Love on the Sound Page 11

  “Ms. Malone.” Ben tried his most charming smile. “I can understand why you’re hesitant. After all, I sang a medley of songs from the Sound of Music—quite badly—on national TV. I’m sure you’ve seen the clip.”

  That got her attention. She flushed and looked away for a minute, then met his eyes. “I have. And—”

  “I assure you, that was a one time thing. You’re not going to be hauling bottles of vodka out of my room, and the last thing I want to do is face any more reporters. I’m looking for a quiet place to hole up to get away from everything for a while. You’ll hardly know I’m here.”

  “I doubt that,” she noted, arching her eyebrow.

  “Look.” He dropped the charm and went for honesty. “When I drove up to this place yesterday, it was just like I’d imagined it would be—peaceful, beautiful, welcoming. When I walked into the gardens in the back, it took my breath away. And, the room, it’s perfect. I haven’t slept that well in months. Maybe longer. You’ve got an amazing place here, and I don’t want a big resort. This suits me.”

  She appeared to soften a little. “Thank you.” He thought she was going to relent, but then she squared her shoulders and seemed to shake off whatever second thoughts she was having. “But, as you may have noticed in your shower this morning, we don’t carry Molton Brown body products.”

  Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that was definitely not one of them. Ben frowned, wondering why the hell he’d care about some girly bath product. The only thing he’d noticed about the shower was that it was hot, and the spray firm.

  “Or any Peruvian coffee,” she continued.

  Okay, this was a little weird. He liked coffee as much as the next guy, but he didn’t much care where it came from. But, he knew from the reading he’d done online, the island had a large population of artists and lots of organic farms and products, so maybe it was a fair trade thing, and some previous guests had chewed her out.

  “Plain soap is fine with me,” he said with an easy smile. “And, as long as the coffee has caffeine, that’s all I need. I really just want to be treated like any other guest, Ms. Malone.”

  She studied him, her eyes narrowed. “Right.”

  Ben sighed. He was used to correcting the assumption that because he was a movie star, he would be a demanding, whiny bastard. But, it was still annoying when people automatically jumped to that assumption. “I just want to be alone,” he noted, and then rolled his eyes at himself. “Not to pull a Greta Garbo or anything.”

  He thought he saw her hide a smile but wasn’t sure. “I’ll acknowledge that my being here could cause you extra work if the paparazzi does find me, so I’m even willing to pay a higher room rate,” he added on impulse.

  Gotcha, he thought when she hesitated. He could almost see her running the numbers in her head. When she quoted him her “premium room rate,” it seemed a little high, and he’d be willing to bet she plucked the number out of the air, but then again he had no idea how much her normal rate was. Kendra usually took care of that.

  “I’d like to stay eight weeks, possibly more,” Ben said. “Is that possible?”

  Once again, she studied him, brown eyes serious, appearing to be waging an internal debate with herself. Finally, she nodded, and extended her hand. “It’s a deal, Mr. Morrison.”

  “Ben,” he corrected, shaking her hand and noting the calluses on the palm, a contrast to the soft skin that his thumb brushed over.

  She nodded. “I’m Amy.” She brushed past him to the reception desk, glancing over her shoulder to ensure he was following her. “Shall we settle the bill weekly, then? Do you want me to charge it to your card?”

  “That’s fine.” He crossed around to the front of the reception desk and leaned on the counter. “Is there somewhere in town you’d recommend for breakfast?”

  A faint, slightly wicked smile crossed her lips for an instant, and then disappeared. “I’d suggest Hannah Bobanna’s in the village. Can I help you with your bags?”

  “No, I’m good, thanks,” he said, noticing the slight curve of her biceps under her t-shirt. “My sailboat should be arriving today, to Fisherman Bay. Is that close to the village?”

  Amy pulled out a map and unfolded it on the counter, making a red circle on the curve of Lopez Sound. “Here’s where we are.” She traced a route almost straight across the Island. “Here’s the village, and Hannah’s café is on Lopez Road South. Fisherman’s Bay is here.” She pointed to a small bay just south of the village. “Your boat is probably being sent to dock at Bill’s Marina, right here. It’s pretty hard to get lost, but if you do, just stop and ask—people are very friendly.”

  “I noticed that. I got more waves on the drive from the dock than I do driving down the street in L.A.”

  She smiled. “That’s a local custom, to wave at your fellow drivers whether you know them or not.”

  “Oh.” Ben grinned. “Guess that takes me down a peg or two. I thought I was being recognized.”

  “I’m sure they did,” she said, her smile fading as she tidied up the paperwork.

  “What is the likelihood of someone calling the reporters when word gets out that I’m here?”

  “We’re a quiet island,” she said coolly. “Most people here like their peace, and their privacy. I doubt you’ll have any trouble.”

  Yep, his landlady did not like him. You wanted privacy and quiet, Ben reminded himself. Much better than someone who was a huge fan and wanted to chat him up all the time. Still, he couldn’t resist having a little fun.

  “I better let you go,” he said, folding up the map and sticking it in his back pocket. “You’re going to be late for your appointment.”

  For just a second, she looked at him blankly, and then she flushed. “Yes, thank you for reminding me.”

  “Maybe I could follow you in to town since you’re going anyway? Much easier than trying to read the map.” He smiled, and watched her figure out how to get out of this one. “I’ll just wait right here if you want to go lock up.”

  Yeah, it was petty, he thought as he leaned against the desk and waited while she strode back to the kitchen, no doubt to utter some choice words about him out of earshot. But, satisfying. Still, as he waited, he felt a twinge of guilt about dragging her into town when she probably had other things to do. Of course, she was the one who’d made up the appointment in the first place.

  He had to hand it to her, she didn’t keep him waiting. In five minutes, she’d arrived back downstairs, her hair still damp but tousled becomingly around her face, purse in hand. Outside, she paused at the door of the pickup. “I’ll take you by Hannah’s—you can’t miss it. The door is bright purple, and you’ll see the sandwich board on the sidewalk.”

  She drove a bit slowly for his taste, and sure enough, he noticed her waving to every car or person that she saw. He forced himself to sit back and take in his surroundings. This was a vacation, after all. He hadn’t been on vacation in…he tried to remember and failed. Any time off between films usually involved large amounts of sleeping and/or partying. Amy stopped on the road ahead, and he craned his head to see a chicken squawking its way across the road. Amused, Ben inched forward to get a better look. He’d wanted remote, and this was definitely it.

  The village was a tiny cluster of buildings scattered helter-skelter across three blocks. He noticed an organic grocery store, a kayak outfit and a bookstore before Amy slowed down and pointed to her right. Sure enough, there was Hannah Bobanna’s Bakery with its purple door. He swung into a parking spot and waved to Amy as she drove off, wondering with a smile if she’d just loop around the village and head straight back to the inn.

  Stepping outside, he lifted his face to the sun. A cool breeze from the sea hinted at the upcoming fall and brought with it scents of fish and salt. He hadn’t realized how smoggy the L.A. air was until he took a deep breath and felt energized, rather than stifled. The streets were nearly empty. The people that were out were dressed in jeans or shorts—not a suit in
sight. Instead of the whine of traffic, and the shrill trilling of cell phones, the only sound was the waves lapping at the shore, and the soft jazz music piping out of the bakery.

  No one paid the slightest bit of attention to him. He didn’t have any appointments, calls to return or scripts to read. Ben grinned and headed into the bakery to stuff himself with sugar and then wander around town. Or maybe, just go back to On the Sound and nap in the sunny backyard. His vacation was off to a great start.

  ***

  After checking in at the marina and finding out that his boat was due to arrive the next day, Ben took his time driving around the Island. Green fields surrounded the narrow roads. Here and there, he noticed small groups of alpaca grazing behind fences, as well as sheep and cows. Around everything, the sea gleamed blue and bright. He was going to spend the whole day tomorrow on his boat, he thought as he pulled into On the Sound’s driveway next to Amy’s pickup. Alone out on the sea, in the sun. God, he couldn’t wait.

  It took him two trips to haul his suitcases and laptop up to his room. Amy was nowhere in sight. When he was done, he surveyed the garden out his window and didn’t see her there, either. Snagging the sandwich he’d gotten at the bakery, he headed outside to the garden, and on impulse, continued down the slope to the beach. He munched on the sandwich, which was every bit as good as the muffin he’d had for breakfast, while he sat on the cool sand and watched the seagulls squawk and swoop across the bay.

  He stretched out on the sand for a while, watching the play of the light on the water and the fishermen’s boats as they bobbed up and down on the waves. Wanting to stretch his legs, he got up and began walking down the beach.

  His cell vibrated, and he thought about ignoring it, but decided to check the caller ID. It was Steve, and he winced. Shit, with everything going on, he’d completely forgotten to call either of his friends and let them know where he was.

  “Hey man, how’s it going?” He tried to play it casual.

  “Well, my best friend is either a) an alcoholic on a spiral to sure death, b) a washed up Hollywood has-been, c) forcibly taken to rehab after almost dying from alcohol poisoning, or d) all of the above. So, it’s not going that great, thanks.” Steve’s normally even drawl had a hard, clipped edge to it.

  “How about, e) none of the above.” Ben said, frowning. “Why are you watching those shows anyway? They’re just making shit up.”

  “I wouldn’t know whether it’s true or not. You haven’t returned Lucas’ calls, or mine.”

  Shit. Ben opened his mouth to reply, but Steve kept going.

  “You’ve been out of touch for months—if you’re too busy or too fucking important to hang out, then fine, cool. But, when we see you making an ass out of yourself in front of the whole country and hear rumors that they’re carting truckfuls of vodka out of your trailer on the set, at least take five minutes to talk to us and let us know you’re okay.”

  Ben sat down on a sandbank and propped his elbows up on his knees. “I’m okay. Really, I am. And, I meant to call Lucas back, and you too, but I’ve had reporters swarming my house, and people calling all day long, and I realized I had to get out of town. Take a break. So I’m staying at this little B&B on Lopez Island.”

  There was silence, and Steve sighed. “We’re worried about you.”

  “I was going to call and let you know where I was. It’s just.…” Ben trailed off and looked out at the water. “I wasn’t even supposed to be here until Friday. I just felt like I was suffocating trapped in that house, you know? Can’t even go out in the yard without reporters taking photos and screaming questions at me. I just threw a bunch of stuff in bags and left—no one knows I’m here except my assistant and now you.”

  “So, what’s the deal?” Steve sounded less pissed, but his voice still seemed...different. Reserved. Ben rested his forehead on his palm and wished they were having this conversation face to face. The last time they’d hung out had been…when? Six, seven months ago? God, he was an asshole.

  “Look, I got drunk the night before I went on the Today show—totally forgot I was going on. I didn’t get home until 4 a.m., and when I had to get up at 6 to do the show, I was still drunk. That’s all. I was an idiot.” He paused. “And they aren’t hauling crates of vodka from my trailer. There’s no trailer for them to haul from now anyway—they fired me.”

  “I heard.”

  “Maybe I was drinking a little but I swear to you that it wasn’t anywhere near problem levels. Come on, Steve, you knew my old man. I’d never do that.” Steve was silent, and Ben felt like throwing his phone into the Sound. “I’m not drinking now. I haven’t touched anything since that night.”

  “You sound okay,” Steve admitted.

  “I am. Now.” Ben sighed. “I’ve been an asshole. I didn’t mean to make you guys worry. I just wasn’t thinking.”

  “Clearly.”

  Silence stretched between them, born of too many months of missed calls, unreturned e-mails. There was a time when he’d have known the classes Steve was teaching this term, what new clients Lucas had signed on. And now…

  Just as he was about to launch into the quiet, Steve spoke up. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I’ve got to run to class, so…I’ll let Lucas know I talked to you.”

  “Sure, or I’ll just call him myself. I owe him an apology, too.”

  “No biggie. Anyway, he’s just getting back into town today—he and Mary took a mini-vacation over Labor Day. So you probably won’t be able to reach him.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Ben sifted a handful of sand through his fingers, watched the grains fall to the ground. “I really am sorry.”

  “Sure, I’m just glad you’re okay. So, keep in touch while you’re…where are you again?”

  “Lopez Island. Part of the San Juans, in Washington?”

  “Sure, sure.”

  Ben laughed, feeling some of his tension ease. “You have no idea where that is, do you?”

  “Sure, no, I know all about the San Juans. In Washington. Yeah.”

  Ben heard the smile in Steve’s voice. “See, there are these states west of the Rockies, you East Coast ignoramus. Lucas will deny it, but don’t you believe him. There’s California, then Oregon, then wayyy up north is Washington.”

  “Jesus, there are states west of the Rockies? Who in their right mind would live there?”

  They laughed, and for a moment as they said their goodbyes, it was like old times. Still, when he hung up, Ben sat for a long time watching the water, and the wisps of clouds moving across the blue sky. The problem with Steve and Lucas was that he couldn’t BS them the way he could everyone else. And so, he realized, he’d kept them at arms length lately. Because he hadn’t been ready to admit to himself just how miserable he was.

  He got up and brushed the sand from his jeans. Walking back to the inn, he surveyed the remote island, nothing but sea all the way out to the horizon. He really had no idea why he was here, he admitted as the inn came into view. Or, what he would do when his eight weeks were up. The thought of returning to L.A., to his big, empty, perfectly decorated house, made his stomach clench.

  And so, he brushed it away. One day at a time, he told himself. Tomorrow, he’d spend the day out on the ocean on his boat. Then the next day, well, that was the beauty of it. Relaxing again, he strolled up to On the Sound’s yard and parked himself in an Adirondack chair, closed his eyes, and felt a smile cross his lips. For the first time in years, he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted.

  Chapter 8

  At Hannah’s bakery, a purple flyer pasted on the window read, “Book Club Tonight.” Inside, Nell held up one end of the table, Hannah the other, as they crab walked to the back of the café.

  “Need any help?” Amy called as she walked inside.

  Hannah looked over and her eyes widened. “There you are!”

  “Careful,” Nell complained when the table banged against her knee.

  “Sorry, honey.” Hannah nodded to the far corner of the caf
é. “This goes against the wall.”

  Amy grabbed the two chairs and brought them back where Hannah and Nell were setting the table down. Hannah grabbed her arm. “I’ve been dying to know.” She lowered her voice. “Is he your mystery guest? Mr. Huckleberry Muffin Lover?”

  When Amy nodded, laughing, Hannah collapsed into the chair. “I knew it! I was so tempted, you don’t even know. When he walked in here on Tuesday and mentioned he was staying here, I thought, no way. This can’t be a coincidence. And if I had some advance notice,” she arched an eyebrow at Amy, “I could have brewed up some Folgers and told him it was from the hills of Peru.”

  Amy sat down in the other chair. “Sorry, I wanted to call you but I didn’t expect that he would stay. And then he followed me into the village that day so I didn’t want him to see me on my cell…”

  “What are you talking about?” Nell frowned, looking back and forth between them.

  “And, God, you are not kidding about those muffins. He won’t shut up about them.” Amy rolled her eyes. “Those muffins, they’re the best things he’s ever eaten. So light, so fluffy, he can’t believe I don’t eat them every day. If he lived here, he’d eat them every day, morning, noon and night.”

  “I know! That’s what he says every time he comes in. Amy, he’s so nice. Seriously.” Hannah leaned across the table, lowering her voice. “I can’t believe this is the same man who wrote that nasty e-mail.”

  “Technically, his assistant wrote it.” Amy shrugged. “But whatever. He’s an actor, he can be nice when he wants to be. I—”

  “Someone tell me what the hell is going on,” Nell demanded, dragging over another chair.

  Amy looked at Hannah. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “I’ve been out of town—had some clients who wanted me to fly them to Seattle and I took a few days off there. Tell me what?”

  “Amy’s mystery guest showed up.” Hannah adjusted the frames of her glasses, which were an electric purple today.