“Whatever you’re doing, it’s perfection.” Elle took another large bite, closing her eyes as she relished the rustic Italian flavors of the pizza. “Does your mom ever visit? She must miss you.”
“She lives in Long Beach, actually. I convinced her to buy this tiny cottage right on the water. Payton loves going to Nana’s place.”
“Nice.” She hesitated to say her next statement, but blurted it out before her type A personality could reel it back in. “I’d love to meet her.”
Troy’s mouth opened, and his eyes met hers. For a sliver of a moment, Elle thought he looked hopeful, softer, and slightly vulnerable. Yes, their discussion was mostly surface—catching up with one another, glossing over the gritty details and covering the need-to-know basics. But Elle was genuinely interested in meeting his daughter. She surprised even herself with that realization. And if she wanted to meet Payton, that meant their story wasn’t quite over, despite what the scripts in her desk drawer might say.
“I’m sure she’d love you,” Troy said with a soft smile, tilting his head to the side. Elle’s heart did a double take and the butterflies spread their wings. And they fluttered. It was a hopeful flutter. Her inner cynic wanted to scream her head off, shaming Elle for allowing the turn of this conversation to transpire. Troy deserved her resentment, her inner conflict, and her regrets. He didn’t deserve her hope.
“Why are you here?” Her voice cracked with the words.
Troy wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips. “I told you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Ten years, Troy. Ten ridiculously long years.”
Silence swept over the room. Troy’s nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth.
“You and I both know there was a damn good reason why I left.”
There it was, the punch to the gut Elle was waiting for. She wondered if they’d ever be able to stand in a room together without him throwing her mistakes in her face. They sat in silence for several minutes, playing an awkward game of chicken. Troy was the first to jump.
“Listen, I’ve kept you long enough,” Troy said. “And the lunch crowd should be starting soon.”
Elle stood, reaching for the top of the pizza box. Troy’s hand stopped her. “No, you keep that. Share it with . . . well, share it with whoever you want.”
Elle walked Troy to the door. When he reached to pull her into a hug, she found herself relaxing into his embrace, breathing in the scent of him. Troy smelled like spearmint and fresh soap. And as she inhaled, years of memories surged through her brain. Some blissful, some unbearable. But many worth hanging on to. At least, she hoped they were.
Elle gritted her teeth, realizing she’d just given Troy Saladino her hope.
Dammit.
That’s a wrap, people.”
The bells sounded. Cast and crew members scattered from the soundstage. Elle sighed, knowing another episode was ready for editing and the final stages of production. Coincidentally, Luke’s first episode, shot a few weeks prior, would air that evening. He’d officially be tabloid fodder, which was unsettling to Elle. She wasn’t quite ready to share him with the American public.
From the corner of her eye she saw Luke and Gina huddled together. Surprised, she turned to give them her full attention. Gina was pressing her cheek to Luke’s, her right arm outstretched, holding her phone until it flashed. Elle focused on the satisfied smile across Luke’s face. And despite the irritation she felt toward Gina, she was genuinely happy for Luke. In just a few hours, America would be introduced to him. He’d made it. His career was on the rise and, professionally speaking, it was a gigantic milestone for the actor. Elle chose to focus on that, rather than the actress standing beside him.
Gina had been quite the diva since the altercation between her and Nolan during the table read. Elle knowing about their problems did nothing for her attitude, either. And frankly, Elle was tired of her entitled behavior. Yes, she was the star of the show, but she should respect those who wrote the lines she delivered.
Elle shrugged off her frustration, knowing the migraine taking up residence behind her eyes was probably the culprit. She needed to go home, turn off all the lights, slather peppermint oil on her forehead and temples, and call it a night. She reached for her bag, but a familiar hand grabbed it first, handing it to her.
Luke.
“The rest of the cast is going out for drinks. You up for it?”
Elle shook her head. “I have a killer headache. I need to go home.”
“Do you care if I go?” Luke tilted his head, both eyebrows raised, and his cerulean eyes gleaming beneath the stage lights.
“Not at all. I’m going to bed as soon as I get home. My head’s killing me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow. Table read at ten, right?”
Elle rubbed her thumb and forefinger against her forehead, attempting to remember her schedule. “Yeah, that sounds right.”
“Do you need me to drive you? You don’t look so good. Sorta pale.” Luke placed his hand at the base of her chin as he inspected her face. Elle sloughed him off. Their relationship was still under wraps and she didn’t need prying eyes attempting to dissect it.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“It’s okay. And no, I can drive myself. Thank you, though.” Elle pulled the corners of her mouth up in a weak smile. “Go, have fun. Watch yourself on screen.”
“That’s the plan.” Luke winked at Elle as he walked away, joining Gina and the other cast members near the door of the soundstage.
“You won’t be able to keep it a secret much longer.”
Rob was standing by the craft services table, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Elle avoided the judgment she knew was lingering behind his gaze.
“I know.”
She didn’t have the energy to debate her relationship status right now, especially with the director. She gathered the rest of her things and made her way out of the studio, away from the stress and pressure of Follow the Sun.
The aroma of peppermint inundated Elle’s bedroom. Her temples tingled as the oil permeated her pores, relieving the pain of her migraine. Despite her desire to fall asleep and wake up completely healed, her brain refused to wind down. Thoughts of Luke and Troy besieged her aching head.
Elle’s mind drifted to the day, eleven years ago, when she and Troy had decided to be a couple—to finally give themselves a chance at a romantic relationship rather than a friendship riddled with sexual chemistry and tension.
Troy was twenty-four years old, and Elle was about to turn twenty-four as well. Elle was working as a journalist for the Chicago Tribune. Well, officially she was a journalist, but unofficially she worked in the classifieds department. She was a glorified data entry specialist, but she came to work each day, paying her dues in the hopes of being promoted within the company. She hoped to one day receive an actual assignment for an actual article that would be printed in the newspaper. In her spare time, she was crafting short stories. Ironically, the classifieds she read each day were useful for small bits of information. When someone expects four-hundred-and-fifty dollars for a ten-year-old birdcage, it can get the creative juices flowing.
Troy was working as an accountant for Wolf & Company and seemed to be passionate about helping companies grow and develop. He was always good with numbers, so organized and determined. That was something he and Elle had in common. He worked at least fifty hours per week, and at the end of the day he and Elle would meet for a drink at one of the bars in Wrigleyville. Elle had three roommates, as did Troy. Chicago real estate was tough business, and sharing was inevitable, no matter how well an entry-level position paid.