Page 93 of Holiday Star
The memory of the doctor’s lounge and the panic attack.
The nights I cried myself to sleep.
The picture of him broken at the bar.
I jump back so quickly the boat jerks and water splashes over the side, soaking Caleb’s pant leg. “Shit. Sorry.” My heart jackhammers from a mixture of lust, anguish, and embarrassment.
“It’s okay.” Caleb runs his hand down his leg, squeezing the extra moisture out of the fabric like a squeegee. “A little water won’t melt me.”
Moving back out of my orbit, he shifts and braces himself with his hands behind him, in the same position I used earlier. Our shoulders touch, brushing against each other with the motion of the waves.
We’re quiet for a while then, listening to the water slap the hull of our boat and to the laughter of children at the playground across the lake.
Slowly I let my head relax, tilting to the side until it lies on Caleb’s shoulder. He feels firm under my cheek, solid and warm. A heartbeat later, Caleb’s head drops down, his temple resting gently on the side of my head.
We stay a long time like that, leaning against each other.
62
After we return the rowboat, Caleb shows me his next surprise. He reaches behind the podium of the boat rental place and retrieves a large picnic basket, the wicker kind with the lids that flap open.
“What’s this?” I ask, eyes wide as he brings it over.
“This,” he says proudly, “is lunch. I had them hold it for me while we were out on the lake.”
We sit on a red checkered blanket in the lush grass of the Great Lawn in the center of the park. Caleb has music playing softly, running through the portable speaker I gave him for Christmas. “I take it with me everywhere. It’s the best gift,” he told me when he first pulled it out, the comment filling me with pride.
After lunch, I groan and say, “I think I ate too much. That was all so delicious.” He had brought a wide selection of imported cheeses and thin-sliced meats, along with crusty sourdough bread he baked himself. Strawberries dipped in chocolate had been dessert.
Sucking the last drop of chocolate off my finger, I lift my gaze to find him watching me closely, eyes darkening. A swirl of desire stirs low in my belly. I drag my eyes off him and lay down on my side, facing Caleb, who is sitting with his legs crossed yoga style.
As my attention wanders, I notice a group of teenage girls a few blankets away ogling him, giggling whispers coming from behind their raised hands. I push up onto my elbow and look around. Multiple groups of strangers shoot looks over at Caleb, mostly women but some men too.
“Are you aware that even with your disguise, people are looking at you?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Are they?” he asks absently, shredding a napkin into tiny pieces. He puts the scraps of paper aside and surveys the crowd around us with a small frown.
I shake my head. “What is it about you that’s so magnetic? Even now, you attract attention.”
He lays down next to me and rolls onto his side with his eyes level to mine. “I honestly don’t know. It’s always been that way.”
I like this. Laying with Caleb right in front of me, his body blocking out the rest of the world until there’s only the two of us.
“My mom says that’s why she brought me to L.A. That everyone kept stopping her in stores or on the street when I was a baby saying I should model or be on TV. I don’t know, though, probably lots of people say that about babies.”
He sighs, reaches out and hesitantly touches my arm, fingers fluttering over my skin, leaving a prickling sensation behind. It’s too much, too overwhelming. I move away and attempt to ignore the hurt that runs across his face.
“How old were you when she moved you to L.A?” I ask, hoping to distract him.
“Two years old. We’re from a tiny farm town. At first, Mom moved with just me. My dad stayed home to keep his job so he could send us money. It was like that for three years, with my parents apart, although they would visit back and forth.”
“Once I started consistently booking roles, Dad quit and moved out to L.A. Not that it really mattered if he was here or there. My dad is pretty passive. He always lets Mom take the lead. I don’t remember much of those early days. I was too little, but Mom talks about it a lot. How we lived in tiny, crappy apartments and spent all our time going to auditions.”
“That must have been hard. Your mom on her own with a young child in a strange city.”
“I suppose it was.” He angles his head and stares up into the sky. Fluffy white clouds drift overhead, swirling into different shapes. I turn to watch the clouds with him, naming them in my mind as they transform into a rabbit, a lion, a swan.
“When I was young, we were close. My mom and me. She was always with me on set. As my career took off and I got older, things became more difficult. She was busy negotiating my contracts and arranging my next role.”
