Page 40 of Hello Darling
“I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well. Stella wouldn’t have told you, she barely talks about it with people. It was a car accident. Right around this time of year. She went instantly, or so we were told, so…”
“That must have been very hard on the family.”
“It was not easy,” Keaton says. “But we got through it. Thanks to Stella, mostly. I mean, it was probably hardest on her and my dad, but she took care of him in a way that we never could. All of us, really.”
“She’s a nice lady, at the end of the day. Believe it or not.” Billy gives me a side-glance before taking a swig of his beer.
“I believe it.”
“Hey, you want a cookie? They’re really good. A little too good, according to some people.”
I stare at the box of enormous biscuits. Everything’s so much bigger in America, including my appetite, when I’m here. My appetite for all things, including sex and cookies. “I do want one, thanks.”
I don’t want to jump the gun or anything, but it seems I have the blessing of the Starkey men when it comes to their sister. The ones I’ve met, anyway. Between myself and The Kwas, I’m the better option for now, I suppose.
Returning from the head again, I take a seat in the salon, to say hello to Chet. Stella is reading a book and eating an apple. I sit here, nuzzling the dog’s neck and staring over at her until she’s ready to acknowledge my presence. When she’s chewed that apple down to the core, she stands up, still holding the book, and she glances down at me as she walks past to toss the core into the bin.
“I keep forgetting to tell you,” I say, keeping my attention on Chet, “that I did end up passing on that project that I hated.”
“Really? Good for you. And the world hasn’t ended.” She comes back round and takes a seat next to me. “Was your agent mad?”
“Actually, he apologized for sending me that crap. He knew it was shit. It was fine. Then two days later I saw in the trades that the same project got a green light with James McAvoy attached instead of me.”
She scrunches up her face. “Who?”
“Bless you for that.” At least I’m not the only UK actor she doesn’t give a shit about. “You have plans for tonight?”
She fixes me with one of her analytical stares, and finally asks: “Are you rebounding from being dumped? Because if that’s what this is—”
“I don’t know. I’ve never rebounded from being dumped before. And I’ve never felt so drawn to a woman the way I’m drawn to you.”
“Is that a line?”
“No. Somehow the God’s honest truth about how I feel about you always sounds like a line. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know if I’m attracted to you because I’m not dealing with something else. I just know that I’m really fucking attracted to you. Georgia and I were only a superficial couple. I mean, we did have an on-set romance, we had great onscreen chemistry. We worked well together as actors and the rush of the initial romance lingered for about five minutes after the wrap party. But you never want to admit that it was just a set flirtation, so you keep going, try to make it work. She was my girlfriend for about six months, but we barely saw each other in the last month or so. I don’t know what else to tell you other than to reiterate that I’m really fucking attracted to you.”
She blows out a breath, and I feel I’ve inched towards my goal.
“Come to dinner with me.”
“You mean at the house you’re staying in?”
“If you so desire.”
“I do not desire so.”
“A local restaurant of your choice, then.”
“You don’t really want to go to a restaurant with me, do you?”
“Well, no, if I’m being honest.”
“Because you don’t want to be seen and photographed alone in public with me.”
“No, because I’d like to wine and dine you as close to a bed as possible. To save time.”
She laughs. Thank goodness. But she still shakes her head.
