Page 24 of Hello Darling
8
Evan
With my baseball cap on, I carry two takeaway cups of coffee out of the hotel lobby and turn to walk up Main Street towards Starkey Fitness. It is still dark as night and the street lamps are lit. The sidewalks are wide, and as I admire the well-kept brick buildings and charming storefronts—wondering why the hell there’s a mannequin wearing Cricket whites in one window—I regret having asked my New York business manager to see about letting that secluded house sooner rather than later. Privacy is important, but this town is so charming I might enjoy staying at the heart of it a while longer.
Speaking of hearts, mine starts racing when I approach the gym and catch sight of the female Starkey inside of it. Switching on the lights, she is suddenly illuminated behind sheer white curtains as if behind a scrim on stage, and I get a clear vision of how our dramedy will play out.
She is placing something on the floor behind her welcome desk when I open the front door, the jingle of the bells causing her to freeze in position for a moment, before turning to face me. Her face lights up as soon as she sees me, she takes in a deep breath, and then, just as quickly, she manages to assemble her facial muscles into a mask of polite professional welcome.
“Hello darling. What a lovely surprise.”
She purses her lips, slow-blinks her eyes and says: “My brother bailed. He texted me late last night to tell me he didn’t want to leave his place early because then his dog’s digestive system would be off-schedule.”
I laugh. “Makes sense.”
She tilts her head to one side, squinting. “And aren’t you the English actor that I told could drop the act with me?”
“I am that very fortunate English actor. And I have. And you may drop your act with me as well.”
Frown, followed by a scoff. “I don’t have an act.”
“Oh no?” I watch her squirm adorably for another few seconds, before offering a cup of coffee. “Regardless. I’m sorry to inconvenience you. I brought coffee from the hotel lobby. It’s black—I don’t know how you like it.”
“Thank you. Mmmm.” I watch her inhale the bittersweet aroma and find myself catching my own breath as I watch her marvelous chest heave.
“You look very tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
She wrinkles her nose at me.
“I’m sorry to get you out of bed so early. It’s quite the opposite of what I want.”
I watch her gulp down her coffee. She stares at me, trying to decide if she heard me correctly, trying to decipher if I could possibly have meant it in the way that she thinks when I had said it so politely.
That’s right. I want to get you into bed, not out of it, darling.
She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. Trying to shake me off, but it’s not going to be quite so easy now, is it? She clears her throat. “I will be fine. If this coffee doesn’t wake me up maybe you could tell me about those turnips in Cornwall again. That’s sure to give me a jolt.”
It’s almost as if every time she opens her sassy mouth, what she’s really doing is asking me for a spanking…A soft undeniably sexual guttural sound escapes my throat as I picture it. I cover my mouth and cough politely. Incredibly, she doesn’t seem to have noticed, because she lifts up a cupcake carrier from the floor, places it on top of her desk, uncovers it and reveals it to be a bounty of mouthwatering goodness, just like she is.
“Gluten-free carrot cake muffins? The cream cheese frosting is organic and lactose-free.”
This time I don’t try to hide the loud groan. “You’re killing me. Carrot cake is my favorite and they look perfect, but I can’t eat until after ten.”
She looks a bit disappointed that I won’t be sampling her goods, and that pleases me. “You’re intermittent fasting?”
“Indeed, I am.”
She replaces the cover on the carrier after taking a muffin for herself. She takes a big bite out of the top of that muffin, savoring it and licking the cream cheese frosting from her upper lip before wiping it with the back of her hand and then licking the bit of frosting from the back of her hand. She really is killing me.
“Full-on workout scheduleandintermittent fasting? That’s like, the fitness model slash superhero regimen. Just how much of yourself will you be revealing to the audience in this film?”
“More than most women can handle.” I grin, as I lean forward to rest my forearms on top of the desk.
She laughs. And rightly so. I do too.
