Page 25 of Almost Perfect
He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, he sounded sufficiently chastened. “I’m sorry. I hope Sarah’s great. But I guess I do just want to suggest, for the umpteenth time, that you are looking for someone you think you want instead of someone you actually want. I realize you’re going to just tell me I don’t know what I’m saying, but at some point, you need to figure out why none of these women click with you.”
The position grated, but he was right. It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it, and I wasn’t going to agree with him now and give him the satisfaction. My role as older brother demanded I not give him everything all the time, or he’d end up one of those obnoxious youngest children who thought the world owed them. Plus, he didn’t need a dating app. He went out with people all the time—women he met as he went about life all over the place. Not that he was all that prolific with dating, but still. He didn’t seem to have to try, and if anything, had to work toavoidrelationships in an inverse capacity to the way I had to work toward one. Or something.
But he’d flustered me with his insight.
I saw no one but family regularly. When I went into town, I only spoke to the people I already knew. And most of the women my age who I’d be halfway interested in were taken. I’d met Samantha through a mutual friend, and that hadn’t been the magic ticket.
So back to that app. And placing hopes in the Sarah basket. And ignoring the twinge of excitement when I noticed it was twenty after the next time I checked my watch, and I could finally load up and go get Calla.
* * *
Ten minutes into the drive, the quiet of the truck cab had reached unbearably awkward. Normally, I’d listen to podcasts or maybe the radio, though it didn’t come in well in the canyon so downloaded podcasts worked best. But sitting eighteen inches from Callaway Rice had me on edge, every sense acutely tuned to what was happening inside the car.
“Everything still working out in the cottage?” I asked, hoping my talking wouldn’t be unwelcomed.
“It is. And it’ll be even better after some time away.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t think of this sooner. I—”
“Please. You’ve got to stop apologizing to me. It’s not your fault I can’t drive and chose to live forty-five minutes from town.”
I let out a breath. “Fair enough.”
We rode in silence another few minutes, and then the curiosity clobbered me. I couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Can I ask you how you ended up here? I mean… whyhere, of all places?”
She cleared her throat. “Well, I actually grew up in Silverton.”
What? What the hell? In all my imaginings, which had been far more numerous than I’d admit to, never once had I considered she might have roots here. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I left at fifteen. This is my first trip back since then.”
I glanced over just in time to see her knit her fingers together and stuff them between her legs. She wore jeans and her usual boots, another soft-looking sweater, and a black winter puff jacket over top. Her hair fell in wavy curls over her shoulders and down her back.
“That’s just… It’s a small enough town that I feel like I would’ve remembered you, but I’m guessing our age difference means I wouldn’t have known you from school.” Not that I knew how old she was, but she had to be younger than me.
“So far no one has, and I doubt they would. Honestly, I don’t really have a lot of memories of this place, and the ones I do are all pretty vague. Plus Ca—my mom and I didn’t socialize much. I kept my head down, did my own thing, and then one day we just left.” She craned her neck to look out her passenger window.
“And thus began the tale of Callaway Rice becoming Miss Mayhem?”
Her eyes shot to me with an edge, then softened with a little huff. “Not quite. I modeled in Asia for two years before I ever sang a note. Once they realized I could sing, they started capitalizing on that. I was on this really prim little show for about a year playing this angelic teacher’s pet kind of girl and recorded a demo during that time. My agent pushed hard and got me a record deal, but they didn’t like the sweet girl thing. They’d seen some photos from a shoot I’d done in Japan and wanted that persona—a ‘bad girl’ look. It was back when everyone really had to have an angle. So I went with that, and nearly every decision that came after that was made with that image in mind.”
“Until now.”
Even with my focus on the road, I could feel her eyes on me. Her voice was soft when she said, “Until now.”
I couldn’t imagine a life like that—literally could not fathom moving overseas and starting to work at such a young age. Leaving behind everything she’d known, then living a life where people crafted her persona for her. It was shocking and, frankly, sounded awful. But she didn’t sound regretful. More accepting and maybe resigned. That tore at me. Her acceptance of essentially losing her childhood. In a way, I knew what that felt like, and I suspected I’d never fully embrace that reality.
“It sounds like a hard life,” I said, foolishly unable to keep my trap shut.
She sighed. “It’s been a good life, but hard. And I’m just… exhausted. So I’m glad to be here, and not there. I hope I never go back.”
Twenty more questions piled up on my tongue, but I bit them back. Her response sounded like the end of a sentence, like a stopping place, and I didn’t want to seem like I was prying because her fame fascinated me. Likeshefascinated me. Because she wasn’t someone I should be thinking about like that. Even if she wasn’t…her… she would still be leaving in a few weeks. I was looking for long term.
Unless she stays. Unless she doesn’t go back, just like she said.
I had to shut that thinking down, because her wistful tone was simply expressing her being glad to be here. She wouldn’t actually leave her career behind—Are you insane, Wyatt?
Wrangling my focus back to the moment, I tried not to betray my stupid thoughts with my next comment. “Well, I hope you enjoy your time in town. I’ll be at lunch for a bit, but you can text me if you need anything.”
