Wildest Dreams

27. Kendall

KENDALL

S pending the weekend with Pierre is magical. I can’t get over how natural it all feels, like we should be together forever. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a daydream and need to pinch myself. Other times, I want to slap myself for getting in this far over my head, knowing full well that his movie is wrapping soon and I’ll go back to my quiet little life alone.

For the first time, I don’t want that.

I wish he could stay, but I know he can’t. Even if I ask him to, I’m afraid he’ll say no. I need to do what I’ve said I would all along and accept that this is a short-term fling.

But, my God, it’s been heaven.

Patsy continues to miss work since she’s helping Pierre fix up the house. She assures me she’ll be done by the weekend, which is good because I need her next week to help with end-of-quarter filings I have to work on for some of the local businesses.

I’m also a little anxious about the house. Our friend Micah runs the local antique store and has apparently been helping her, which makes me giddy with anticipation because everything Micah touches turns to gold. I know it’ll be exquisite, but I don’t know if it’ll make me want to stay there again, which is all Pierre wants. I hope I don’t disappoint him or my friends.

In the meantime, he continues to stay at my apartment during the week. He’s working on scenes being shot all through the night, so he’s sleeping in my bed while I work during the day. Knowing he’s a staircase away makes me feel warm and secure and gives me something to look forward to every day when I get off work. We always eat dinner together before he heads out, and each evening I’m left with a kiss on my forehead and the smell of his cologne in my sheets. Even when he’s not here, it’s paradise.

Friday afternoon, Patsy finally makes an appearance at the office. She’s finished the house and is so excited she can barely contain herself.

“Let’s go see it!” I say.

“Absolutely not. This was Pierre’s idea. He should be the one to take you to see it.”

“But you did all the work!”

“It wasn’t work. It was fun!”

“We’ll arrange a time for all of us to go together. How about that?”

When Pierre comes downstairs, Patsy shows him photos of everything on her phone, and a few times he looks like he’s going to cry.

“I want to go now, but I’ll be late to set if I do.”

“Yeah, we don’t want that again,” I say.

We agree to meet at the house Saturday at noon. Patsy makes arrangements for her mom to watch her two youngest boys while Garion has the three oldest at the ballpark.

* * *

T he next day, Pierre gets in at five in the morning and sleeps for five hours. I stay in bed with him and listen to him dream as I read a book on my iPad. It’s been a while since I read a romance novel. I was too cynical to read after my divorce, but I’m finally in the mindset to allow myself to escape to a happy place.

We both shower after he gets up, grab lunch at Bread Crumbs, and go to the grocery store to get more rotisserie chickens in case Bertha shows back up.

“You haven’t mentioned Marina this week,” I say as we’re driving through the canopy of oak trees in the historic district of Magnolia Row.

His face lights up. “Apart from being in scenes together, she hasn’t talked to me.”

“What? That’s great!”

“Yeah, I guess after the Bertha incident, she thinks I’m nuts.”

“Like Patsy says, God bless Bertha!”

“Amen to that.”

Patsy is waiting for us outside when we get to the house. Micah is with her, looking gorgeous as always. She’s about a foot taller than me, all curves, with bright orange hair that lights up her pink-pale complexion and green eyes. She always looks like a Botticelli angel.

Pierre introduces himself to Micah, grabs the bags from the grocery store out of his rental SUV, and we follow Patsy and Micah to the front door. It feels like we’re the couple on a house-hunting show.

Patsy opens the door and I’m immediately hit with the smell of cinnamon apples. Patsy and Micah have spared no details, down to the air fresheners.

When I walk in, I’m swept away. It looks like an entirely different house.

There’s an antique buffet table in the foyer with fresh pink roses and the plush leather furniture in the living room is covered in bright, happy accent pillows. Gone are the boring hanging blinds and in their place are blue and white watercolor paisley curtains. My photos are still on the wall, but the nails that once held wedding and vacation pictures with Tucker now display images of me and Pierre.

My mouth is on the floor. Pierre rubs my back and flashes that movie star smile as we continue to walk through the house.

The bedroom is charming beyond anything I’d imagined. Instead of the black Shaker-style bed and gray comforter Tucker had picked out when we moved in, there’s a distressed cream four-poster bed with a sage floral blanket. The nightstands and dresser match, and there’s a fluffy cream rug on the dark hardwood floors. It’s delicate and feminine—the opposite of Tucker’s style. This room, this house, is me. There are even pictures of me and Patsy on the dresser, and above the bed are the two moonlit photos of me and Pierre by the window in my apartment.

Even though he’s leaving, he made sure he’ll still have a presence in my bedroom. The thought makes me chuckle.

I grab all of them and we hug.

“Thank you. All three of you. I love it.”

“Will you actually stay here now?” asks Pierre.

I nod.

Patsy claps and jumps up and down like a little kid. “You’re moving back in?”

“Maybe. I’ll commit to staying for a while and then decide. But the odds are good.”

Patsy grabs me so tight I can’t breathe. I pat her on the back, then struggle out of her arms.

“The extra bedrooms still have the cheap stuff you put in for renters,” Micah says, “but we can redecorate those once you decide what to do with the space.”

“I love y’all.” I hug them again, then realize I basically told Pierre I love him in a roundabout way.

“Aw, sweetie, we love you too,” says Patsy, but Pierre sighs.

It’s probably for the best. “I love you” only complicates matters.

* * *

T hat night I stay in the house with Pierre. He cooks for me, properly this time since he has space to work. He makes manicotti with parmesan garlic bread and tiramisu for dessert. Afterwards, we drink a bottle of wine on the back deck, listening to the cacophony of whippoorwills, toads, and crickets in the distance.

At one point, I look over at Pierre, whose eyes are watery. He wipes them and I ask what’s wrong.

“Nothing at all,” he says. “I’ve just never felt this happy and at peace. I love it here. I love?—”

He stops himself, and I don’t ask him to continue. I know how he feels, and he knows how I feel. Saying the words will only make things harder.

I grab his hand and squeeze it. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go to bed.”

* * *

T he next few weeks pass by in a blur. I spend as much time as possible with Pierre and sleep with him every night at the house. I even move my clothes there, repopulating the massive walk-in closet with the intention of staying even after he’s gone.

Marina continues to leave Pierre alone, and though we see her out a few times, her venom is limited to dirty looks and snide comments to whoever she’s with. Even the locals ignore us, as if running into a movie star at the local watering hole is a normal thing now.

Pierre and I do everything together, from grocery shopping to beers at Cattywampus to back porch sitting to watching murder shows on Netflix. Turns out he’s a closet true crime junkie, too.

On July Fourth, the town has a big celebration in a park by the river. Food trucks come out, there’s a live band, and fireworks are shot off from the bridge over the Florablanca River.

Pierre and I join Patsy and Garion on their pontoon boat with their kids to watch the fireworks from the water. Garion and Pierre get along well, and watching Pierre with the boys is so sweet it makes my ovaries explode. At this point, I think he would at least consider staying if I asked him to. He would walk away from his multi-million-dollar career and leave California to be with me if “will you stay” comes out of my mouth, but I can’t say the words. I can’t ask him to leave all of that behind. I tell myself that if he offers to stay, I’ll say yes and that I want him to, but I won’t go far enough to ask him.

He never offers.