Page 43 of When Stars Fall

“If you want to come, you’re welcome to.” Ellie shrugs.

“Sounds like fun.” I nudge Haven’s arm.

Haven gives Ellie a triumphant look. A curious exchange. Having me back tomorrow is a victory? Nice to have someone in my corner. My support club is pretty thin on this island. Ellie shakes her head at Haven, love for her niece shining out of every pore.

Pushing back my chair, I clear my plate and grab Haven’s. She thanks me, and I wink. Ellie trails behind me to the kitchen.

“I have to help Haven with her schoolwork.” She puts her plate straight into the dishwasher.

“That’s fine,” I say over my shoulder. “I’ll clean up here.”

“I’ll have to take you to the hotel before Haven goes to bed.”

She’s beside me, her shoulder almost, but not quite, brushing mine. As the sink fills, I focus on Ellie. Do women keep the same perfume for this many years? She smells like vanilla and flowers—exactly like I remember. The small space between us vibrates, two magnets struggling to stay apart. She adjusts the plug for the drain, and her arm brushes mine. She snatches her hand back like I’ve shocked her. It’s too humid here for static electricity. I know what she feels; I feel it too.

“Calshae said she’d pick me up if it’s too hard for you to get me to the hotel.” The more time I get with Ellie, the better my chances will be at the end of the week.

“Is that so?” She chuckles, leaning her hip against the counter to face me. “Trust you to get the hotel owner’s daughter to volunteer to be your personal driver while you’re here.”

“She’s very concerned with customer service,” I tease Ellie as I sink my hands into the soapy water.

“I bet she is.” She pushes off the counter and puts away the leftovers before disappearing to help Haven.

Not wanting to disturb Haven’s homework routine with my presence, I take my time cleaning. I’m wiping down the counters when Haven comes in and throws herself at me, enveloping me around the middle. With a chuckle, I drop the cloth to pick her up. Her weightlessness amazes me. Her eyes are a striking blue, and she scans my face in return, grinning.

“No one ever picks me up anymore unless they’re carrying me to bed,” Haven says.

“You’re pretty light.” I bounce her in my arms to prove my point. She’s slight like her grandmother and aunt. There’s almost nothing to her.

She shrugs. “I guess.” She loops her arms around my neck. “I’m done my schoolwork, so I have to go to bed.”

“Already?” I check the clock. Later than I thought.

“Yeah.” Her eyes connect with mine and she says, “You have pretty eyes.”

“I get that a lot.”

“I do too,” she whispers.

“You must get the color from your grandmother and your mother,” I say. “They both have blue eyes too.”

Ellie appears in the doorway. “You ready?” she asks Haven.

Haven hesitates for a beat longer, as though there is more she wants to say, something I’m not getting. She stares at Ellie in a silent exchange.

“Let’s go.” Ellie motions with her hand for Haven to follow.

“Want me to carry you to the room you’re sleeping in?”

Haven hesitates, and Ellie half turns. Haven shakes her head, and I set her down. While I stand in the kitchen entry, they disappear behind the opaque door that conceals the hallway and bedrooms.

On the back patio, I grab a seat in one of the recliners. The ocean waves lap against the towering cliff edge, and the tree frogs serenade me. Life is good here, in this house. I unlock my phone to find a host of social media alerts and Throwback Thursdays dedicated to me and Ellie. Ah, yes. The media storm is still swirling far away from us. I scroll through the posts with my fake accounts, liking some, reposting others. The temptation to write something, anything, almost gets a foothold in me. But if I fan the flames more and bring the press to her doorstep, I’ll be dead in the water. No one knows I’m here. She loves her privacy as much as I love the publicity. #Wyllie is still trending across several platforms.

I click on my email. My manager has a note to call him. The costar in my next film dropped out, which is going to delay production. Camila sent me an update on Anna and Jamal. Everything seems well with them. I breathe a sigh of relief. Anna is a loose cannon, but I pay Camila well to provide stability when I’m not there to do it.

Ellie comes out the doors and flops down beside me. “Success,” she says.

“She’s sleeping?” I close my phone and stuff it into my pocket. I don’t want to remind Ellie about the world out there waiting for us to emerge.

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