Page 5 of Heart Set on You

“Your 14 PAs aren’t enough, Violet? You need the assistance of Josh’s too?” I say with a cheeky smile, resting my hand on the railing just behind the pretty PA’s back. I have to restrain myself from tracing my fingers down her delicate spine.

“Seems like it,” Violet huffs. “Nobody here is capable of making a decent cup of coffee or getting my lunch order right. So Josh sent me this one.”

She nods her head in the girl’s direction.

This one. I’ve heard that Violet can be difficult, but I’m starting to see that difficult doesn’t begin to cover it. I watch the PA do everything in her power to keep calm. She doesn’t have to say anything, the cold look in her eyes is enough. While Violet works on mastering the art of resting bitch face, the PA manages to keep her cool. It doesn’t matter. I still feel the need to do something.

“I tell ya what. You tell me what you want for lunch and I’ll happily fetch it for you,” I say to Violet, who smiles like a petulant child who’s just been rewarded for bad behavior.

The pretty PA seems unsure what to do, her eyes swinging from me back to Violet. She looks panicked, off-balance. “It’s fine, Mr. Bennett. I can handle this.” Her voice is pretty and soft; it sounds like a song. A song? Did I really just think that? Where did my balls disappear to?

“There’s no doubt you can, but I’m headed that way anyways,” I say with a shrug. I don’t normally lie, but I feel it’s fair in this case. “So, what will it be, Violet? What would you like for lunch?”

“Thank you, Miles. A turkey-and-cheese croissant with tomatoes. Mustard, no mayo. A Diet Coke would be nice too. I’ll wait for you inside,” she says. Gesturing over her shoulder to her trailer, she adds, “There’s plenty of room for you to eat with me.”

That won’t be happening, but I’ll break that news to her when I return with her order.

I sneak another look at the woman who I’d rather be picking up lunch for – scratch that, I’d rather we were heading out for lunch together – and see that she’s clearly uncomfortable. This is her job. Kind of. And I’m sure the thought of the lead actor on set running an errand for the lead actress is not sitting well with her. She catches me looking at her and pulls her device into her chest, unknowingly obstructing my view of her smooth, tan cleavage. Jesus, Miles. Eyes up. Don’t be a perv.

“Mr. Bennett. It’s really fine. Honestly, I don’t mind at all. Y’all need a break. I’m happy to help.” Y’all. Why does that sound so hot? Does she know how hot that sounds?

“That’ll be all, thank you,” Violet interrupts us, waving her hand in the air like a flapping fish, signalling the PA to skedaddle. I watch her stiffen, unsure how to handle this shit situation.

Lowering my voice, I try to reassure her. “Please, I’ve got this.” A silent understanding passes between us and she smiles a shy smile and accepts.

This should be my cue to go. I need to fetch my co-star her lunch, after all. But I can’t get my feet to move. The pretty PA solves that problem when she says, “I’d better be going,” and turns to leave. In her eyes is a mix of appreciation and uncertainty.

“Wait,” I say with zero chill, because apparently that goes out the window when I’m in this woman’s company. “One question.”

Turning to face me, her emerald irises make my skin pebble.

“Will you at least tell me your name?”

I watch her clutch her iPad to her chest a little closer, but she straightens her back and looks me in the eye.

“Rylee,” she says a little nervously. “Rylee Brookes.” I can’t help the sudden grin that takes over my face. Her name suits her. It’s so… her. Pretty, different. And suddenly Rylee Brookes is my new favorite name.

“Rylee Brookes. It’s good to meet you. I’m Miles.”

“I know,” she says. Rylee takes a few steps backwards, smiles, then turns to walk away.

Even the slam of Violet’s trailer door doesn’t knock the huge grin from my face.

Chapter Four

Rylee

Toeing off my sneakers, I hop onto the queen size bed at the hotel, focusing on the two people on my little phone screen – the two people on this earth who love me the most. My grandparents. We have our routine. At night, we FaceTime, and in the morning, I email them to say I love you and to remind them to take their medications. On weekends, we chat on the phone, catching up on the week. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best I can do living 2,500 miles away from home and from my family.

It's not enough to say that I’m close to my gran and gramps. It’s so much more than that. After all, they practically raised me.

My mother was a Sunday school teacher and my father worked in construction. They were high school sweethearts, and the love between them never seemed to fade. They held hands wherever they went, and most days ended with them watching the sunset from the porch swing, my dad’s arm wound tightly around my mom’s waist. There was always a bouquet of flowers on the kitchen table, my dad bringing home a fresh bunch as soon as the last ones had wilted.

My childhood was beautiful. We drank sweet tea on our porch, listened to Dolly and Kenny while we made pecan pies and green bean casseroles, and we never missed a Sunday sermon. It sounds idyllic because it was. Until everything changed.

This June will mark 11 years since I saw them last, since my two brothers and I moved in with my mom’s parents.

I had just turned 13 the week before and my two brothers and I were at our grandparents’ farm. We were spending the night, our parents attending a party at a friend’s house. I had been sound asleep for a few hours when the knock on the door came. The voices were loud enough to wake me – especially my Gran’s cries, which I could hear echoing off the walls. When I stumbled out of the bedroom with sleep still in my eyes, I saw a police officer standing in the doorway. My Gran was hunched, folded over her knees with her face in her hands, my Gramps’ sturdy arms wrapped tightly around her. I didn’t know then what had happened or why they were talking in hushed tones. I only knew that something was wrong.

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