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“I can’t believe I’m going.” Bronte’s stomach flip-flopped as she lifted her suitcase from Tommy’s hatchback. She and Chris hadn’t had the best track record lately, yet here she was on her way to surprise him. She must’ve been on another planet when she’d agreed to her sister’s plan.
And she still hated her best friends. Even if they had stayed up with her on FaceTime last night as she packed.
“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Bronte said, meeting Shelley at the drop-off curb.
“It’s romantic!” Shelley wrapped her arms around her sister. “And you’re going along with it, so it can’t be all that bad. Maybe not the worst idea ever?”
“Hey, have fun, okay?” Tommy said.
Bronte tried to smile at him before leaning in through the open back window to stroke Mason’s cheek and lay a big kiss on Zoe’s head.
“Hey!” Shelley waved. “He’s going to flip out when he sees you.”
That was what she was afraid of. This was going to be a complete shock to him. He still had a few weeks left of filming, and she didn’t know if Chris would hate or love having her there.
She hoisted her carry-on over her shoulder. “See you guys when I get back.”
After an agonizing six-hour flight with a screaming kid two rows back and, even worse, her own screaming nerves, Bronte grabbed a Lyft to check in to a posh Westwood hotel room. She messaged her family’s text thread as well as the girls to let them know she was safe and sound in California then, as instructed, texted Wes. She changed into fresh clothes and redid her hair no fewer than fifteen times before Wes showed up.
“Bronte?”
She squinted up at the man she hadn’t seen in years, although his big smile and peach-colored hair were still the same. “Wes?”
“How the hell are you?” He picked her up from the floor and hugged her tight.
When he put her down, she punched him in the arm. “I can’t believe you’re going along with this. It’s crazy.”
He feigned hurt, grabbing his bicep. “This isn’t crazy. It’s sweet.”
She waved her hands in the air as she pivoted away from him to trudge across the room for her purse. “I flew three thousand miles to surprise CJ Cunningham on set, and what? I’ll show up there and be like, ‘Hey, Chris, what’s up? Remember me, your girlfriend?’”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders up by his ears. “Yeah.”
Looping her bag across her body, she bent over with her hands on her knees. “I think I might puke.”
“You need a doctor?” he asked when she stood up, breathing deep.
“Maybe a Xanax?”
He patted himself down. “Fresh out. I’ll need to make a run to the pharmacy.”
“This is nuts. Am I nuts?” Bronte asked, allowing herself to be guided out of her room and into the elevator.
“It’s Los Angeles. We’re all a little nuts.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Don’t worry. He’s going to love seeing you.” When the elevator doors opened, he gestured for her to walk ahead of him and then pressed the button for the garage. He checked his phone. “He’s filming until about seven tonight. He’s been doing good work. Really good work.”
Inside the garage, the valet brought around Wes’s car, and Bronte hopped into the passenger side. “So, how are you? How’ve you been?”
“I’m great.” He ran his finger along his nose, a spray of freckles making him look younger than his thirty-four years. “Working hard. I’ve been trying to convince CJ to go into production with me.”
“Go into production?”
“Yeah.” He tapped his fingers along the steering wheel to the beat of the Top 40 song. “I think it would be smart if we opened up our own house. You know? Make our own films. He’s got the talent. I’ve got the business sense.”
