Page 31 of Meant to Be

Joe laughed, his face lighting up, then looked directly into my eyes. I held his gaze, feeling a little light-headed. I’d met celebrities before, but no one near this famous—or handsome. Overwhelmed, I had to glance away for a second. When I looked back his way, he was still staring at me.

“I’m Joe, by the way,” he said, extending his arm.

I gave him a half smile, then shook his hand. “I’m Cate. And this is Curtis.”

“It’s great to meet you both,” he said, nodding earnestly.

“Oh, my goodness. Same,” Curtis said. “I’m a big fan. Huge.”

“Thanks, man,” Joe mumbled. A fleeting but unmistakably uncomfortable look crossed his face. “So…what are you guys working on today? A movie?”

“No. It’s a campaign for Calvin Klein,” Curtis said, though we technically weren’t supposed to be divulging any details of the shoot. “Cate is our talent. I’m sure you recognize her?”

I rolled my eyes and said, “I’m sure hedoesn’t.”

“Actually,” Joe said, staring at me with a look of deep concentration. “Youdolook familiar.”

“Yeah, right,” I said.

He wouldn’t have been the first person to recognize me. But it was almost always girls or gay men, with an occasional creeper thrown in.

“I’m serious,” Joe continued, his face becoming more earnest by the second. “You lookreallyfamiliar.” He squinted a little and then said, “Wait. Are you on a billboard near LaGuardia?”

“Oh my God, yes! She is!” Curtis said.

Joe looked smug as he gave me a wink. “Yep. I knew it. I never forget a face. Not one as pretty as yours, anyway.”

It was the kind of line that usually sounded cheesy, but Joe’s delivery was so sincere that it disarmed me, and I could feel my heart flutter a little as I thanked him.

“So where are you from?” Joe asked me.

“New Jersey.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Montclair.”

“You live there now?”

I shook my head and said, “No. Not since high school. I live in the city.”

Joe nodded and said, “And how long have you been modeling?”

“Since I was sixteen,” I said, wondering if he was really trying to discern whether I had gone to college. It was something a lot of people tried to figure out by asking the same sorts of questions.

“But she’s way more than just a pretty face,” Curtis chimed in.

I shot him a look to tone it down, but he ignored it and continued to promote me. “She’s a whole mood…and nobody hasmore style…. She could be the next Anna Wintour. Only not as mean.”

“Maybeas mean,” I said with a smile, hoping to shut Curtisup.

Joe laughed, then bit his lip and lowered his voice. “Well. I’ll keep my eye out for you, for sure.”

He seemed to be flirting with me, and I suddenly felt weak—butterflies-in-my-stomach and clammy-hands weak. I told myself to get a grip. Joe was just a charming guy—everyone knew that—and any second, he would move on with his dog and his day and his life.

But as the minutes passed, he stayed so focused, locked in on me, asking me more questions. Meanwhile, Thursday panted at our feet and Curtis fussed with his makeup kit, humming Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know.”

“Well, I guess I should let you get back to work,” he said after another few minutes of small talk.

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