

“Isn’t that the price of fame?”

He didn’t answer. She wished to God she could turn around and see what kind of expression he was trying to hide from her. Of course, he must have liked the attention on some level. Why else would anyone put up with that? He could have just told people to take a hike if he really didn’t want to be bothered.

By the time they wheeled back into town, she was convinced that, underneath his wary glances, Spence enjoyed the attention. She, however did not.

“I’ll see you back at the house later, I guess,” she dismissed him with a wave and started away from the rental shop as soon as everything was paid for.

“Wait, Tasha.” He started after her, but she picked up her pace.

“I’ve got stuff to do and I can’t keep bothering you like this,” she said and walked on.

He didn’t follow her. It took her all of ten paces before she kicked herself for maybe, possibly, wanting him to.

Chapter Four

“I’m sorry about all that,” Spence started the moment Tasha walked through the door back at Sand Dollar Point.

He’d gone straight home after returning the bike, and had been waiting for her ever since. She had a bag from one of the souvenir shops in one hand and an iced coffee in the other, and crossed right past the doorway to the kitchen where he stood.

“Sorry about what?” she asked, slowing.

“The people at the pier.” He pushed away from the counter where he’d been leaning, and stepped into the hall.

Tasha picked up speed, color splashing her face. “Oh, that. Whatever.”

He could tell it was not “whatever” from the tone of her voice. She continued to the staircase and marched upstairs without another word, unsmiling.

He’d scared her. That was all there was to it. Well, if not scared, then at least made her uncomfortable. Hell, he made himself uncomfortable on a daily basis. Summerbury was a haven compared to the scenes he ran into when he went out in a city. He couldn’t let things stand as they were.

He headed upstairs, following the sounds of a paper bag rattling and doors opening and shutting. Tasha was in her room, the door open. She’d been keeping that door shut, and it gave him a cozy little thrill to peek inside the inner sanctum she’d built for herself. The tidy room had a decided air of being lived in, with a towel thrown across the chair and the curtains billowing in the breeze from the open window. The sound of the waves on the beach below and the touch of mess in the otherwise perfect room unknotted the tension from Spence’s back.

“Thank you for coming up with a good reason for me to get out of there,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Tasha jerked straight and spun to him, as if she hadn’t heard him come up the stairs.

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t feel like biking anymore, and the bike needed to be returned.” She met his eyes for a hesitant moment, then turned away, circling the bed to the table that held her books.

He was good and shut out, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to get back in.

“It’s easier going out in L.A. People there expect to see celebrities and are bored of it,” he explained. “My guess is that here it’s a little more of a novelty.”

“Probably.”

Tasha ran her fingers down the spines of her books before selecting one. The tenderness of that caress sent a surprise wave of heat down Spence’s back to his groin, as though it was his spine she was teasing. He wouldn’t say no to a touch like that, especially from her. He wondered what else her fingers could do with that kind of sensuality.

“I can’t believe that one kid thought I was your girlfriend,” she said with a nervous laugh. She tugged one of the books out of the pile and turned to him. “I’m just a teacher.”

“What do you mean ‘
just
a teacher?’” He slipped his hands into his pockets to hide the growing evidence of what her simple charm and the thought of her touch did to him.

She blinked at him. “I’m not like the girls people are used to seeing you with.”

“No, you’re certainly not.”

He meant it as a compliment, but her expression crumpled as if he’d taken a cheap shot at her. She hugged her book and rounded the foot of the bed.

“Excuse me,” she said, eyes lowered, moving to push past him.

Spence backed in the hall so Tasha could escape toward the upstairs porch.

“I didn’t mean that as a bad thing,” he said, but it was too late.

“I don’t want to bother you,” she said, pushing open the screen door to the porch. “You can go do whatever you would have done if I wasn’t here.”

He followed her. “I don’t really have anything else to do. I mean, I’ve got some scripts to read. Yvonne is on my case to make a decision about my next project.”

“Then you should do that,” she said. “As for me, I have a date on a lounge chair with a serial killer.”

She held up her book as she plopped onto the cushioned chair on the shady side of the porch.

“I just want to make sure that you’re not upset with me for that crowd of people at the pier,” he said, leaning against the door frame. “Being recognized is not the most fun part of my job. I’ve gotten…well, no, I haven’t gotten used to it, but I’ve learned how to deal with it. But I still feel bad that you had to get caught up in all that.”

“It’s okay.” She put her feet up on the wicker coffee table where one of the scripts he was supposed to be reading still sat, its pages flapping in the breeze.

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful for the fans,” he went on. The urge to make things right was overpowering, even though a voice in the back of his head warned him not to push. There was something else going on under the surface of Tasha’s shyness, something that he would have bet had to do with the ex, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I meant what I said when I told that girl that without them, what I do wouldn’t mean anything. It’s just that….”

He sighed and glanced out over the ocean to the distant horizon. It’s just that they didn’t tell you how trapped you would feel in the job that everyone wanted. They never explained in those early auditions that your life would cease to be your own or that you handed in your right to be treated like an actual person in favor of becoming a character in everyone else’s fantasy the day you picked the role that launched you into the firmament with the rest of the stars. They didn’t tell you how muddled the whole thing would become.

Tasha glanced up over her shoulder at his silence. He felt her gaze a little too late. He smiled at her, pretty sure she’d caught the raw hopelessness before he could force it out of his expression. For a split second, he thought he caught the light of understanding in her eyes.

“Anyhow, can I get you something to drink?” he asked. It was a poor peace offering, but it was a start.

The moment of connection between them was gone. She turned to her book. “No. I just want to read.”

“Are you sure? I just made some lemonade, and not the kind from a powder.”

“Spence.” She twisted in her chair and stared at him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to entertain me. I just want to read.”

He raised his hands in defeat. “All right. I’m sorry.” Sorry didn’t explain the squeeze in his chest, almost like he’d tanked an audition.

He backed away and headed into the relative dimness of the house. Well, he’d gone and screwed this day all up, hadn’t he. As closed off as Tasha was, he still needed to make it up to her. It wasn’t her fault their bike ride had been invaded. And it wasn’t her fault that her vacation was turning out to be far from what she’d signed up for. Whatever was bothering her wasn’t his problem, but maybe he could be part of the solution.

That, of course, meant heading to the kitchen.

Within fifteen minutes, he had a pot boiling on the stove, salmon dressed and waiting to be broiled, and was chopping greens to sauté. With the kitchen window open, sea air mingling with the faint scent of roses in the garden, he was at peace again, the way things had been before he’d ventured out that morning. The way they’d been before he was Spencer Ellis. The greens didn’t care who he was as he tossed them into a skillet with a little olive oil and salt. The fish didn’t need a quick photo snapped with a smart phone before he slid it into the oven. Just the way he liked it.

As he was draining the pasta and pouring it into a bowl with the pesto he’d made, his phone buzzed.
Leave it
, he told himself.
It’ll be Yvonne. Just leave it
.

He set the bowl of pasta aside and reached for his phone. Yvonne.

“Why did some chippy chickie post this with #ikissedspencerellis?”

She sent the text along with a screenshot of Monica from the pier’s newsfeed containing one of the pictures Joe had taken.

Before Spence could answer, a second message popped up. “You aren’t doing anything stupid, are you?”

He let out a breath and texted his reply. “Ambushed while eating ice cream. Nothing more stupid than usual.”

He set his phone on the counter and checked on the salmon, turning it over and sliding it back in the oven.

“Need me to send in the cavalry?” Yvonne’s text was waiting when he stood straight.

He typed, “No,” and tossed his phone back on the counter, frowning.

Three second later, his frown evaporated.

“What is that amazing smell?” Tasha asked as she walked into the room. Her chin was tilted up as she sniffed and glanced around the kitchen. Her eyes came to rest on him, standing in front of the stove, turning the greens in the skillet with a wooden spatula.

“Hungry?” he asked, all smiles.

His phone buzzed. Keeping as much of his smile as he could, he craned his neck to read Yvonne’s reply.

“Security is just a text away, sweetheart.”

That one definitely would not get a reply.

“I thought I’d cook us dinner.” He turned his full attention to Tasha. “You know, after the debacle this morning. I
am
sorry about that, by the way.”

“Yeah,” she answered with a distant sigh. Her wide-eyed wonder at the smell of dinner cooking deflated to something droopy that made her cheeks red. Uh-oh, what had he done now?

She was an ass. That was all there was to it. A total, irredeemable ass. Believing she was a loser who couldn’t even hang out with a guy without ending up with a chocolate ice cream facial was one thing. Not letting him be nice to her when he wanted to be was another.

She shook herself out of the realization and stepped over to the counter where a steaming bowl of pasta slathered in bright green pesto was waiting, tempting her.

“Do you need any help?” she asked, as penitent as she could sound without looking like an even bigger idiot.

Spence studied her for a second before straightening, his smile coming back full force. “You could set the table,” he suggested.

“Which table?” She would build a new one if it would make up for the idiot she’d been since their bike ride. No, since she’d arrived at the house. How could the guy be so nice after she’d shut him out so hard?

“We could eat out on the porch,” he suggested. “I haven’t done that yet.”

“Sounds good.”

As he tossed the greens in the skillet a few more times and reached for the garlic press on the counter, she bit her lip. Garlic. The man was a god among men. She’d been ready to abandon him at the pier, had told him to go away upstairs, and now he was cooking with garlic. For her. This was definitely a very good dream.

The sting of guilt made her rush in her search to find plates and silverware to take out to the porch. As if she didn’t second-guess herself enough, a thousand pestering questions followed her out to balmy evening and the round, wicker table waiting on the south side of the porch. Was she being fair to Spence? Why was he being so nice? And when had she turned into the kind of person she would reprimand her students for being if she caught them acting like she had?

She set the plates and silverware on the table and headed back into the house. Had she gotten this all wrong? She was on vacation. She didn’t need to bring all of her problems with her. This was her dream, dammit.

“You haven’t seen any tablecloths since you got here, have you?” she called into the kitchen as she came inside, intent on making peace.

“I think I ran into some in that small closet next to the phone in the hall,” he called back.

There. A pleasant exchange between two people putting together dinner. She made herself smile as she searched through the hall closet. Spencer Ellis may be a big-shot celebrity, he may have put her in an awkward position that morning, but it was about time she stopped telling herself he’d ruined her vacation, or that he could never want to hang out with someone like her. The scent of garlic and herbs wafting from the kitchen was proof enough that she was wrong.

She found the linens she was looking for and took them out to the porch. A few more trips, and she had the table set with a crisp white tablecloth, blue placemats and matching napkins, tall glasses of ice water, and place settings that were nicer than anything she used at home. A few flowers and candles and it might have been romantic. There wasn’t time for that, though, even with the pink roses in the garden tempting her to find a vase. Spencer brought out a steaming salmon filet on a broiler pan, his hands covered with oven mitts in the shape of lobsters.

“Watch out, it’s fresh from the sea
and
the oven, and it’s hot.” He tugged a trivet out of the apron he wore and set it on the table, putting the pan on top.

“It looks amazing,” Tasha said, following him back inside to help carry out the rest. “It all looks amazing.”

“The internet doesn’t mention that I’m a halfway decent cook, does it?” he teased as they carried the greens and pasta outside.

Another twinge of guilt stabbed her. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said, you know, on that first day.”

“I don’t remember you saying anything wrong.” He smiled as they sat. At least he didn’t hold her chair out for her. That would have raised her guilt to lethal levels.