Page 11 of How to Kiss a Movie Star
I sigh. “A couple miles down the road.”
He nods and opens the back door of the cruiser, holding it for me while I climb in.
Seconds later, we’re driving past the main house—it doesn’t look so gorgeous anymore—and passing Flint, who is standing on the stone walkway that leads up to the front door. His thumbs are hooked on the front pockets of his pants, and he looks casual and comfortable and stupidly delicious.
We make eye contact through the window, and I give him my most serious glare.
His eyebrows lift the slightest bit, but otherwise, his expression remains neutral.
I hope he understands exactly what I’m trying to say.
He may have won this battle, but he isn’t going to win the war.
For the squirrels.
Chapter Three
Audrey
It’snearlydarkbythe time I pull into my driveway. The lights inside my house are blazing, which can only mean my twin sisters, Lucy and Summer, who rent the basement apartment of my cozy mountain bungalow, have decided they’d rather hang out atmy houseinstead of their own.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I have a better kitchen than they do, and Lucy loves to cook. I’ve learned not to argue. They always make enough to share, and since Idon’tlike to cook, it’s a situation that works out for all of us.
I’ll even begrudgingly admit that since my little sisters graduated from college a couple of years ago and turned into actual adults, we’ve had a much easier time getting along.
I push through my front door and take a deep breath.Mmm.Something Italian. “Please tell me you made homemade pasta again,” I say as I drop my bag in the entryway and pull off my boots.
Summer pops her head around the corner. “She totally made homemade pasta. And a pesto that’s going to blow your mind.”
“Yes, please. Is there bread? I really need bread.” I follow Summer into the kitchen.
“Brown butter garlic bread,” Lucy says from the stove, and I try not to moan in anticipation.
“How was your squirrel hunt?” she asks as she ladles sauce over the three plates lining the counter.
I settle into a chair at my small kitchen table. “Successful until the Incredible Hulk put me in handcuffs for trespassing.”
My sisters both stop in their tracks and turn to face me. “Umm, what?” Lucy asks.
I grab a piece of bread out of the basket in the center of the table. “So I guess I wastechnicallytrespassing on some famous person’s property, and I got caught. But it was totally stupid because they thought I was trying to take pictures of the guy who actually lives there. Which—why would I ever do that?” I take a bite of bread which is delicious enough to make me cry real, happy tears. “Anyway, the security guy told me I could go if I gave him my memory card, but there was no way I was giving it up after I got a picture of a white squirrelfifty miles away from its native home.” I shrug and cram the rest of my bread into my mouth, suddenly feeling famished. It occurs to me that I haven’t eaten all day, and I reach for another piece. “So the police came, and I was almost arrested, but then they figured out I was a biologist, and it was all just a misunderstanding, so they let me go.”
When neither of them responds, I look up, cheeks chipmunk full, and look from one sister to the other. Both of them are staring like I’ve been speaking an entirely different language. “What?” I ask before digging into the second piece of bread.
Lucy puts a plate in front of me, her movements slow and deliberate, then lowers herself into the chair across from me. “Audrey. What famous person?”
I pick up my fork. “I don’t know. Flint somebody? Am I supposed to know who he is?”
Summer’s jaw drops. “Youdon’tknow who he is?”
Lucy’s hands are pressed against her chest, and her eyes are wide. “Let me get this straight. Youtrespassedon Flint Hawthorne’s property? As in,theFlint Hawthorne? Did you see him? Did you see his house?”
I take a big bite of pasta and groan. Forget crying over the bread. This pesto is unbelievable. I’m sure Lucy is an excellent nurse, and she seems to really like her job. But I still think she missed her calling in life.
“Audrey!” Summer practically yells, snapping my attention back to their question.
“I met him,” I manage to say in between bites. “And I don’t like him. He won’t let me come back to photograph the squirrels, which is particularly irritating because now I know they’re absolutely living on his property.”
“So it was Flint Hawthorne who bought your research forest,” Summer says, like this is some amazing revelation. She looks at Lucy. “We knew he moved back home. We probably should have made that connection.”
