Page 8 of Something New

She masked her eyes with the sunglasses and turned back out to face the sea, shoulders slowly easing. He watched her for several minutes, not sure what to say.

“Just say it, Wyatt. You’re thinking so loud, I can hear you over the rushing of the waves and the sound of the motors.”

He didn’t know how to put it into words, what he was thinking, feeling. So, instead, he said the only thing he could. “Does that happen often? The pictures and the nasty insults?”

She tilted her head up to him. “Yes.”

* * *

Anna quietly followed Wyatt off the ferry. Wyatt casually grabbed her heaviest bags along with his duffel, leaving her with the carry-on with her makeup and incidentals and the covered ruby red bridesmaid’s dress. He strode off, barely waiting for her. She scrambled to catch up, cursing her platform sandals that were never made for running.

Although, he came to her rescue again with the nasty women and their pictures. No one else had ever done that for her before, except for Wyatt. Five years since anyone had defended her, and how did she repay him? She destroyed his life with her youthful arrogance and vanity. Well, she hadn’t completely ruined it. Wyatt’s stubbornness and a three-hundred-and-twenty-pound linebacker put the finishing touches on it, but she started him on the path.

Wyatt disappeared from sight off the ramp, and she cursed under her breath, trying to catch up and hoping no one else had their cell phone at the ready to catch her on video if she fell flat on her face, which was likely. She rushed around the corner and ran right into his back, almost tripping over her suitcase.

He turned and steadied her before she could make a complete fool out of herself. “Hang on while I call Matthew and see where the car is. Stay here, out of trouble, and watch the bags.”

Like she was a little kid who was incapable of being good or a cocker spaniel in obedience school. She folded her hands demurely in front of her and stuck out her tongue. Shit. She glanced around her, but no one appeared to have seen. She really needed to remember that anyone could see her, record her, post it anywhere with any commentary, and blow her career. Although, could it honestly get much worse? Her hands itched for some salt to toss over her shoulder to ward off the potential bad luck her words were sure to inspire.

She sat on her large rolling suitcase and waited. The island hadn’t changed all that much since she had last been out here, the summer of their senior year. Wyatt had been getting ready for pro football camp with his new team in Dallas. In his first year on the team, he was third-string quarterback, so his playing chances were low, but the quarterbacks ahead of him were aging, so he wanted to make a good first impression and set himself up as the future of the franchise. He’d come up one weekend after working out in the complex during the week. Anna was on the island working in what she had hoped would be her last community theater production. Texas had a thriving film industry, and Whitby Island had a strong community theater tradition with Karen York, a former Broadway star, as the director and Anna’s informal mentor. Anna had wanted one last summer with her before she went off and tested her wings in Los Angeles. She knew having a recommendation from Karen would be the pièce de résistance and would hopefully open a lot of doors.

That summer changed everything.

Wyatt came back, startling her. He grabbed the bag, dislodging her from it almost roughly. “Ready? Matthew left us the car in the lot. I got the keys from the ferry office.”

So much for the pause in hostilities, not that she had expected it to last, anyway. She scrambled after him, hefting the bridesmaid gown over her arm so it wouldn’t trail on the ground. By the time she got to the truck, he had unceremoniously tossed her Gucci luggage in the bed of the dusty pickup as if it were a sack of potatoes. He gestured for the gown, and she shook her head, curling her arms protectively over it.

“I’ll carry this, thanks.”

He scowled. “There’s not a lot of room in the cab for that thing.”

She straightened to her full five foot six, barely reaching his shoulder, a fact she still cursed. “I refuse to let you damage this expensive gown just because you’re pissed at me. Do you have any idea how much this cost?”

He gestured at the cab of the truck. “We have a back seat. I was going to suggest we lay it back there, but if you want to somehow fold it in your lap and crease it, go right ahead, drama queen.”

Reluctantly, she handed the dress over and watched him lay the dress on the seat carefully. She grunted and climbed in the front seat when he was done, pointedly ignoring him. He drove through the town, while she stared unseeing out the passenger window. The small village had changed little in the five years since she had been on the island. The Rusty Anchor, the small bar and restaurant where she had waitressed over the summers. The bakery, Rise and Shine, where she had breakfast after a late night at the Rusty Anchor. And there was the Playhouse, her second home, where she first learned how to truly act in the summer program and community theater program under the tutelage of her mentor. Her eyes closed, and she leaned her forehead against the cool window. What would her mentor think of her now? Would she be disappointed, angry, sad?

Slowly, the village retreated in the distance, and the buildings gave way to beach grass and the waves of the Gulf of Mexico just beyond the sandy shores and grass, gently waving in the sea breeze. Wyatt pulled the truck over and braked just before the entrance to the gated community where Caroline’s family lived, coasting to a stop at a small parking lot before a private beach overlooking the water. A path from the paved area to the beach wound its way from their area, but Wyatt made no move to get out of the truck, so Anna stayed still. Even though it was Sunday and still tourist season, the area was almost deserted, with many people having headed back to their vacation homes or left Whitby on the last ferry of the day.

Anna perched in the passenger seat, biting her lower lip, and cast a sideways glance at Wyatt, who studied the beach at the end of the path that lay ahead. His firm jaw was shadowed by the day’s growth of beard, but it was tense, a muscle jumping slightly. Her fingers itched to trace the lines from being outdoors that now graced his face, the shadows she now saw that had not been present five years ago. But she didn’t have that right, not yet, maybe not ever again.

Did she want that privilege? Could she go down that path again, trusting her heart to him again when the last time he had thoroughly trampled on it? Was that even an option?

“If you have something to say, just say it.” His deep voice rumbled up from his chest.

She cleared her throat. “You look good, Wyatt.”

He shot her a surprised look, as if not expecting the statement. In fact, she hadn’t expected it either, but it was true. He looked good—older, solid, better than any pretty boy in Hollywood. She had never found any of them particularly attractive since she had left Texas. It was true what they said about Texas men. They were just better in all ways, and Wyatt was the king of all of them.

He nodded once. “Thank you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Nothing about how I look?” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, pulling the tresses over one shoulder and casting him a sexy stare.

He barely spared her a glance this time. “You already know you look good. Lord knows you have enough hangers-on telling you that all the time. You don’t need me for that.”

Anna thought of how many people showed up when she needed them, when her need was dire, and her mood sobered. If only he knew how much her looks mattered to her, to her career. All of her work, her workout routine, her makeup regime, her diet, all designed to keep her as young as possible for as long as possible. And those hangers-on? Well, they only hung around as long as there was something in it for them. “Maybe it matters to me.”

He let his gaze roam over her, lingering this time, heat smoldering in his eyes. “You never needed to ask that before. You always knew how I felt.”

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