Page 30 of Take It Till You Make It
My smile falls away when I see who it is. I shift so that I’m facing the upcoming line of food and away from him.
“Crispin!” Sally grins. “What are you doing here? You never come to the cantina.”
“Hey Sally. I’m here to apologize to Arabelle.”
That gets me to look over my shoulder, but the sight of his arrogant face just makes me shake my head and turn away.
“Please, Arabelle, can we talk?”
Sally has gone quiet, and I feel like the jerk now, even though he doesn’t deserve my consideration.
“Please,” he repeats. “I screwed up.”
I feel like I’ve been on a rollercoaster since I woke up this morning, and if I don’t get off soon, I’ll toss my cookies. Or maybe not that, because I’m really hungry and I see fajitas. “Let me get my lunch first.”
“Okay, great. I’ll just be over there.” He points to the wall of windows and smiles.
Sally watches him walk away. “Ari, that guy is untethered.”
I watch him sit at a table for two up against the window. No wonder he knew I was here. Had he been waiting for me? “What do you mean?”
“His usual arrogant confidence is nowhere to be found.”
I blink at her and can’t quite hide the smile fighting to escape. “Wait a minute. I thought you said you’ve never seen his arrogant side.”
“No, I didn’t say that. I think I said I don’t see him that way.” Sally grabs a tray and hands it to me before grabbing her own. “I think that’s his persona. The him he shows the world. The thick skin he wears to avoid all the darts and arrows thrown by the media and fans. I think growing up in the industry shapes people differently, and that he automatically hides his real self.”
I narrow my eyes. “Have you seen his real self?”
She shrugs. “I’ve seen hints of it. He’s very solicitous on set. Especially when I’m feeling lost over the set direction or having a hard time finding the mood my character is supposed to be in. He’s right there to help. And there’s no arrogance involved.”
I think about him blowing in my face. That was the first time we worked alone together. The first time I openly struggled in front of him, and she’s right, he was right there to help. But then I think about the goth comment and my blood immediately boils. So thoughtless. He knows I lost my father. How could he not connect those dots?
Sally must see when my anger returns. “I just think you should hear him out. He’s not all bad and that boy…” She points to him. “The one who just asked to speak with you. That boy is feeling something new and doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s facing it anyway.”
“Join the flipping club,” I mumble, as I hold up two fingers for the gal dishing out fajitas.
I give Sally a nod and half a smile as I head in Crispin’s direction. Then I coach myself to keep an open mind and to listen to what he has to say. To hear him. Because if Sally is right, then he may not do a great job explaining himself. I know that from personal experience. I’ve been an incoherent jabbering mess since we lost Dad.
Setting my tray down, I slide into the seat across from Crispin. It seems like everybody in the room is either stealing glances at him or flat-out staring at him because he’s in here, so I’m not sure how private this conversation will be.
“Hey,” he says.
The blush on his cheeks and his inability to hold my gaze racks up points in Sally’s theory column. “Hi.”
He studies my food and frowns. “Those look really good.”
“And that worries you why?”
“I’m just surprised.”
“These are my favorite. Please excuse me for stuffing them in my mouth while we talk. I have no self-control with fajitas.”
He smiles, his gaze tracing across my face with such a fond expression, I want to hide. “Listen, I’m so sorry about what I said.”
I add sour cream to my fajitas while I consider his apology. Finally, I stop and look at him. Really look at him. “Why are you sorry?”
He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”
