Page 11 of Made for You
“I think we owe it to ourselves and all of humanity to go,” I said, completely straight-faced.
She grinned, still pressing her lips closed over the donut. Once she’d swallowed it and a sip of coffee, she winked. “Then we, my dear, better go shopping.”
* * *
Quite possibly, this was all a huge mistake.
Generally speaking, I didn’t feel like a fraud. I was smart, good at what I did, and I knew it. Sure, I had a long history of people leaving me like a bankrupt strip mall, and I’d struggled with attachment since my early teens, but I’d functioned well, all things considered. I’d never met a number I didn’t like, and I’d never considered the fact that showing up to a movie premiere would make me feel so deeply self-conscious and out of place.
The sunset lit up the western sky with streaks of pink, orange, and purple. The mountains hadn’t quite faded into hulking shadows, and the heat of the day had burnt off enough that I was glad I’d left my jacket in the car, because I’d need it on the way home.
“Stop fidgeting.” Gram nudged me, her silky pantsuit in a menagerie of colors somehow looking classy and artistic all at once. She wore low heels, her hair pulled back into a neater version of her usual low bun and pinned with a turquoise clip. She had bangles on either side of her watch and chunky necklaces she’d likely made or purchased from a local artisan. Overall, she had this air of mature artsy style that made me jealous.
That said, I did feel freaking great. I rarely dressed up beyond a suit for work—or, my past work—and tonight I was fully embracing the moment. My hair was down, and I’d done a classic wavy look in the vein of the 1940s and makeup to match, with a red lip and smoky eyes. My dress was a deep teal color, which I never would’ve had the boldness to wear except Gram made me promise to wear it. When I saw the price tag and decided I shouldn’t spring for it without having a job no matter how well paid I’d been in the past, she’d snatched it off the rack, slapped her credit card onto the counter, and completely ignored my protests.
Honestly, I was glad she had, and I’d pay her back. The fit was perfect—sleeveless two-inch straps that dipped into a vee interesting enough but not revealing in the front and far lower in the back. Thankfully, it had built in padding, so undergarments weren’t an issue. The bodice fit close and tucked in at the waist, then flowed out in a lighter-weight fabric and fluttered all the way to the floor.
Maybe someday, I’d get married in this dress. I never had any illusions marriage was in the cards for me, but if it ever happened, I wantedthisdress. It was beautiful and flattering and felt more than a little bit like something out of a dream.
I’d never been the kind of girl to dream of wedding dresses and ballgowns. I’d been more preoccupied with unraveling whatever mathematical theorem I’d recently discovered and surviving my stints in foster care. If I had envisioned such an event, it would’ve been wearing something like this dress.
When I’d agreed we should attend tonight, I hadn’t realized we’d be dressing up like this, but thank goodness, Gram knew exactly what to expect. As I looked around at everyone in black tie attire, the men in tuxes and the women in dresses of varying lengths and all levels of formality, it felt more like I was attending an event in Hollywood than here in the small town of Silverton.
Perhaps it was the steady stream of A-list stars smiling for cameras as they walked the red carpet—and yes, they’d laid out an actual red carpet over the wide steps at the entrance of the Egyptian Theater.
The theater itself was historic and had been built in the 1920s, an odd little piece of history still standing in this town and a vestige of the old tradition curiously established in Utah back then. There were only a small handful of Egyptian theaters left, as I’d discovered when I’d fallen down the rabbit hole of history while waiting for Gram to finish readying.
I saw a handful of familiar faces, including a comedic actress I loved, Jenna Halter. She hugged famed pop star Miss Mayhem, and they turned to laugh with none other than arguably the most famous pop star to come out of the US in decades, Bri Williamson.
“These are all the locals. I think the out-of-towners will be popping in any minute, though, so we better get inside.” Gram looped her arm in mine and guided me up the stairs to the side of the flashing lights.
Locals? I hadn’t visited Silverton since leaving years back, and I certainly didn’t remember anyone famous wandering around in the past. Granted, I hadn’t been here since it’d blown up as a luxury destination, and before that, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. I mentally considered how this raised the town’s tax income and extrapolated the rise in per capita income, the increased tourist and industry traffic—so much of the growth in this town made more sense now.
We slipped in a side door, and a docent inspected our tickets. “Oh, very nice. You’ll be down front, though Bruce asked me to let him know when you’re here. One sec.”
The man smiled, dark eyes sparkling, and Gram stood straighter.Oh.Hello. He was probably a few years older than her but seemed fit, healthy. I didn’t remember her ever telling me she was dating, and I honestly hadn’t really thought about her being interested in such a thing. She was so fiercely independent and hadn’t ever mentioned it.
But this man? His name tag said Amir, and he winked at Gram. I eyed her, and she gave me a narrow-eyed glare that saidknock it offwithout words.Interesting.
“If you lovely ladies will just follow the hallway around and check in with my friend Peter, he’ll tell you how to find Bruce.” He winked at us again—adorable—and gestured toward where we were supposed to go.
“Are we not just going to sit?” I asked as we bustled down the hallway, the sounds of hundreds of voices in the main theater spilling out at intervals where exit doors flapped occasionally.
“Guess he wanted to see us before we sit.” She wiggled her brows.
“You can make that face all you want, but not until we talk about Mr. Amir.”
She whipped her head straight, held it high, and I took the note. We reached Peter, who smiled warmly at us.
“Right through this door, and when you find the men in suits who look like security, you’ve found ’em.”
Both more than a little bewildered, we followed the instructions and came to a T in the back hallway. I looked left, and my breath seized in my throat.
There he was. Jack McKean.TheJack McKean. The star of the movie being screened tonight, standing casually in an immaculate suit, all kinds of tall and dark and unrealistically handsome and chuckling with someone.
Gram clutched my arm, clearly having seen the same thing, but then she squeezed harder. Because the man Jack McKean was talking to turned…How is this possible?
It was Bruce. Bruce Camden. Bruce Camden who had abs like two rowed columns of an Excel spreadsheet and brought me donuts and was more than a little adorable, and he was standing there in a stunning tux looking every bit as much a movie star as Jack McKean.
