The Idea of You (4 page)

“Oh, it's a friend of mine. He releases his music independently, so you probably haven't heard of him. Which is too bad; he's great.”

“Sounds like it.” The song had a good beat, and whoever was playing guitar was quite good. “Has a bit of a Mumford and Sons vibe.”

“Exactly.” She turned from the stove and stood across the counter from him. “Did you bring wine?”

“I did. It's a pinot from a winery up the road.”

“Fantastic. I love Oregon pinot. I wonder if I've had this one.”

He set it on the counter and showed her the label, but she shook her head. “They're pretty small,” he said.

“I can't wait to try it.” She pulled a corkscrew from the drawer and handed it to him. “Can you open it?” Her fingers grazed his upturned palm.

He jerked his gaze to hers, briefly, but the connection slammed into him. “Sure.” He focused his attention on the bottle instead of her.

“I have spinach salad, too.” She tossed some dressing in with the salad before turning back to the stove. “I hope you're hungry.”

“Yep.” He popped the cork out and went around the bar to the cupboard that held the wineglasses.

She turned again and bumped into him, bringing them chest to chest. She looked up at him. “Oops.”

He tried to ignore the feel of her breasts against him.
Impossible.
He moved away and quickly grabbed the glasses. Picking up the wine bottle, he went to the table, which she'd set. It was a nice, safe distance away from her.

Except then she joined him. But only briefly as she placed the salad on the table. “Let me toss the pasta, and I'll be right back. I hope penne's okay with you.”

Penne?
Pasta.
Sometimes focusing was difficult, but then, he had mild ADHD along with everything else. Although he suspected the issue wasn't his ADHD, but his attraction to her.

She came back with a large pasta bowl and a basket of bread. “I hope you like it.” She sat down and looked at the wine bottle. “Are you going to pour?”

“Yes.”
Focus.

She held up her glass and inhaled. “Great nose.”

Evan understood wine-tasting terminology, but he didn't bother with it. He just knew what he liked, and he liked this wine. “Hayden says it's one of the best pinots from the vintage.”

“He's the one making wine in France?”

“Yes, he's the expert.” He dished up salad into a salad bowl and the pasta into his pasta bowl. “This is a lot of bowls,” he said.

She laughed. “Yes, I suppose it is. Especially if you consider the balloon pinot glass a sort of bowl.”

He contemplated the glass. “I hadn't thought of that, but you're right.” He sampled the pasta. “This is really good.”

“Thanks. It's one of the few things I can cook.”

“I like to cook sometimes, but I'm no chef like Kyle. You don't cook?”

“Not so much. Why would I when Maya is so much better—and healthier—at it than I am?” She took a bite of salad before adding, “Maya's my personal chef.” She washed the salad down with a sip of wine. “Oh my God, this is fabulous. Maybe we could go to the winery tomorrow. Are they open for tasting?”

“Uh, I think so.” Most wineries around here were open on the weekends, if not seven days a week. “I can look it up.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket.

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Never mind. I really shouldn't go anywhere.”

Because her being here was supposed to be a secret. He set his phone on the table. “Why are you hiding out?”

“You mean you don't know?”

He swallowed another bite of pasta. “No. Should I?”

“I thought you would. I figured everyone in the first world would know. If you Google my name, you'll get about fifty stories about it.”

“Why would I Google you?”

She stared at him. “I honestly don't know. God, you're so normal.”

He shook his head. “I've been called a lot of things, but never normal.”

“Okay, maybe you're a little quirky, but in a good way. Not psychotic quirky like most people I know.”

Most people she knew were psychotically quirky? No, she had to be exaggerating.
Stay on topic, Evan.
“This is the second time I've asked you about why you're hiding here, and you haven't answered. Is deflection another one of your superpowers?”

She laughed. “You're so funny. Yes. When you go to mega-famous-actress camp, there's a whole class on deflection.”

“Sounds informative.” He stabbed some salad onto his fork. “Can anyone go to this camp, or do you have to prove you have a multimillion-dollar movie deal?”

“Well, you're not even the right sex, so you're screwed either way.”

Ha.
“True.” He reluctantly ate the salad. He didn't like spinach very much, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. He was just glad he'd managed to filter that—it took effort.

“Back to your question—I wasn't trying to deflect,” she said. “Which might be a first for me. I was at a medical clinic, and some paparazzi took pictures of me leaving. The pictures were picked up by every website and entertainment news source and run with a variety of speculative stories about what I was doing there.”

“What
were
you doing there?”

“A routine appointment—at my
gynecologist
.”

He hadn't meant to pry into her personal matters. Looked like his filter was overloaded from the spinach effort. “Yeah, that's nobody's business. Why would anybody even read those stories?”

She smiled at him. “I'll say it again: You are
so
normal. And I find that
so
attractive.”

He couldn't help but smile back. “You find me attractive?”

She made a sound in her throat. “Didn't we cover that in the gym this morning? You're smokin' hot.”

He wasn't very good at flirting, but perhaps if he thought about it, he could pull it off. “Maybe I just like hearing you tell me.”

“From anybody else, I would interpret that as a cheesy come-on. But not from you. You are an extraordinary person, but you probably hear that all the time.”

Weird? Definitely. Unique? Sure. Extraordinary? Never. “Not really. I don't particularly care what people say or think. I keep to myself—my family calls me a homebody. I'm, in a word, boring.”

“And that could make me fall in love with you.” She looked down at her bowl as she took a bite of pasta.

She had to be kidding. He laughed because it seemed like he should. He waited for her reaction. Her lips lifted in a smile as she reached for her wine.

He thought about her changing her mind about wine tasting and came up with an idea. “Are you going to be here long?”

She shrugged. “I don't know yet. I just needed to get away . . . I'll be here through the weekend at least. Maybe longer. Goodness knows you guys have enough stuff to keep me occupied—the gym, the game room, the movie theater . . . Too bad it's winter and the pool is covered.”

“My parents have always talked about putting in a sheltered lap pool somewhere, but they've never gotten around to it.”

“This property is huge—they could put in an entire water park.”

He contemplated that for a second and smiled. “Yeah, I guess. It's mostly just forest and green space. There's a creek. It runs by the old homestead.”

She brought her head up and blinked at him. “There's an old homestead?”

“Yeah.” He wished he hadn't said anything. His big secret was centered near there.

“Awesome! I told you I loved history. Is it okay if I go check it out?”

“Uh, sure. I could take you over there this weekend, if you want.” That way he could keep her from investigating the cabin.

“Sounds great!”

They finished up, and Evan helped her take the dishes into the kitchen.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said. “I guess I should go.”

“You don't have to rush off. We haven't even finished the wine.”

He glanced over at the bottle on the table. There was maybe a third left. “It's okay. You can drink it, since you liked it so much.”

She laughed. “I'd better not. On second thought, I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow. Too bad you didn't bring another bottle.” She went to the table and refilled her empty glass. “There's enough for two pours.”

“Why do you want me to stay?”

His question caught her off guard. “Uhhhh, to hang out? We could watch a movie. Or you could tell me what it was like to star on a reality show.”

“It sucked.” He didn't want to hang out. He'd planned to work on Alex's book tonight. He had an idea for the next chapter. “I need to go. Thanks again for dinner.” He turned and went to the door. When he opened it and looked back, he was surprised to see that she'd followed him.

What she did next
really
surprised him.

She stood on her toes and kissed him. Full on the mouth. He could count the number of women who'd done that on one hand. Okay, now, with her, he needed the second one.

It was quick, a fleeting touch, really, but it sailed through him, leaving a hunger in its wake. He should leave before anything else happened. Because . . .
because
. It just seemed like he should.

“Bye.” He flashed her a quick look and tried to gauge the expression in her hazel eyes—confusion, disappointment, something else entirely? That right there was why he should leave. He was terrible at communicating, at relationships. It was why he didn't have them.

“Y
OUR MOM HAS
left at least twenty voice mails,” Crystal said.

Alaina had Crystal on speakerphone while she finished putting her hair up in a ponytail in the bathroom. “Just text her back that I'm fine.” They used a specific phone for communicating with Alaina's mother—and Crystal typically monitored it.

“I've done that. About ten times.”

“Then go for eleven. Or maybe stretch yourself and try twelve.”

“Smart-ass.”

“And sassafras.” Alaina grinned into the mirror as she completed the saying they'd made up the summer they'd met when they were ten.

“Are you really okay?” Crystal asked. “You're staying offline, right?”

“Completely.” It had been difficult at first. She was so tempted to see what people were saying. But after her conversations with Evan yesterday, she was finding it easier not to look. Why should she care what anyone said?
Because it was an especially private issue.
“Anyone get it right yet?”

“Not exactly. I mean, there's speculation that you're pregnant or trying to get pregnant, but no one's waving around proof.”

Alaina exhaled with relief and picked up the phone from the granite counter. “Good.”

“How long are you staying up there?”

“I don't know. It's beautiful.” Alaina moved out of the bathroom and looked out the bank of windows from the dining and living area. “There's this mist over the valley. It's mysterious and haunting.”

“You're such a romantic.”

Alaina could practically hear Crystal rolling her eyes. “And you're such a pragmatist. It's why you're the business mind and I'm the artist, remember?”

“So you like to remind me.” Crystal shuffled some papers. “Three more days, maybe?”

“Or a week. I don't know. I don't have anywhere to be, do I?” Alaina had reviewed her calendar on the plane, and it had looked clear for the next ten days or so.

“No, but Isaac called, and there might be an opening at the Academy Awards. Charlize Theron is sick or something, and they may need someone to present an award.”

“Which one?” Alaina had presented several over the years, and she'd accepted one of her own. That had been the greatest night of her life.

“I think it's costume?”

“Oooh, Frannie's up for that award this year. That would be fun if she won.” Francesca Cavanagh had designed several of Alaina's movies, and she was her favorite costumer.

“You'd have to come back on Wednesday probably. I'll ask when rehearsals are. The ceremony's next Sunday.”

“Right. Well, keep me posted.”

“Got it. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.” Alaina ended the call. If she'd had to leave today, could she go? The fact that she even asked herself that question surprised her. Her life completely revolved around her career. It was everything she'd dreamed and more.

When she'd left Blueville a week after graduating from high school, she'd expected to toil in Hollywood for years before maybe scoring a commercial. With fortune on her side for the first time in her life, she'd found a job at the front desk of a fitness club, where she'd met a ton of Hollywood people—talent scouts, agents, and the modeling scout who'd signed her. Six months later, she was doing commercials. And a year after that, she was guesting on television shows, working her way up from corpse number one on crime shows to multi-episode arcs. By twenty-one, she'd filmed her first independent movie and been nominated for an Independent Spirit Award. Two years after that, she'd been lucky enough to land an action film franchise, and her career had caught fire.

She'd embraced the fame and had even sought it out. Things had changed so much, though. Back then, Twitter hadn't existed, and she'd been foolish enough to think that she could simply pull the blinds down on her life when she wanted some seclusion.

Now, she was in a different stage. She wanted quiet and comfort and normalcy. She wanted a family. No, that wasn't quite right. She was
desperate
for a family. Her biological clock had started ticking two years ago and had only grown louder. As soon as she'd hit thirty and hadn't seen any sign of a husband in her future, she'd decided to take charge of her own destiny. She'd done it before—with unbelievably spectacular results—and she would do it again. Hence, her visits to the fertility clinic that was going to make her dream come true.

A knock on the door shook her from her thoughts. She hoped it was Evan but expected it to be Sean. He said he'd check up on her.

She opened the door and was surprised. Also pleased. “Evan.” She was afraid she'd made him uncomfortable last night.

“Hey. I know you don't want to go out, so I thought I'd arrange for some wine tasting here. Well, not
here
, over in the wine cellar.”

He had? “Wow, I'm . . . surprised. I thought I drove you off last night when I kissed you.” She couldn't help looking at his lips.

“Why?” He seemed genuinely curious. “I told you I was leaving before you did that.”

He
had
said that. “Most guys would've taken that kiss as an invitation to stay that they couldn't refuse.”

His brow furrowed, but he still wasn't looking directly at her. He rarely did, and it was disappointing. His eyes were amazing. “I don't understand.”

“Most guys would've kissed me back. You know, laid one on me. We would've made out. When you didn't, I figured I'd crossed a line and maybe offended you.”

“I see. Sometimes I don't interpret cues very well. With me, it's best if you just ask for what you want.”

Well, that sort of took the nuance and romance out of it. Or, maybe it just eliminated the mystery, and wasn't she completely over mysterious guys? “Note taken.” She glanced at the clock. “It's just after eleven. Isn't that a little early to taste wine?”

“Most of the wineries start pouring at ten. I thought it was the perfect time. But if you'd rather wait—”

She smiled at him, hoping to put him at ease. If he wasn't good at cues, then maybe he thought
she
was offended or something. “No, I didn't mean it was a bad time. Wine-tasting novice here.”

He nodded. “You want to come, then?”

“Definitely.” She stuffed her phone in the back pocket of her jeans and grabbed her jacket from a hook on the wall by the door.

She followed him down the stairs and was once again treated to a spectacular view of his muscular back—though it was shamefully covered up with a long-sleeved, heather-gray T-shirt—and tight ass. He was total eye candy, and she almost felt bad ogling him. Almost.

He led her over to the house, opening both the external doors from the garage apartment and the house for her. He might be a little brusque, but he'd clearly been taught manners. She could hear her grandmama's lament, “It's a dying art!”

“The cellar's downstairs,” he said.

She chuckled. “I figured.” As she walked down the stairs, she realized he stated the obvious sometimes. Did she make him nervous after all? She hadn't thought so—especially now that she knew the kiss hadn't actually thrown him off—but maybe he was just really good at covering it up.

At the base of the stairs, she stopped and waited for him to join her. “Now where?”

“That way.” He pointed to an open door up on the right. They passed the entrance to the large movie theater, and she paused.

“That's quite a room. My theater isn't that big.”

“Big family.”

She shook her head at herself. “I keep forgetting. You actually grew up in this house?” It was such a stark contrast to the way she was raised.

“Since we were five or so. It took a year to build. Before that, we lived closer to town. I barely remember that house, but some of us had to share rooms.”

“Did you?”

“No. I was a pretty restless sleeper, so I had my own room. And then we all got our own rooms here.”

Unsurprising, considering the size of the house. “Are they all on the top floor?”

“Except Alex's. His was on the main floor because of his lung problems. Stairs could be hard sometimes. Plus, being on the main floor meant he was closer to Mom, and she preferred that.”

“I haven't met your parents; are they home?”

He shook his head. “They're at the coast. They've been going a lot. I think they're looking for a house down there.”

“How far is the beach?” She thought Sean had said it was relatively close.

“About forty-five minutes to an hour—depending on where you go. My favorite beach is about an hour and ten minutes.” He moved on to the wine cellar. “The tasting's all set up.”

He stood just over the threshold as she came in. “Holy smokes!” There were three bar-height tables with stools, plus a counter with a sink and a dishwasher along the far wall. Wine bottles were perched in groups on each table and on the counter. “This is a lot of wine.” And all of it was open.

She went to the first table. There were three bottles, all red, from the winery that had produced the great pinot they'd drunk last night. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Did you have all this in the cellar?”

“No, I went to the winery this morning and picked it up. Then I hit two other wineries in the area.”

He'd been a very busy boy. “And the fourth?” she asked. “Assuming there are four wineries.” Which seemed to be the case.

He gestured to the counter. “That's a flight of stuff from the cellar. They're all the same vintage, but from these three wineries. I didn't open those yet—just in case we don't make it through these first.”

“This is incredible.” The wine on the tables had already been poured—two glasses in front of each bottle. “You have everything ready. It's . . . Thank you.” She smiled at his thoughtfulness.

He joined her at the table. “Shall we start with the 2013 pinot?”

“Sure.” She picked up the glass and took a sniff. “Similar to last night, but not the same.”

“That was a 2012. The stuff over on the counter is 2010, one of my dad's all-time favorite vintages.”

She sampled the wine. It was even better than last night. “So good.”

“If you don't like any, you can toss it in the sink,” he said before tasting his wine.

She couldn't imagine that happening. “I doubt any of this is tossable.”

“You never know. You may also want to taste it in your mouth, then spit it out so you don't get completely trashed.”

She laughed. “Good point. But I'd hate to waste any of it.”

“That's what you're supposed to do when you're tasting wine. At least, that's what Hayden says, and like I said, he's the expert.”

She saw crackers, fruit, and cheese on a board over on the counter. “You even put out snacks.”

“You'll want to cleanse your palate a bit, and the cheese will augment some of the wines. I can tell you which ones go best with the wine over on the counter. I'm not sure about the rest of them.”

He'd gone to a lot of trouble to create this tasting for her. She was touched. She rested her fingertips against his forearm, just beneath his elbow. “Thank you for doing this. I'm . . . overwhelmed. In a good way,” she hastened to add. “Does this mean it was okay that I kissed you last night?”

“Sure.”

He'd asked her to be plain, so she would. “What if I'd taken things further?”

“I don't know.” He picked up the second wineglass. “I'm not interested in any kind of relationship.” He paused for a moment, then flicked her an uncertain glance. “Was that supposed to be a date last night?”

He looked adorably confused, and she wanted to put him at ease. “No! When I escaped LA, I didn't really think about what I would do once I got here.” And that was the honest truth. She'd just wanted to get the hell out of town. “Then I met you, and you're interesting and fun, and that's it. I was hoping we could hang out while I'm here.”

“Like this?”

“Sure.” But kissing wouldn't be so bad, too, would it?
Yes, it would. Settle, Alaina. You don't need that kind of complication.
“It's nice to be with someone where I can just be myself, and I don't have to talk about anything I'd rather not think about.”

“The reason you're hiding out.” He took a drink of wine, his gaze lodged somewhere over her right shoulder. “I'm happy to hang out with you as long as you're here.”

She held up her glass in toast. “Excellent.”

“Hello?” A female voice sounded from the hallway. They both turned toward the door as two people appeared at the threshold.

“Hey, Tori,” Evan said. “Sean.”

Tori came into the wine cellar. “What's all this? Looks fun.” She held her hand out to Alaina. “Hi, I'm Tori Archer-Hennessy.”

Alaina shook her hand. “I'm Alaina. Pierce,” she added, since Tori had given her full name.

Tori laughed, and it lit up her blue-green eyes. She was really pretty, with long dark hair that fell straight past her shoulders. There was a definite sibling resemblance between her and Evan—it was the shape of the eyes and nose. “I figured that. Guess you didn't need my last names either. Unless Sean didn't tell you about me?” She glanced at her husband, her eyebrow playfully raised. “Do I need to be worried about you and this mega movie star?”

Sean rolled his eyes. “As if. I know it makes me completely mental, but I've never been attracted to Alaina. She's like . . . my sister. If I had a sister.”

Alaina recalled their meeting at a premiere party a few years ago. He'd been classy and funny, and she'd instantly liked him. “It's true. It's the reason we're such good friends. He's one of only a few guys who didn't try to pick me up within ten minutes of meeting me.”