The Wedding Audition (8 page)

And although the carriage house was a stone’s throw up the road, she punched the gas to get there as fast as she could.

‡

E
ighty-seven missed calls.

Half of them from her mother. A few from Lindsey offering help and a place to stay if she needed it.

None of them from her ex-fiancé.

She’d checked the voicemail from another one of the disposable phones and then set it aside. She should feel horribly disappointed. Instead, she felt relieved all the way to her toenails with chipped polish. Clearly, she’d made the right decision in calling off the wedding. Had she made the right choice in running away though?

Too late for second guessing that. She was committed to this path for now. And right or wrong, she needed the breathing room. She needed answers.

Annamae wished she’d picked up more throwaway phones to check in so people wouldn’t worry, but she couldn’t afford to leave hers on and risk someone tracking her here. The media hadn’t latched onto the sighting of her in Beulah, but just in case, she posted a message on social media about her trip out West to throw them off the scent, posting from a phone with no location tracking. Let them think she was on an extended road trip.

She needed privacy if she stood a chance of unearthing answers about her screwed-up choices. Answers she craved more than a bottomless bowl of butter pecan ice cream.

With a sigh, Annamae hefted the first box out of the Beetle, closing the red door with a swish of her hip.

She surveyed the carriage house silhouetted in the fading sun. In this softening light, the old building seemed inviting, the imperfections of a droopy shutter and faded paint looking artsy rather than run down. It didn’t hold the glamor of her townhome of Atlanta, but the distressed wood and stone was homey, a good kind of worn-in. Like the Beetle. Simple. And God, she could use something simple as she sorted out her far too complicated life.

Annamae stepped around an overturned wheelbarrow with wildflowers sprouting out as she entered through the side entrance again. The wood door squeaked open and the house was awash in darkness. Bagel bounded inside, undaunted by the lack of light, nails clicking against the wood floor, then quieting as he went airborne toward the fuzzy shape of what she hoped was a sofa. Balancing the box in one hand, she fumbled on the wall for the light switch.

The light flickered before stabilizing. Annamae pushed deeper into the living area, past the loveseat and coffee table and set her box down on the stretch of a sturdy bench that lined the back wall. The stately dark wood bench parked against stone walls made the carriage house seem like it had waltzed out of a fairytale. A few talking animals would complete the image.

“What do you think, Bagel?” Annamae cooed. The scruffy mutt wriggled his whole body but didn’t utter a sound. Still, he was clearly adjusting well.

“Let’s take a look around, buddy.” She scooped him into her arms, his wiry fur tickly against her skin.

Room by room, Annamae flipped on lights, gauging her new space. She walked up the stairs to the loft bedroom. Sparse, but functional.

A full size bed was angled in one corner, and a single dresser with a mirror in the other. The wood floor squeaked as she circled the huge, open space. The bedroom sported a large, arched window that overlooked the majority of the apple orchard. The view would be beautiful at dawn. Part of her ached that she was here alone, so detached from everything she had ever known. No one to share the beauty with.

But a larger part of her was excited at the potential this place offered. There were no cameras, no faces she needed to wear.

She set Bagel down on the bed and he wiggled across the quilt over to the window. He stared outside, brown eyes alert.

“Are you going to be my tough guard dog?” Annamae laughed from the doorway. Bagel cocked his head to the side.

“We’re going to be just fine here,” she said.

Turning the light off, Annamae climbed back down the rustic steps, Bagel close at her heels. She retrieved the final box from her car and made her way into the circa 1950s kitchen, complete with mint green cabinets and a black checkerboard tile floor.

She set the groceries on the red vinyl-topped table and started unloading. Peanut butter, a loaf of bread, crackers, and some cans of soup. No ice cream though. That would be one of her first purchases tomorrow once she was very sure the freezer worked well. She emptied the rest onto the table. A wrought iron chandelier of exposed lights bathed the room in a warm, yellow glow.

It would take some getting used to, all this…possibility. A new dog, a new town. A new life. One she was completely in control of. And, a new man, maybe. Annamae’s cheeks heated. She had only just called off her wedding.

And yet, she couldn’t deny the electric feeling of being in Heath’s presence. It was like being outside before a Southern summer storm struck. The air crackled with anticipation. It was crazy and so unlike her normally practical self.

Bagel splayed out on the floor, his belly against the cool tile. The pup looked wiped. She huffed a chunk of over-processed hair off her brow and turned on a fan by the sink, then opened a window. Okay, tried to open a window. She pushed harder, harder still and then …
whoosh
. The window slid upward and a gust of wind swept in carrying the scent of apple blossoms.

Sagging back against the counter, she allowed herself a blessed moment to just breathe. How often did she stand still and simply – breathe without worrying about gasping for air? Well, other than in yoga class but that was filmed and broadcast so it didn’t count.

She angled the fan toward her and started to put away the few groceries Heath had given her. She turned over her feelings in her mind, trying to get a read on her emotions. Heath was handsome, in the rough-around-the-edges sort of way. But she could count on one hand the number of boyfriends she’d had in her entire life. It wasn’t in her nature to be attracted to a guy hours after breaking off an engagement.

As she put the cans of soup in the top cupboard, she forced herself to refocus on why she had driven to Beulah. To find out about the father she had never known, to discover a whole other side to herself. To get her life in order.

Heath certainly wasn’t going to provide her with any of those answers. But her grandmother could. She needed to glean all she could from Hazel Mae, needed to figure out who she was when the cameras weren’t rolling. There was no scripted role here. There was only the opportunity to find herself. And to do that, she needed her grandmother.

As she closed the cabinet and reached into her purse for a box of hair color, Annamae resolved to make tomorrow as productive as possible.

*

Wynn hooked an
arm around a branch and hefted himself up higher to survey the land in front of him. He was restless. He didn’t like the idea of someone poking around his grounds. Not when he was so close to leaving this place. He’d submitted Annamae’s description of the man hanging around outside the fence to a contact back in Miami, wanting to cover all bases in case he’d been found. The upcoming trial still weighed heavy on his mind. And the added publicity of Annamae didn’t do anything to ease those worries. He hoped interest in her would die down and that they would both have well-deserved privacy.

He absently checked the blossoms on the branch around him. The white petals were perfect, fragrant and full. Maybe the crop wouldn’t be all bad. He could only hope.

The creak of door hinges from the carriage house snapped him into focus. His eyes automatically trailed to the source of the sound, the source of his midnight dreams.

Annamae.

And not the Annamae from before, the glammed-up girl with a scarf trailing in the wind. She was dressed in worn-looking jeans, cowgirl boots, and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair was piled in a messy bun on top of her head. Her hair wasn’t bleached blonde white any longer. Today, her caramel-colored hair caught the sun, a warm honey look that suited her more than the highlights he’d seen when he googled her online.

Strands had fallen out, framing her face, making her look softer. He could almost forget she was a celebrity. She looked casual, so down to earth, a far cry from the perfectly styled girl on television. The early morning sun glinted off of her sunglasses as she walked toward the orchard, more particularly, toward the very tree Wynn perched, watching her.

“Hey Red,” he called out, lowering himself down a limb. “Sleep well?”

She craned her neck until she spotted him. “Were you waiting up there for me?”

“Waiting for you? I’ve been killing leaf hoppers for almost two hours.” He chose a limb just over her head and took a seat, balancing his spray bottle to show her. Chasing bugs and beetles wasn’t as dangerous as chasing criminals, but they were easier to squash. “I start my day early. I’m guessing you don’t, diva girl?”

“Filming begins before sunup,” she said with a defensive tone, sliding down to sit at the base of the tree. “Is that all natural pesticide?”

She squinted up at the plain white spray bottle he held.

“This concoction is my trade secret. I make it myself.” He didn’t like thinking they had anything in common—whether it was rising at dawn or an interest in organic farming. “I’ll bet someone else does your hair and makeup, chooses your clothes. Brings you breakfast.”

“A whole crew of people, actually.” Her head thudding back against the trunk, she eyed his work boots. “I’ve learned to nap in the stylist’s chair and skip the food.”

“Didn’t your mom tell you breakfast is the most important meal of the day?”

Her jaw set. “My mother told me every meal of the day added pounds in addition to the ten added by the camera.”

“That’s too bad,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance, “because you could certainly use at least ten or fifteen more.”

She gazed back at him, shock evident on her face. Her brows arched. “Did you just insult me?”

“Only if you care what I think about the way you look.” And he let himself look long and hard on the stretch of her legs, those legs he’d fantasized about until he’d given up sleep altogether.

Bagel sat beside her, sniffing in the grass.

She hitched a hand on her hip. “You’re fishing for a reaction.”

“Maybe,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. He was fishing. She was intriguing for a runaway minor celebrity. Different than anyone else he’d met. And although their circumstances were worlds apart, they were both forced into isolation.

“Why would you want to push for a reaction from me? I thought you didn’t even like me.”

“That has nothing to do with lust,” he said evenly.

Truthfully.

The air crackled so hot between them he could swear the dew steamed right off the grass.

She shot to her feet, swiping her wrist across her mouth as she finished chewing. “Wow, uhm,” she muttered, dusting the dirt off her bottom, “this conversation got uncomfortable fast. In case you don’t remember, I was engaged yesterday.”

“And today,” he said, closing his hand around the trunk as he resisted the urge to dust in the exact same space, “you’re not. You don’t appear heartbroken to me.”

Annamae’s cheeks burned. Good, he thought. So she could be riled.

She scooped her purse off the ground. “I need to see my grandmother.”

The sun tucked behind a cloud. “Be careful out there, Red. I hear too many stories of people getting into wrecks racing away from their fans.”

“I always drive safely, even when I’m being followed.” She hitched her bag over her shoulder and glanced back at him. “I’ve learned to go safely to the nearest police station.”

He watched the sway of her hips as she strode toward her car and he mumbled, “Good plan.”

And one that would only work until the day a car pulled in front of her, beside her, and tailgated her. He had seen it happen in chases when he was on the force. Miami had its own share of celebrity mishaps.

She was too innocent, damn it, and he couldn’t let her go out there alone.

Decision made, Wynn swung down out of the tree and landed surefooted on the ground. She might be good at watching for people who tailed her.