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THORNE
Iperusedtheentrywall of Scarlett’s house with its massive display of family photos while I waited for her to join me. The snapshots ranged in age from infancy to the seventeen-year-old girl I knew now. Each one told a story better than the next. Scarlett, splashing in the surf of the ocean with hair down her back and two missing front teeth. A pudgy-faced toddler with bright rosy cheeks and brown eyes too wide for her little face. The eager-eyed child, standing in front of Batter and Bake with a grand openingsign, her knobby knees and cheeks dusted with freckles. And one I imagine they took recently. Scarlett beside Penelope, both dressed in formal gowns and laughing for the camera.
I wondered if I might ever grace the wall. If Scarlett and I would last long enough to earn ourselves a place there.
A lump formed in my throat at the thought, and I stepped away from the memories when incoming footsteps alerted me someone was coming.
Mrs. Rees appeared by my shoulder and handed me the glass of water she’d gone to retrieve. Her gaze focused on one of the photos in front of us, a close-up of Scarlett sporting a goofy grin and holding a turtle up to the camera.
“She was twelve there,” Mrs. Rees said.
There was the shuffling of steps, and then Mr. Rees appeared. Turning toward him, she asked, “Stephen, do you remember that trip?” She turned back to me with a smile, explaining, “It was to the Shenandoah. We were at this scenic overlook, and of course, Scarlett spotted the turtle on the side of the road and was convinced he’d get hit by a car, so she picked him up and moved him off the road into the trees.”
A small smile touched the corners of my lips. She was twelve, only two years after my life changed. While Scarlett was taking family trips to the mountains and saving turtles, I was studying lines and reciting them in front of a camera. At the time, it was what I wanted—it still was—but no one equipped me with the tools I needed to handle fame and fortune. I didn’t know what to do or how to react when my world changed suddenly overnight.
Maybe I would’ve been better off waiting to act until I was older, more mature. If I had more tools to cope with the money, fame, and lack of normalcy, I would've been better off.
“Ready?” Scarlett’s voice sliced through my thoughts.
I turned to see her standing at the entrance of the hallway, wearing a pair of artfully ripped jeans with knee-high black boots and a slouchy black sweater. She was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. I’d seen women in ballgowns and designer clothes that could pay a person’s mortgage, swimsuits so tiny I could use them as floss, and even nothing at all. And yet, she took my breath away.
“Oh, so soon?” Mrs. Rees frowned. “I was hoping he could stay and chat awhile.”
“We probably need to get go—”
“We could spare a few minutes,” I said, cutting Scarlett off.
Her gaze darted to mine, and she scowled. “But I thought—”
I waved her off. “A few minutes won’t hurt.”
The truth was the moment we walked into the party tonight, we’d be bombarded with actors and producers and the need to impress, when all I wanted was to stay in her world just a minute longer.
Scarlett glared a hole in my back, clearly unhappy with the prospect of chatting with her parents when she could be at a party, while I politely followed them into the living room. Two overstuffed chairs flanked a large sofa adorned with brightly colored pillows. A giant stone fireplace crackled beside it. A bottle of wine and stemless glasses sat on the large walnut coffee table, along with a plate of cheese and crackers. An intimate night in for a couple clearly still in love after years of marriage.
I felt a pang in my chest at the thought, knowing my career didn’t often allow for such luxuries. Celebrity marriages were lucky to last six years.
“I hope we’re not interrupting,” I said.
“We are—”
“Of course not!” Mrs. Rees cut Scarlett off, then added, “Don’t be silly.” Her mother frowned and waved the concern away. “She’s just moody because she didn’t get to sketch today.”
“I amnotmoody.” Scarlett crossed her arms over her chest while I stifled a laugh.
With a sigh, she followed me to the sofa, where we took a seat beside each other.
“Can we get you anything else?” Mr. Rees asked, eyeing my water.
“No thank you, sir,” I said as Scarlett’s eyes, laser-sharp, bore into the side of my skull.
“He’s so polite, Stephen,” Mrs. Rees said with a flap of the hand. “Isn’t he polite?” she asked Scarlett with a smile.
“Yeah, he’s a regular Mr. Rogers,” Scarlett mumbled.
“We were just sitting here, planning our summer vacation,” Mrs. Rees continued, ignoring her daughter. “Every year we go to the beach and we were talking about trying something different this year.”
I nodded. “What beach?”
