Page 69 of When You Rescue your Celebrity Crush

What am I going to do? I can’t let her go. I need to convince her she is the woman I think she is. That we can make it work. But how do I do that?

My rom-com loving heart tells me I need to sweep her off her feet—to prove to her that she’s worthy of everything I want to give her in some grand dramatic gesture. But she’s used to Hollywood magic. Maybe I need something else. Something real. But what?

Chapter 28

NICA

When I wake, the sun is high in the sky, glaring between the blinds of my rented vacation home. I squint and roll away, wondering what woke me. A screech answers the question: Maddie. I leap out of bed and sprint down the steps to the open-plan living room and kitchen.

Maddie stands in the middle of the kitchen staring at the empty blender pitcher in her hand. Green liquid drips from her hair and face. Her head comes up when she hears me, cringing like a dog who got caught shredding the couch. Squashed fruit covers the countertops, spilled yogurt puddles on the floor, and a splash of lumpy green drips from the ceiling. “I was trying to make you breakfast.”

I take the container from her hand and put it into the sink. “Did you forget to put the lid on?”

She hovers beside me, staring at her sticky hands and the green stain spreading across her pink T-shirt. “There’s a lid? You didn’t use one at Dad’s house.”

I plug the sink, turn on the water, and squirt in some dish soap. “There wasn’t a lid at Dad’s house because that jar screwed on from the bottom.” I twist the base off the pitcher and point to the opening. A splotch of cold goo hits my head, and I flinch back. “Can you look in that closet to see if there’s a stepladder? We should probably clean the ceiling before it stains the paint.”

Maddie holds the ladder while I scrub the ceiling. Then we tackle the walls and floor. By the time we’ve cleaned up everything, I’m starving. “You wanna go out for breakfast?” I glance at the clock on the oven. “Or brunch, I guess?”

“Yeah, but I need to shower and change.” She strips the pink shirt off, leaving a smear of green on her cheek. A damp patch stains her black sports bra. She grimaces as she notices it and reaches for the bottom band.

I pick up the shirt and wave it before she can pull the bra off, too. “I’m going to put this in the washer to soak. Why don’t you throw that in—after your shower.”

She laughs. “Why, Nica Homes, are you blushing? I’ve got nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“The rest of the neighborhood doesn’t need to see it.” I point at the kitchen window, which has a view of one of the pools, then hurry to the laundry room. “And just because I’ve seen it before doesn’t mean I need to see yours up close and personal, thanks.” I start the cold water running, then flip the lid open and toss the shirt in. “You’re welcome to strip down naked and parade through the house if you want, but I’d prefer not to witness it. As you pointed out last night, I’m getting older. I don’t need to be reminded of the fact by witnessing your young body.”

“I didn’t say you’re getting old! I said you’re still young.” She follows me up the stairs, still wearing the bra and shorts. “I said your boyfriend is old.”

A stab of pain goes through my heart. “Not my boyfriend. Not anymore.”

She grabs my shoulder. “What did you do? I thought you were keeping it casual until you left.”

I pull away. “That wasn’t working for Matt, so I ended it.” I pause as I open the door to the master bedroom. “I’m going to shower and get this smoothie out of my hair.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in twenty!” She disappears into the second bedroom.

It’s closer to forty minutes later when she finally traipses down the steps. She’s wearing a short denim skirt and another pink T-shirt, but this one is tight with a scooped neck. She’s done her hair and makeup and looks very young Hollywood as she slides on a pair of trendy sunglasses. “Ready?”

I stand and tuck my phone into the pocket of my teal capri pants. “Can you walk in those things?”

She glances down at her high-heeled gladiator sandals. “Sure. They’re super comfortable.” Her eyes dart up to meet mine. “I mean, define walk. We’re talking stroll across the parking lot, not mountain hike, right?”

“I was thinking about walking to the restaurant, but it’s half a mile.” I grab the car keys from the table by the front door, check the lock, then lead the way to the garage. “Don’t worry, we can drive.”

In the garage, she ignores the car and hurries to a pair of motorized scooters. “Let’s take these!”

“Have you ever ridden one?”

“Sure, I’ve rented those green ones back home. I wanted to get my own, but Mom wouldn’t spring for it.” She unloops a card from the handle of one scooter. “Here’s the instructions for pairing it to your phone.”

We tap and connect, then I click the garage door opener. “Why don’t you get a job? Then you can buy whatever you want.”

She heaves a sigh and rolls her eyes. “You sound like my uncle. I told you, I don’t want to work.” She steps onto the scooter and zips out the door.

I push mine out and use the keypad beside the garage to close it. The scooters are fast and quiet, and we zoom across the Ranch to the Copper Barrel Bistro. After eating at one of their outdoor tables, we zip past the lake and over to Dad’s place. Leaving the scooters on the wide front porch, we ring the doorbell.

Justin answers, letting us in with a sigh. “I’m not getting anything done today! People keep showing up.”

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