Wildest Dreams

8. Pierre

PIERRE

I return to the table with our beer, feeling the heat of Kendall’s nemeses’ eyes on my back. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man.

Kendall has her legs crossed, one white sandal dangling off her toes. It’s so sexy I have to look away, fighting the urge to do something cheesy like kneeling to place it back on her foot.

I’m ridiculous.

I sit down and take a sip of my drink. “So apart from being divorced from the douchebag over there, what’s your story?”

She blushes again. “I’m boring, actually.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“No, really. That’s one of the reasons Tucker gave for cheating on me. He said I was boring.” There’s an edge to her voice—she’s still angry. Honestly, she probably has a right to be. If I could get away with walking over and punching that guy in the face, I’d do it in a heartbeat just on principle.

“Let’s not talk about him anymore,” I say in an attempt to lift the mood. “Tell me your story. About your family, friends, hobbies, how you became an accountant with a stunning rental house on the lake.”

“It is a fabulous house, isn’t it?”

“I could stay there forever. I absolutely love it.”

She looks down at her hands and picks at one of her nails. I’ve clearly hit a nerve.

“My dad was an accountant,” she says. “He retired a few years ago, so I took over his practice and my parents moved to the beach. I’m an only child. I had a pretty typical, happy childhood. That’s about it. See? Boring.” She shrugs.

I shake my head. “Not boring. Happy childhoods aren’t typical in my experience. You’re very lucky. And rare.”

“So you’re a cynic?”

“Just a little.”

“I guess I am lucky. We were pretty happy. Family dinners, church on Sunday, Mom and Dad loved each other. Blissfully boring. How’s that?”

“Blissfully boring is good,” I say, my eyes locked on hers. “Did you always want to be an accountant?”

“Lord, no,” she says, wiping a little beer foam from her upper lip. “When I was little, I wanted to be a gymnast, but I was terrible. I was always hurting myself. Then I got into photography and I loved that, but the only way to make money in that field is to do weddings and family portraits, which would stress me out and take the joy out of the art. Accounting was much safer and practical, so photography became a hobby. I went to college not far from here, then came home and married Tucker. We were high school sweethearts, did the long-distance thing in college since he stayed here. After I graduated, we got married, built that beautiful dream house on the lake, and planned to have a bunch of kids. Then it all fell apart.”

“And now?”

“Now? There’s not much to say for now. I work. My best friend Patsy is my secretary, which makes the days fun and interesting. I live in a loft above my office. When I took over my dad’s practice, it was filled with decades of old files, so I put all that in storage and turned the space into a little apartment for myself. It’s small, but nice.” She looks sad, maybe even a little embarrassed.

“You don’t miss the house?”

She shakes her head defiantly. “I can’t go back there.”

I nod, then change the subject. “What about the photography? Do you still take pictures?”

“It’s been years since I even took my camera out of the bag.”

“Don’t you miss it?”

“I don’t really think about it, to be honest. But yeah, now that you mention it, I guess I do.” Her voice has a sad, melancholic tone.

“What kind of photos did you take?”

“Nature stuff and local sites around town. I do have a pretty awesome picture of Bertha. I’ll have to make you a copy before you go back to California.”

I make a face, like a faux grimace. Then it dawns on me that she’s probably the one who took the photos in the house, so I ask.

“Yep!” she says, looking a little sad. “Those are mine.”

“They’re amazing! You should get back into it.”

“I might. I stay busy with work and everything, so it’s hard.” A shadow falls over her face.

“Are you happy?” The words come out of my mouth before I pause to ask if that was too forward. She squirms in her chair and looks down, so I know I’ve made her uncomfortable.

“I just am,” she says. “I’m not really happy or sad. I guess I float along in a state of numb resignation.” She raises her eyebrows and takes a deep breath. I think she’s surprised herself with her own candor.

“You’re not still pining for that guy over there, are you?” I motion over my shoulder to where I know he’s still keeping an eye on us.

“Oh God, no. I could never trust him again. Patsy would kill me.”

“That’s a good friend.”

“She is.” Her face softens.

“It sounds like you’re in a rut.”

She nods.

“We can change that.”

“Oh, can we now?” Her energy shifts back to being sweet and cheery and she chuckles. “Patsy is going to love you. She was ecstatic that I was hanging out with you today. She’s the one who picked out this dress, actually.”

“I love it. When we meet, I’ll have to thank her.”

She blushes again and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. We stare at one another for a moment before two girls approach the table.

“Hi, Kendall!” They address her but look straight at me.

“Oh, hi,” Kendall says, sitting up and looking slightly uncomfortable. She gives me a tense look.

“Hi, I’m Pi-” I begin before they cut me off.

“We know!” They sit down, uninvited, telling me how much they love my movies and asking what other celebrities are in town. I try to keep my answers short and to the point, but they aren’t taking the hint. Kendall takes the opportunity for a restroom break, but when she gets back, the two girls are still there, not so much talking to me as talking at me. Kendall smiles at them when she approaches the table, but doesn’t sit down.

“Pierre, maybe we should—” She gestures towards the door.

“Right!” I stand, taking the hint. “It was nice to meet you ladies.” They ask for a selfie, which I oblige. Kendall walks away, waiting for me by the door while I close the tab. The entire time I’m standing at the bar, I can see her ex looking at me—along with everyone else in the place.

When we leave, Kendall opens the door before I have a chance to get it for her. She points to where she’s parked and I follow. I place my hand on the small of her back and feel her body tense, though she doesn’t say anything. Once we get to her car, she stops and turns to me.

“Thank you for inviting me out,” she says. The soft light of the setting sun makes her glow, and I wish there was a way I could capture this without ruining the moment.

“We’ll have to do it again,” I say. “It sounds like you need to get out more.”

“I apologize for everyone staring at you, and for those two girls who came to the table. I would’ve introduced you, but I could not remember their names for the life of me. I think one of them hooked up with Patsy’s little brother under the bleachers during a Homecoming game my senior year.”

I make a face and she shrugs.

“It’s a small town. No one has secrets. Also, we’re not used to having celebrities in Magnolia Row, so you might get more of those encounters while you’re here.”

“It’s fine. By the way, you really need to get better at not apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She laughs. “I’ll work on it.”

“Listen, I have kind of a packed schedule with table reads over the next few days, then we start shooting. But I would like to see you again.”

“Oh! Um—” She sounds surprised. Why would she be surprised? “Yeah, I guess that would be okay.”

“Great! I’ll be in touch once I get a better idea of my schedule.”

“Sounds good!”

The familiar awkward silence settles between us again. The sun is beginning to set and casts long shadows from the pine trees on the edge of the property. Kendall doesn’t break my gaze, so I lean in to give her a kiss before we leave. As soon as my mouth is less than an inch from hers, she gasps and takes a step back, nearly losing her balance in the gravel. I grab her arm to catch her.

“I, uh, I—” Her face turns bright red. “I want to apologize, but you keep getting on to me about it.” We both laugh.

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who is sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed it was okay. I enjoyed talking to you tonight, and you looked radiant. I just…I don’t know. I thought it was okay.”

“No, it—it is. I mean, I’m not.” She’s flustered, and I feel terrible. She takes a deep breath. “It’s not you. You’re wonderful. In fact, you’re perfect, as far as I can tell. It’s me. I wasn’t expecting…well, I don’t really know what I was expecting. Ugh. I hate myself. This is awkward.”

I reach out and rub my hand on her arm. “It’s fine. Really. And don’t say you hate yourself. It’s bad for your energy.”

Her face softens. This has to be the first time she’s been on a date since her divorce. Part of me sees red flags but, at the same time, it’s refreshing to see a woman with her heart on her sleeve. It’s also nice to talk to someone who isn’t trying to be some artificial version of themselves that they think will attract a celebrity. She’s genuine.

“Look,” I say, brushing my fingers across her hand, “take a few days. I’ll get in touch with you and if you want to hang out again, great. If not, thank you for a wonderful evening. I’m delighted I got to meet you. No pressure for future dates.”

She nods and relaxes. “That sounds good. Thank you.” She squeezes my hand, then immediately releases it to wrap her arms around me in a hug. I hesitate for a beat, then lean down to return the gesture. She’s tiny in my arms and I feel like if I hug too tight, she’ll break.

When she pulls away, I open her door and she gets in. Keys in hand, she waves at me. I return the gesture and close the door, then walk to my rental car to begin the short drive to the lake house.