Page 95 of Speak of the Devil

I didn’t really understandhis comment about an adventure, but I do now. Big dually trucks covered in mud, a few with logging trailers, plaid on everyone we’ve seen, and beards for days. The Deer Lake sign came with a distinctive feature. “I’ve never seen a statue that big before. Impressive deer.”

“It’s a stag,” Shane says, his eyes glued to the winding road.

“It’s a deer, right?”

“A male deer. A buck. A stag.”

“It’s weird they can’t just be called deer. Seems someone was overcompensating when carving that thing.”

Reaching over, he covers my leg with his hand. “We’re not in LA anymore. It’s a way of life for slower, hard-working people. Friendly but also love to gossip.”

“So how does a family of celebrities fit in?”

“I hate being called a celebrity.” There’s no anger or frustration. His tone is altogether indifferent as if he gave up fighting that battle a long time ago, which is worse. “Makes me sound like a talentless hack. Famous for famous sake.”

The word “celebrity” is tossed around LA all the time, a part of the culture of being near Hollywood. So I hadn’t thought twice about using the word as if it encapsulates him that easily within it.

“I’m sorry?—”

“Don’t apologize.” He glances over and gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s just a pet peeve of mine, but I’m used to it.”

“No, I agree with you.” Covering his hand with mine, I give it a squeeze. “I’ve never thought twice about it because I never had to. You’re more than a celebrity. And you’re everything to me.”

“Look at you charming me.” I playfully shrug like it’s no big deal when it’s the opposite. “And to answer your question, we don’t, but most of the locals don’t care about fame or . . .” He laughs. “Celebrities. Plenty pass through. The tourists in high season are the ones who tend to steal the peace.”

A set of stores appears around a bend and just after a dense line of trees. I squint to make out the signs. “There.” Just like I saw in an online photo, the word Pharmacy sits solidly in green under a big sign that reads Grocer. “There it is.”

He hasn’t asked me anything other than if I’m okay, though I’m sure he has questions. His concern for my well-being is his top priority. I’ve never been someone’s top priority before. It feels good, better than good. It feels fulfilling.

He shifts his Ferrari that stands out like a sore thumb into park. Out of the car and coming around before I have a chance to unbuckle my seat belt, he opens the door and offers a hand.

That little awkward turn and the muscles I use to get out of the door’s way remind me, and not so gently, of being with Shane. I love you is said with ease, and husband and wife rolls off the tongue. The assumption that everything will be the same as it is now once we return to LA makes my heart flutter. I believe in us.

The groundwork for a solid foundation—trust, honesty, a deep connection, and the physical—makes me feel invincible with him. We’re a team we’ve created to take on the world together.

Entering the store hand in hand, I glance at him, walking with his head down and sunglasses covering his eyes. He is either truly in tune with how the world sees him or has no idea that sunglasses don’t disguise him like he thinks they do. It’s probably somewhere down the middle.

The cashier stands straight from where she was leaning against the register when she sees us. “Welcome to Grocer.” I’m thinking the abrupt change in body language isn’t for my benefit.

The store is tiny compared to grocery stores back in LA, so the pharmacy sign pointing to the back of the store is easy to find. “Hey,” I say, stopping in front of an aisle containing wildlife feed. “I’m going to run to the back and get what I need. Meet you at the register . . .” I check the time on my watch. “In say, ten minutes?”

“I’m going to look for some healthy juice shots. Do you prefer beets or turmeric?” I love how he thinks he will find that here when the vegetable section is practically nonexistent, and we’re literally standing in an aisle of food for wild animals.Maybe he will.At least it will keep him busy while I pick up my prescription. “I’m good with either.”

Walking backward, he says, “Got to replenish for our afternoon activities.”

I thought I was okay letting him walk away from me, but that wink and click of his tongue just made my entire body tighten in anticipation. I’m running back to him, jumping into his arms, and kissing this man simply because I can. He’s mine, and I’m his.

He caught me with a thud, one hand protectively on the back of my head and the other under my ass. Our mouths part, and I lower my feet back to the linoleum. Watching him lick me from his lips is an aphrodisiac that has me wanting to detour back out to the parking lot.

I look around. The place is basically empty.

Bending down, he whispers, “What’s on your mind, pussycat?”

Who am I?I’m actually considering having sex in public? I sure am glad I left my comfort zone back in LA because this is what he does to me. And I’m not saying no to the possibility.

But I should get my prescription first. Nothing sounds appealing about walking back in here after having fresh sex in a Ferrari. The shame would eat me alive before I could get what I need.Baby steps, Cate.

Speaking of babies, get your prescription.

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