Elle cringed at how well Whitney knew her and her habits. Whitney hit the nail on the head when she recognized The White Album—an album with songs laced with creativity and storytelling that eased Elle’s mind when she was feeling anxious and contemplative. By the time she reached “Blackbird” she was usually able to calm herself down. But she was way past “Blackbird” and the adrenaline coursing through her body still hadn’t subsided.
“I have a date. One I’m not so sure about.”
“A date? And you didn’t tell me?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Oh my God, you caved, didn’t you?”
Elle groaned into the phone. “I couldn’t help it. He’s . . . persistent.”
Whitney laughed.
“Don’t laugh at me. Seriously, this is probably a huge mistake. We both know it.”
“You and Luke or you and me?” Whitney pressed.
“You and me. He has no idea. The guy’s done a few pilots and commercials. He hasn’t done anything long-term yet. He has no idea how awkward this will get when the shit hits the fan.”
“And what if it doesn’t?”
“Be serious. As soon as fans recognize him on the street, I’m toast.”
“That’s a possibility, I guess. But not a given,” Whitney suggested. “And as usual, you’re selling yourself short.”
“No, I’m just a realist. Stardom affects everyone, just in different ways. And I have no idea how it’ll affect him.” Her fingers grazed over the earrings in her jewelry box, finally stopping on a pair of silver hoops.
“So then why bother? Just put your sweats on and hang out with Linus. Avoid, sabotage, and self-destruct.” Elle hated the tone of Whitney’s voice and the condescension reverberating through it.
“Don’t be an asshole,” she replied, slipping one earring through her ear. Quickly, she transferred the phone to that ear and repeated the process with the second earring.
“Whatever. There’s a reason you’re thirty-five and single. No offense.”
“Hey,” Elle said. “I’m not the only one who’s single in this conversation.”
“Okay, first of all,” Whitney began, “I’m thirty-two.”
“Irrelevant.”
“And secondly, I date, and often. I’m perfectly content with my life.”
“And so am I.”
Silence hung in the air. It was a blatant lie. Elle knew it, and she was fully aware her best friend did too. They’d shared too much for Whitney to play the fool.
Whitney sighed. “C’mon, Eleanor. We both know that’s not true.”
Most people in Los Angeles were not allowed to refer to Elle by her given name, but Whitney was the exception. Even though it graced the covers of her romance novels, since moving to the Los Angeles spotlight, she’d chosen to modernize all aspects of her life, including her name. When Whitney used her true first name, Elle knew she was serious. She’d had enough and needed to make her point, so Elle decided to concede.
“Fine. I understand. I need to loosen up.”
“Thank you. What time are you meeting him?”
Elle glanced down at her watch. “In twenty minutes.”
“Well, shit, I’ll let you go then. Let your hair down, have some fun!”
Elle promised Whitney she’d do her best to enjoy herself. She hung up the phone, placed it on the counter, and pulled the pins from her hair, causing the bun to tumble past her shoulders, her blonde locks forming loose curls that spilled down her back. She took a deep breath and walked back to her closet to finish getting dressed. Then she walked back to the sink, retrieved the pins, and placed them between her teeth. She looked at herself in the mirror, shook her head, and spent five more minutes placing her hair back in a bun.
Luke was already sitting at a small, cozy table at Angelini Osteria when Elle finally arrived, ten minutes later than their reservation. Elle was never late, but Luke Kingston seemed to flip her version of normal on its head. She couldn’t get past her hesitation. She still couldn’t decide if this was all a game to him, a way of making a name for himself in the beginning.
It was easy to say she had trust issues. Since Troy broke her heart ten years earlier, she’d dated . . . sporadically. Whitney had a point when she compared their love lives. The best word to describe Elle’s relationships would be . . . also sporadic. She had dated a few men in Chicago, and a few more since moving to Santa Monica, but none had stuck. Mostly because it was difficult for Elle to separate herself from her show. And to stop sabotaging any chance she had at happiness. When things grew serious with any of the men she’d dated, she found reasons to end each relationship abruptly and without explanation. She couldn’t let go of the past long enough to be happy.
Letting go was hard . . . she hadn’t let go in ten straight years.
When Elle reached the table, Luke, looking all kinds of handsome, set his menu on the table, and rose to meet her. He placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. “You made it.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
He shrugged, giving her a tight, toothless smile. “After our discussion earlier, I thought maybe not.”
“I honor my commitments.”
She didn’t intend to come off as cold, but she wasn’t quite sure about him—his intentions, his interest in her, it was still murky in her brain.
“As do I.” He handed her a menu. “Have you been here before? The porchetta will change your life.” He took a quick sip of his red wine.
“Porchetta?”
“You’ve never had it? Seriously, it’s to die for, so rich and delicious. You have to try it.”
“Maybe I will.” She felt herself easing up, relaxing into his carefree demeanor.
“Let’s get you a drink. Red or white?”
“Red, please. Pinot noir.”
“Perfect.”
Luke signaled the waiter and promptly ordered a bottle of pinot noir. She hated to admit it, but she loved that he ordered for her. She’d yet to be on a date in Los Angeles where a man acted in such an old-fashioned manner. Secretly, she wondered if he’d been watching reruns of Mad Men. In Elle’s opinion, Don Draper may have been part douchebag, but he knew how to treat a lady in public.
“Where are you from . . . you know, originally?” Luke asked before taking another sip of his drink.
The waiter arrived with the wine and poured a glass for Elle. She thanked him graciously, and took a sip to calm her nerves.
“Chicago. I moved here a few years ago when the network bought the rights to the show.”
“Oh, that’s right, I think I knew that.” Luke chuckled, scratching lightly at the skin of his forehead.
“Did you Internet stalk me?” Elle teased. She liked that he was showing just a hint of vulnerability. It was obvious to her Luke hadn’t meant to ask that question since he already knew the answer. But she’d play along.
“Guilty as charged.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t help myself, I had to know more.”
Elle was flattered. Beyond flattered, actually. But she was trying too hard to keep her poker face intact. She couldn’t let him see how he affected her, especially since she was still smack-dab in the middle of figuring him out.
“Interesting,” she replied, staying coy. “And you, where are you from?”
Luke’s eyes widened in response and he nudged her on the shoulder. “You didn’t read my resume?”
Busted.
No, Elle wanted to answer, I was too busy staring at your gorgeous head shot. The resume only received a tiny glance. “I did, but I don’t remember seeing a hometown listed, only your work in Los Angeles.”
“That’s because I’ve lived here my entire life.”
“Ah, well, that makes sense, doesn’t it?” Elle looked at her empty glass, wondering how she polished off an entire glass of wine during such a short period of time. Luke offered to pour her another glass, but she shook her head. She couldn’t lose control. “Thank you, but I’ll wait for our food to arrive.”