13
I hear the buzzer about five minutes after Brian's announcement. I ignore it the first time, chopping up garlic instead. About thirty seconds later it buzzes again, this time repeatedly. I toss the garlic into the pot and wipe my hands on a towel before eyeing Brian. He’s sitting at the table looking down at my laptop. The corner of his lips tip up in attempt to suppress his grin.
I pick up the receiver and huff, "Hello."
"Sammy”—his voices goes out, I think he hung up, until I hear—"Can I come up?"
"Ha,” I turn around so I’m facing away from Brian, “I've heard that before, jackass." Brian barks out a laugh.
"Sammy, if you let me up I can explain."
“I can hear you just fine,” I cross my arms over my chest.
“So can half the people walking down your block,” His point is proven when I hear laughter from a passerby. Someone seems to find his situation fun as well. “Please Samantha, can I come up?”
"Fine," I grit out through clenched teeth. I hit the button to open the door and return to the kitchen. The front door is open with the security guys moving around.
I'm almost ready to add in the Cognac and chicken into the Dutch oven. The door creaks open and an unsure looking Beau walks in with no hat and his hair pulled back from his face. The gray tee shirt is a little looser than what he usually wears, but it still strains at his biceps. His jeans are well worn, feet are again covered with only flip flops. I look back down at the food cooking on the stove before he sees me watching him.
He speaks with Brian for a few moments. They speak low, and I don’t bother listening to it. Brian slaps him on the back laughing before he folds up my laptop and walks towards the door.
“I’ll keep the security guys out of your hair for a bit.”
Beau makes his way over to the kitchen and sits at the stool.
"Smells really good," I don't acknowledge the compliment, just keep working. I lift up the heavy pot and place it in the oven, setting a timer.
"Sammy will you look at me?" I look up but still say nothing. This is his show, not mine. I don't have a fiancé hiding under the bed. He breathes in and starts with, "When I ran into you at the market, I thought it was a fluke you didn't recognize me.”
“You’re not that famous,” I roll my eyes partly, because he really is.
Without missing a beat, he picks up, “You dismissed me, sort of like that, and it made me curious. Here I was trying to hide from anyone that might recognize me. Then you ignore me, and I want nothing more than your attention. It was wonderful and shitty all at once." Beau's hands run back and forth over the counter as he talks, "I found you so intriguing and genuine. I heard you telling the cashier you'd be by before you opened the store, so after you left I asked her what store.”
I give him my full attention, leaning my butt on the counter, crossing my arms over my chest.
“That night I found the bookstore online and the Facebook link. I couldn't stop myself. I had to try and see you again. I noticed the book club was meeting in a couple days and hoped you'd be there."
“That’s a bit—” I struggle to find the best words, “I wouldn’t expect that from someone who’s entire life can be googled.”
Beaus brows furrow as he thinks about my comment.
I open the fridge and hand him a water, for something to do now that all the cooking is left to the oven. He seems grateful. He smiles and tips it back, gulping it down.
"I'm not sure what my intentions were when I came to your store. I wanted to see you again.” He looks bashful, “I’m sorry for cyber stalking you.” His eyes dart around the kitchen, glancing at the ingredients still left out on the counter. He continues, “When those women stayed I almost took off, but I wanted talk to you. I helped you clean up as an excuse to stick around.”
Beau pulls his hands down to his sides, forming fists. “But those women behaved just like I'm used to. Like I'm theirs for the taking, a prize to be had. I heard you telling them to grow up, to knock off the bickering. It was nice to have someone be nice to me, stand up for me, and not because they know who I am."
Beau rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flex, and his shirt pulls tighter around his form. It pisses me off that I notice, especially after what he just said. I start gathering the empty cartons and leftover bits of unused ingredients to put away or toss.
"Shit. After that Sammy, I was a mess. I came, and I left just to come back again. I didn't know what to tell you, how to tell you, or even if I should tell you.” He struggles a bit to finish, “I’d left that life behind. It’s too fucked up for me to deal with, and it’s not worth it.” He looks up at me, “I couldn't stay away even with it being difficult to explain everything to you. Once, I realized that, it scared the shit out of me.” He breathes, “I was fighting a losing battle, so I decided I wanted more with you.”
“You have a funny way of showing it. I seriously thought that you ran because of what I told you...about my past.” I’m still in disbelief about what he has confessed.
“I know I didn’t handle it well,” He shakes his head then rubs his hand over his face. “You were already dealing with so much, it just seemed pointless to say,by the way I'm a world-famous actor.” He searches my eyes as he says, “I’m grateful to you Sammy, for treating me like a human, liking me for me, not because I can help you land a role, or even because of this," he points to his gorgeous face.
“It was the flip flops that did it for me,” I gesture to his face much in the same way he did, “I guess I can deal with that, but I’m really all about the toes.”
He laughs at my silly comment; it helps to lighten the seriousness of the conversation. His shoulders ease for the first time since he entered my studio.
