Page 12 of Take Hold of Me

I cross my arms across my chest. “I would love that.” And the need to check out the women working for him rears its green-eyes.

A different server comes to our table and refills both of our glasses. I raise mine to my lunch companion. “To new beginnings.”

He adds, “And leaving the past where it belongs.”

He touches my glass with his. I bring my glass to my lips but refuse to drink, placing it down on the table instead. Head bowed, I correct him. “Not everything in the past was bad.” Images of him and me sitting side-by-side talking through the night replay in my mind, subsumed by thoughts of his toe-curling kisses. His strong arms around me.

My eyes land on his lips when he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I need a fresh start.”

Before I can reply, two more servers appear at our table, each carrying one of our lunches. Picking up my fork, I dip the tines into the vinaigrette and spear some lettuce. How can I reach him? “I am also starting fresh. Here in LA. For example, I am learning how to drive, and I have a great teacher.” I point my fork at him before putting the bite into my mouth.

“How is it that you’ve never learned how to drive?” His eyes crinkle as his lips move upward before closing around his sandwich.

Happy for a safe topic, I cut a piece of chicken while replying, “I left Paris when I was fifteen and have been modeling ever since. I never was in one place for too long and there always were drivers available. When I was in Paris for a break with my family, either they would drive me around, or I would hire a car or even take the Metro. So, here I am, twenty-five and hanging with all the California teenagers to earn my driving license.”

I giggle, and his reciprocating chuckle warms my heart. My cell phone rings, breaking our happy moment. Looking down, McKenna’s name and face light up my screen, which I hold up so Wills can see. When he was guarding Cole, he got to know Rose’s best friend like I did. Even though she is Rose’s only attendant for her wedding, McKenna has asked me for help in planning the bridal shower. Wills nods once, and I pick up.

“Emilie, I’m so happy I caught you! I’m in a bind and need your help.”

Smiling, I puff up. I am making some real friends in America. “What can I do for you?”

“I justhave to havePacific Ocean beach sand for the bridal scavenger hunt and I obviously can’t get my hands on that out here in Vegas.”

The beach is a twenty-minute drive from my house. My eyes travel to my driving instructor, who is finishing up his lunch. “I think I can handle that. How much do you need?”

“Oh, not that much. Five milk containers should be enough.”

“Five gallons of sand? What on earth are you planning?” Wills tilts his head and I shrug.

McKenna giggles. “It’s something I’ve been working on. A surprise.”

“But the surprise is for Rose. You can tell me.”

“Oh, no. It’s a surprise for everyone. Maid of honor privileges.”

Laughing with her, I reply, “Okay, fine. I will overnight the sand to you before I fly out next Saturday.”

“Whew. I knew I could count on you. Well, I would love to chat, but I have so much going on for Rose’s shower. Thanks for being a lifesaver with the sand. Gotta run! See you next week.”

Grinning, I put my phone down and say, “Looks like I will have to drive to the ocean to pick up some beach sand by next week. Would you be able to take any more time away from working at your gym to help me drive there?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, sending shivers of longing down my spine. He looks down and responds, “I’ll check my schedule.”

Not a no! I count this as progress.

After at least four more servers cleared our plates, refreshed our drinks—again—offered coffee, tea and dessert and took payment, we are finally ready to leave. Wills refused to let me pay for our lunch, even though I wanted to as a thank you for my driving class. Anyway, I am sure the rest of the diners will appreciate having their servers back, as all the wait staff stopped by our table at least once during our meal.

While we walk through the restaurant, heads turn. I don my modeling mask and try to ignore the hairs on the back of my neck prickling with each step. Per my therapist’s strategy, I picture myself at acaféin Paris in May.

Like a mind-reader, Wills grabs my hand, halting me mid-stride, and whispers in my ear, “Brace yourself. I think our parade of servers tipped off the media that you’re here.”

I nod and tighten my grip in his large, protective hand. We resume our measured walk to the front of the restaurant where a bunch of people stand, both inside and outside the entrance.

When we approach the hostess stand, Wills steers me into the coat closet which, given the warm August weather, is empty. He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “I don’t want to leave you alone in here, but I also don’t want you standing outside where there are too many people and probably paparazzi. I’m going to have the hostess prevent others from bothering you while I give my ticket to the valet. I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

Heart thudding, I nod and peek through the Dutch doorway to watch as he makes his way to the hostess stand, his eyes returning to check on me every few seconds. Reaching into his wallet and handing the hostess a bill, he pins me in place with a hard stare. One that I witnessed many times when he was guarding Cole and me during our publicity dates. Despite my fears, an errant giggle tries to surface, but I push it down. He may think he left his bodyguarding days behind, but I know better.

He disappears out the front door and I burrow back into the corner, keeping my professional smile in place. It is a good thing the door hides my lower half. No one can see how tense the rest of my body has become. I concentrate on taking even breaths. Try to smell fresh croissants.

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