Wildest Dreams

11. Kendall

KENDALL

I could murder Patsy right now. Yes, I probably would’ve gone to lunch with Pierre anyway, but still. I don’t like being put on the spot.

“What’s good around here?” asked Pierre as soon as we’re out on the sidewalk. “Do you want another sandwich?”

“Sure,” I say, dodging people on the sidewalk who have turned to look at us. “Bread Crumbs is a few doors down. They’re the best—and only—sandwiches in town.”

“Great!” he says, putting a hand on my back the way he did the night of our date. I try to not freak out, but he must feel me tense up because he pulls back, though he says nothing.

When we walk into Bread Crumbs, everyone turns around and stares, especially after Pierre removes his sunglasses. I recognize most of the folks here, though there are a few tables full of people who are likely film crew and not locals. It is much more crowded than usual.

“Do you want to get it to go?” I ask. Pierre is looking at the menu on the wall, completely ignoring the fact that we’re the center of attention.

“I’m with you,” he says. “I’m down for whatever.”

We order sandwiches. I get my usual tomato turkey and he orders a fried green tomato BLT. Curran Briddell, the girl working behind the counter, has a bright pink pixie cut and massive blue doe eyes. She looks from me to Pierre, obviously trying to figure out what’s going on.

“Kendall, I didn’t know you were friends with a movie star,” she says, eyeing Pierre like she’s hungry.

“He’s just renting my house,” I answer. “I’m showing him around town.”

“Is it true the movie is looking for extras?” she asks, directing her question to Pierre. “I was in all the plays in high school. I’d love to?—”

“I don’t really get involved in that,” he says. “If they start looking, I’m sure they’ll put out a call in the paper or on social media.”

She leans over the counter, obviously trying to show her cleavage to Pierre, only to be disappointed when he pulls out his phone and begins scrolling instead. She stands up and glares at me as we hear “order up!” called from the kitchen.

“Thank you, Curran,” I say as she hands us our bagged lunch.

“Mmhm.” She smirks.

“Do you want to go back to your office?” Pierre asks when we’re back out on the sidewalk.

“No. Patsy won’t leave us alone.”

He laughs. “Yeah, she was something else.”

“I apologize for her earlier. She was a little too excited to meet you.”

Pierre stops in his tracks and takes my hand, sending shivers through my whole body. “Kendall,” he begins. I swear my heart stops when he says my name. “Stop apologizing for everything.”

I grin. “You’re right. I know you’re right. Bad habit. I’ll work on it.”

“Where do you want to eat?”

“There’s a little park by the river with picnic tables. It’s close to Cattywampus.”

“Perfect.”

We walk in silence and he doesn’t try to put his hand on my lower back again, though I find myself wanting him to. I’m so wishy-washy I’m annoying myself. If there were a title for sending mixed signals, I’d be the queen.

We get to the park and find a table under the shade of an oak tree. Spanish moss hangs low and sways in the warm, gentle breeze coming off the river.

“God, it’s beautiful here,” Pierre comments.

“It is,” I say, looking out across the horizon. “Though sometimes I forget.”

“Thank you for coming to lunch with me,” he says as he unwraps his sandwich. “I hope it’s okay that I surprised you.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I wasn’t sure if you’d really reach out again after the way I ended things the other night…which I am not going to apologize for.”

“Good,” he says with a mouth full of food. Then he chuckles and wipes his mouth. “This sandwich is amazing! I’ve never had fried green tomatoes, and now I don’t know how I lived without them. What is that sauce?”

“Remoulade. You’ll have to get your fill of Southern food while you’re here.”

“I definitely will. I keep smelling barbeque.”

“Yep! Patsy’s brother-in-law owns the barbeque joint. It’s good. There’s also an amazing soul food joint. We have one nice-ish dine-in with Cajun food and a seafood place on the river south of town. Oh, and a catfish food truck.”

“I’m in trouble! If I gain thirty pounds in the next few weeks, the wardrobe people will kill me.” He wipes his mouth and takes a huge gulp of water.

“When do you start filming?”

“We have table reads tomorrow, then shooting begins next week.”

“Are the other actors in town yet?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a gaggle of girls looking at us through their phones, most likely taking pictures of Pierre to post on social media. If Pierre notices, he ignores them.

“I think Marina is. She’s been calling.”

“You didn’t answer?”

“Nope.”

“How are you going to work with her if you can’t stand to talk to her?”

“Let’s just say I’ll deserve the Oscar for this performance.”

“You were nominated once before, weren’t you?”

“Twice, actually. It’s a surreal experience. By the time the awards season rolls around, you’re more than a year removed from the project and you’ve moved on to other things. Then you’re there with all these people you’ve looked up to your whole life. The cameras are in your face. It’s like an out-of-body thing. I can’t describe it.”

“Well, on TV it looks magical.”

He laughs. “That’s Hollywood!” He finishes his sandwich and balls up the wrapper. “I guess it is magical in retrospect. In the moment, it’s incredibly tense. You have to be removed from it to appreciate it. I know a few people who’ve won those big awards, and they say they don’t even remember the ceremony. It’s like your body goes into shock, then the next morning you wake up and there’s a little gold man on your nightstand.”

“Do you want to win one?”

He makes a face and tilts his head slightly. “I used to. I’d be grateful if I did, but I don’t really focus on it as much, especially since my mom died. It’s like I wanted it for her.”

“What do you want for you?”

He pauses and stares at me for a long minute. “I think I could ask you the same thing.”

I freeze. Like he did Wednesday evening, he gives me the look, the one that penetrates my being.

“What do you mean?” I ask with trepidation.

“I had an epiphany,” he says, tilting his head.

“About me?”

“About us.”

“Us? We’re an us now?” My stomach knots, but I maintain my composure.

“I know why I’m so drawn to you, apart from the obvious.”

“The obvious?”

“Yeah. You’re gorgeous, sweet, down-to-earth. There’s a whole host of adjectives I could use to describe you. That’s the obvious.”

I feel blood rush to my face and I know I’m beet red. I laugh nervously and look down to pick at my almost-finished sandwich. “Um, thank you?”

“Still struggling with the compliments?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“You’ll have to get used to them. You deserve to hear them every day.”

“I’ll work on it.” We pause and I take a sip of water. “What is your epiphany, then?”

“My epiphany is that I’m drawn to you because we’ve both spent our lives living for other people. Now that those people are no longer in our lives—from death or divorce or what have you—we find ourselves…” He pauses and looks out to the horizon. “…unmoored.”

“Unmoored.” I nod and think about this. He has a point. “Good word. You should try your hand at writing.”

“It’s on the old bucket list.”

I finish the last bite of my lunch, fold the wrapper, put it in the bag on the table, then take a long drink of water.

“Maybe you’re right,” I concede. Something about his words bring my walls down a notch, enough to admit to myself that I am, in fact, unmoored.

“So, what do you want for you?” he says, tilting his head to the side.

“I asked you first,” I answer, deflecting.

“Fair enough. If I’m being honest with myself, I want to leave Hollywood. Leave the pressure. Leave the circus. Maybe do a few indie pictures every now and then, but mostly I want to be left alone.”

“Do you want a family?” I ask.

“With the right person, in the right place, absolutely. Not in LA. Or New York, for that matter. Maybe Ireland. It’s nice there. Or Maine. Right now, I have no one and where I end up depends on who I’m with, which is the most important factor. It would be nice to have that anchor. That stable foundation.”

“Yeah.” He’s right. We are the same.

This is torture.

“What about you?” he asks.

I sigh, knowing I may as well be honest. “I want kids. I want someone to build my life around. I want to get old and have a brood of grandbabies to feed. I thought I’d have that with Tucker but, in retrospect, it’s for the best. He was never the right guy. I was trying to make him into something he’s not. We were bad for each other.”

I close my eyes after I finish talking. It’s remarkable. I feel physically lighter, having admitted all of that. Simply saying the words lightens the load. Panic fills my core from the sudden unexpected honesty with him and myself, but I know it’s a good thing. I need to open back up again.

My eyes water and I look at Pierre, whose expression mirrors my own. He reaches for my hand and I let him squeeze it. I rub my thumb across his smooth skin, then the familiar voice in my heart screams “no, no, no.”

I let go of his hand, close my eyes, and shake my head. “I can’t get close to you like this. What are we doing? You live in California. It’s practically a different world. If you’re looking for a hook-up girl while you’re here, you need to find someone else.”

I stand up and grab our bag of trash, embarrassed that I basically word vomited all over him. He didn’t deserve that. I’d panicked.

He also rises, then takes the bag from me.

“Here’s the thing, Kendall. I’m not looking for a cheap thrill. I can’t promise we’re going to get married and live happily ever after. We just met. But I can tell you I have nothing but good intentions. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where this could lead, but I like you. I feel a strong pull to you that I haven’t felt in years, if ever. I’m not ready to throw that away because of geography. Let’s relax and see where this goes.”

I look up at him. His brow has broken out with a small layer of sweat from the high sun, and his gaze holds so much sincerity that I feel the wall around my soul go down a little bit more.

“Okay,” I say, my heart skipping a nervous beat.

He smiles and takes me in his arms. He’s hot, literally, but I don’t care.

When we release each other, he throws away our sandwich bags and we both realize that more people have gathered around the park watching us, some not even trying to hide that they’re taking pictures.

“I don’t know how you live like this,” I say with a nod towards them.

“It wears on you, that’s for sure,” he replies as we begin the walk towards my office. “When can I see you again?” he asks.

“You’re the one with the busy schedule. You tell me.”

“Table reads are tomorrow, but we should be done in the afternoon. Do you want to come over for dinner? I’ll cook for you.”

“No, I’m not comfortable?—”

“Oh, the house. Right.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s…bad memories and all.”

“I get that. I can come to your place. Or we can go out, but that won’t be very private.”

“I don’t know. I have a tiny kitchen.”

“I can work with any kitchen. How is seven o’clock? Are you okay with a late dinner?”

“Yep.”

“Is there anything in particular you want, or is there something you don’t like?”

“I’m good with whatever. Surprise me.”

We reach my office door and Patsy is craning over the computer to see how things are going. I turn to Pierre and point towards the exterior door adjacent to my office.

“Just ring the doorbell over there. There’s a little staircase inside that goes up to my loft.”

“Will do.”

It gets awkward again. I want him to kiss me, but Patsy is staring at us, along with a few people on the sidewalk.

“See you then,” I say. “Thank you for lunch.”

“You’re welcome. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow night.”

“Me too.” Beaming, I go into the office and tell Patsy every single detail.