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A grin spread across my face when my phone finally buzzed, and I looked down to see a text from Allie. After swiping my finger across the screen to open the message, I felt my smile grow even as I wondered why she wasn't calling instead.
Allie: Holy flowers, Batman!! I've never seen such a big bouquet before, and the fact that you sent Popcornopolis popcorn is incredible. You outdid yourself.There was a selfie attached. In it, she stood in front of a massive arrangement of yellow and white roses. A mountain of popcorn bags (I'd sent twenty-four, a dozen each of the two flavors she'd chosen when we went to the Santa Monica Pier) was visible as well, and the joy in Allie's expression was easy to see.
Before I could call her myself, my phone rang. After pressing accept, I brought it to my ear.
"Hi, baby."
"I wanted to send the selfie before I called so you could see how amazing the bouquet is," she explained.
"They're great, but I promise you the most amazing thing in that photo isn't the flowers."
"It's the popcorn, isn't it?" she joked.
"Nope, it's the smoking hot blonde standing in front of it all. Do you know her number?"
She let out a sweet-sounding laugh. "You're a dork."
"Only for you," I answered, which was true.
"I'm glad," she said.
Setting my laptop aside, I leaned back into my couch and propped my feet up on the coffee table as I got more comfortable. "Tell me all about your first day on set," I instructed. "Did you like watching your words come to life?"
She made an excited noise. "I wrote my first screenplay—all four pages of it—in eighth grade. Since then, I've imagined what this would be like so many times it's embarrassing. I'm happy to say that today surpassed every single one of my expectations. The table read last week was fantastic, but being here with sets and the wardrobe is more than a dream come true. Today added another layer to what I do, and it's perfect."
The enthusiasm in her voice made me happy. As much as I hated our temporary separation, I loved that she was living her dream.
"Did you take any pictures?"
"Mason is determined to keep the twist at the end under wraps, so it's a closed set. That means no phones or cameras for anyone. He had someone there today to take photos, but I won't see those until later. Even without being able to take any myself, I know I'll never forget today."
"That's incredible, baby. Are you dead on your feet now? From your text this morning, I know you didn't get much sleep last night."
She let out a soft laugh. "I'm still exhausted from the weekend," she admitted. "My ravenous man didn't let me sleep much."
"He's lucky you put up with him," I chuckled.
"Trust me, I'm the lucky one," she replied.
"Oh, yeah? What's so great about him?"
"Aside from his incredible tongue and big dick?"
I threw back my head and laughed my ass off. My girl was funny as hell, and I loved it. When I stopped laughing, I teased her. "Glad you like both since they're all yours."
She started to laugh but then trailed off. "Are we crazy?" she blurted.
I furrowed my brow. "Do you mean in general, or is there something specific you're asking?"
"Specifically," she chuckled. "It's scary that we only met a week ago, and I'm already so attached to you."
Fuck, that felt good. "I'm attached to you too, and I miss you like fucking crazy," I admitted.
Even without the benefit of seeing her expression, I was one hundred percent certain she was smiling. "I miss you too," she replied. "Coming back to the hotel tonight and finding your delivery was the perfect end to an amazing day. It would only have been better if you were here with me."
"I promise to work extra hard to make up for it next weekend."
"There's nothing to make up for," she assured me. "I didn't tell you things would've been better if you were here to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know that I miss you."
Fuck, that pulled me up short. Aside from James, I couldn't remember anyone caring about me so much. My mother died in a head-on collision when I was three, and my father gave me up about two months later. I'd been bounced between foster and group homes until I was fourteen, and I'd moved in with the Simmons family.
While Paul and Trudy Simmons weren't cruel, they hadn't been warm and friendly, either. At any given time, they had six to eight foster children in the house, and they never tried to hide the fact it was all for the money. They ran a tight ship, no frills, no extras, but they'd never raised a hand to any of us. After what felt like a never-ending nightmare of being placed with people who didn't hesitate to use belts, wooden spoons, or anything else that could be used to hit a child with, being with the Simmons was a blessing.
