Page 10 of Wildest Dreams

One can hope.

After fretting over the movie all day, I relax on the deck with a book I can’t focus on and a glass of merlot. It’s a covered space with an overhead fan, citronella candles to deter mosquitoes, and a soft warm breeze blowing in from over the river. This time, I make sure I have the key to the back door in my pocket. The last thing I want is to have to call Kendall again.

She is cute, though. Awkward, yes, but in an endearing way. She’s naturally beautiful, even though she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed when we met. But even that was adorable. And she had the sweetest smile. Genuine. Not like the women I usually meet, who immediately transform into contrived things to try to impress me. She didn’t even ask for a photo or an autograph, which was nice.

Kendall is warm, and so…normal. It’s refreshing, despite the bizarre circumstances of our meeting. And her Southern accent is so charming I could listen to her talk about nothing all day.

I sound like such a sap.

Maybe I do want to call her again, but this time not to be rescued from an alligator.

I take my wine glass and walk to the ledge of the porch. The moon is full and its reflection dances across the lazy roll of the river. I take in the pulsating sound of a symphony of insects from the nearby woods and, when I look up, I can actually see stars. I close my eyes and breathe.

This is peace. This is quiet.

This is the opposite of LA.

I wonder if Kendall likes living here, if this is her hometown, and what kind of house she lives in. If she has kids, a dog, hobbies. All I know about her is that she’s an accountant with a nice rental property and does not wear a wedding ring.

I should call her.

No, I’m only here for a short time. What’s the point? Meet a girl I actually like only to leave? What if she runs to the tabloids to sell our story? What if she posts crazy stuff about me online? Is it even worth it?

I take a long sip, finishing my wine, then look at my phone. Kendall’s number is the first to pop up on my recent calls, but I scroll past and instead call Harriett.

“Bored yet?” she asks as soon as she answers. Nohello, nohow are you. Just straight to the point, which is why I love her.

I laugh. “No, actually. It’s nice here. I kinda like it.”

“Your movie set is my worst nightmare. That town is boring as shit.”

“Turns out,” I say, “not so boring after all.” I proceed to tell her about Kendall and the alligator. She listens intently with the occasional “no way” peppered through my story.

“Harriett, I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Bertha the alligator?”

“No, Kendall.”

“Really? She’s cute and all, but not your type.”

“Exactly!” I exclaim, raising an arm in excitement as if Harriett can actually see me. “She’s normal! I get zero crazy vibes from her.”

“Have you seen her today?”

“No, but I’m thinking about calling her.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding unsure. “Be careful. You’re not some a random guy off the street.”

“I know, I know.”

We end the call and I sit back down in the rocking chair. I think on it a little more while taking sips of my wine.

I’ll call Kendall tomorrow. I just need to come up with an excuse to talk to her again.

KENDALL

It’s a slow Monday. May is always quiet; all I have to work on is payroll stuff for some local businesses. Patsy comes in with coffee, asks me if I’ve heard from Pierre (I haven’t), puts her Taylor Swift playlist on our office Bluetooth speaker, and sits at the front desk to do her nails.

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