Now a Major Motion Picture (15 page)

Amelia laughed out loud. Reese was reading her mind, as usual. But she
wasn’t
planning to say yes—she could barely handle the thought of calling
Colin, let alone seeing him again. Before she lost the nerve, she found his number in her recent calls list, clicked send, and braced herself to turn down whatever he offered.

Colin picked up on the fifth ring.

“Hey, Mel Henry.” His words caught her off guard—she was expecting his voicemail. “I was starting to think you were ignoring me.”

“No, no.” She tried so hard to keep her voice from shaking that her lower lip trembled with the effort. “Just…busy day. I’m sorry it took me so long to call you back.”

“No worries. You’re calling now.” He paused. “So is the rest of your day busy, too?”

“Yeah.” She hoped she sounded remorseful, not relieved. “I’m booked pretty much back to back. You probably are too, though, right?”

“Actually, no. I’m in town for some meetings, but really I’m just here for a break. I’ve had a hectic shooting schedule over the last six months, so I’m trying to kind of chill out, lay low for a while.”

She blinked hard at the unlikelihood of this conversation. Was she really chatting with a famous actor about his busy shooting schedule? Her palms started to sweat.

“Is this really the best place to…lay low?”

Colin laughed, and she found herself picturing the way his pale-blue eyes would be crinkling at the corners. She shook her head to snap herself out of it.

“It’s not as bad as you’d think it’d be,” he said. “New Yorkers don’t pay attention to celebrities. It’s kind of a matter of pride.”

She scoffed. “Right. So how do you explain the fifty people who asked for your autograph last night?”

He laughed again. “Tourists.”

She laughed, too, and realized with surprise she wasn’t trembling anymore. He seemed to have a way of zapping the nervousness right out of her.

Colin’s voice was suddenly earnest. “Seriously, there are 1.6 million people on the island of Manhattan. It’s not that hard to blend in, at least until the paps latch onto you. But I just try to pretend they’re not there, you know? I mean, what can you do?”

“Yeah.” She laughed again. “What can you do?”

Steer clear. Run the other way.
That’s what she should do. But she felt herself already caving in to the question he hadn’t asked yet.

“You can have coffee with me. Or if you’re really that busy, maybe drinks later?”

“Weeell…” Her mind reeled. “I really am that busy. I’m leaving for a bookstore opening in about an hour, then I have this dinner with a screenwriter from the production company. My…my first book’s being turned into a movie.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, a slight edge to his voice. “What about after dinner? I cleared my calendar. I’m free all night.”

Her eyes widened. Surely he hadn’t cleared his schedule just to meet up with her? She felt all flustered again.

“Uh. Well, yeah, I guess. Sure.” Could she
sound
more idiotic? She was glad he couldn’t see how pink her face was. “I should be finished around nine or so. Where do you want to meet?”

“Definitely someplace low-key. I want to go incognito. Hmm…”

“I know a great bar in the Village. It’s right around the corner from my old place.” She described the location to him.

“That sounds perfect,” he said. “Call me when you’re on your way?”

“Okay, sounds good.” Her voice was calm, but inside she was screaming.

* * *

The night passed quickly. Although she’d been nervous before every event she’d attended in the past week, tonight her work agenda seemed like the easy part. She floated through the event at the bookstore, her mind elsewhere as she signed books and answered fans’ and reporters’ questions, at this point anticipating what they’d ask before they asked it.

At dinner, she shared sushi and intense conversation with the writer who’d adapted her first book. It was a great meeting—and the only time all day she’d been able to concentrate on anything besides her plans with Colin. Poor Reese had had to deal with a whole afternoon of her neuroses, and she felt totally guilty about that, among other things. Here Reese had gone out of her way to fly up here and offer moral support, and she was ditching her on their last night in the city.

Reese hadn’t seemed to care, though. She’d called a college friend who lived in Brooklyn and made her own plans.

“Come with me,” Amelia had said before Reese made the call. She’d meant it, too.

“Are you crazy? Are you stark freaking mad?
You’re going on a date with Colin Marks. Colin Marks. You know? TV star?” Reese looked at her like she was, in fact, stark freaking mad. “I’m sooo not crashing that party.”

“It’s not a date, Reese. I’m taking him a copy of the book.”

Reese gave her a withering look. “Whatever. You know, you really live in a dream world. I guess it’s fitting that you make things up for a living.”

Amelia stuck her tongue out at her and wheeled back to face the hotel suite’s tiny closet, her face contorted in distress.

“What the hell am I supposed to wear?”

Now, in a cab headed toward the West Village, she assessed the results of her decision: a snug pencil skirt, billowy top, and Jimmy Choo sandals. When she’d put the outfit on, she felt sexy and sophisticated.

Now she just felt awkward and overdressed.

I look like I’m trying too hard.
She felt the red flush climb up her neck and into her cheeks, but it was too late to do anything about it. The cab driver swung a hard left at an intersection she knew well, crawled along for a couple of blocks, and then eased up to the curb in front of the bar.

Comfort Zone

Amelia paid the driver and stepped out of the cab, her stomach twisted into what felt like several hundred knots. The air was still and balmy—summer in the city had arrived. She floated toward the Blind Tiger, which angled onto a quiet-ish corner of Bleecker Street. A bulky air conditioning unit hung above the entryway, dripping a trail of water that trickled along the sidewalk. A fruit truck that was idling against the curb blew a cloud of exhaust into her path. She stepped around an overflowing trash can as a student whizzed by on a bike, barely missing the exposed toes of her left foot. Amelia shook her head, experiencing a sort of déjà vu. She was smack in the middle of her old stomping ground, and it felt oddly foreign and comforting at the same time.

As she reached for the brass door handle, a guy in dark jeans and a hipster tee rushed to open it for her. He had dark, curly hair and was in his early twenties, kind of cute. She smiled and thanked him, and flushed as his eyes skimmed her from head to foot.

She stepped past him, her eyes sweeping the room. It was crowded and louder than she remembered, and the crowd was younger than she remembered, too.
Or maybe I’m just older.
For a second she was embarrassed, thinking she hadn’t picked a very inconspicuous place, after all. A long, wood bar wrapped a third of the space, and bodies were packed on and around its L-shaped line of barstools. The floors were scuffed and rustic, and rough-hewn beams lined the ceiling and the walls behind the bar. The room smelled like hops, cologne, and body heat, and the din of the place rang in her ears and vibrated beneath her feet.

Colin wasn’t there yet.

She looked around for a spot to wait, but when her eyes lit on one of the only open chairs in the room, she realized with a start that he was sitting across from it. He was facing the wall and was hunched over the table, his chin resting in his hand and a Mets cap pulled down further than necessary over his forehead. He looked like an average guy out nursing a beer at the neighborhood pub. He shot a covert glance over his shoulder and beckoned to her from the table for two, which was tucked beside a stone fireplace on the back wall of the bar.

Her eyes skimmed his furtive pose.
How miserable it must be to have to hide all the time.

She weaved through the crowd and stopped at his side. Like the guy at the door, his eyes traveled the length of her, and he let out a low whistle.

She blushed again, deeper this time. She’d never been good at accepting compliments.

“Well, hi there, Ms. Henry. You look…well, wow.”

“Thanks,” she said, her face still burning from her cheeks to her ears. She rushed to slide onto the seat across from him. “I came straight from my meeting.”

“I’m glad you were able to find some time for me. I can’t believe you’re leaving town already, and I just met you.”

She peeked at him through her lashes, unnerved at the way he was looking at her. Just sitting here with him made her feel a thousand times more ordinary, and yet…he was still staring at her. The butterflies now dancing above the knots in her stomach felt like they might lift her off her chair and send her floating around the room.

“Well,” she said, “you must meet new…people all the time.”

She’d almost said “women,” but even with him looking at her like that, she wasn’t presuming any interest on his part. They were here on business—he was here for the book she’d tucked into her oversized bag.

His gaze turned thoughtful. “I meet the same person over and over again,” he said. “All the same. You, though. You seem different.”

His eyes pierced straight through her, and she felt suddenly on fire. She swallowed hard, her throat parched. As if on cue, a server appeared beside their table.

“What can I get you?”

Amelia shook herself out of her trance and peered up at the woman, who had dishwater-blonde hair that was pulled back in a messy knot and a ballpoint pen tucked behind one ear. Her face wore that look of the perpetually frazzled. The sleeves of her black, button-down shirt were rolled up, and she balanced a stack of empty glasses on one hand.

“Um, I’ll have a Magic Hat No. 9?”

Amelia’s answer sounded more like a question as she named her old favorite. She squinted toward the beer menu, which was scrawled in chalk on a series of blackboards mounted above the bar.

“No problem,” the waitress said, and turned her head in Colin’s direction. “Ready for another?”

Amelia marveled at the fact that he’d so far escaped recognition.

“Sure,” he said, avoiding the woman’s eyes. She turned and hurried back toward the bar.

Amelia shook her head. “I, um, I brought this for you.”

She reached down and slid the book out of the bag by her feet. She placed it in front of him on the table, and immediately he flipped it open to read the short message she’d jotted on the inside cover beside her signature.

She watched him, feeling awkward. He looked up with a warm expression.

“This is really nice. Kelly’s going to be thrilled. Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome.” Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes to the tabletop.

“That,” Colin said suddenly.

She glanced up, surprised, and he smiled.

“That’s how you’re different. You’re…modest. Like, real modest, not fake modest. It’s not a character trait I’m used to. Most of the people I’m around, men and women, are so full of themselves, so pushy. And not real. I’m never around anybody who feels remotely real to me. Everybody’s always putting on an act.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“Funny,” she said after a few seconds. “I’d say the same thing about you. You’re not at all like I thought you’d be when you came over to our table last night.”

His smile broadened, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes making an appearance. “How’d you think I’d be?”

She thought over her words again before attempting to reply.

“I guess I thought you’d be…full of yourself. Pushy. Not remotely real…” She smiled as she echoed his words.

“Ouch.” He wrinkled his perfect nose. “I guess I should have expected that.”

Amelia cringed, wondering if she’d offended him.

“Sorry, I guess that was harsh. It’s a stereotype.”

“No, no,” he said, his expression amused as he watched her squirm. “Honesty—another attractive quality.”

He studied her face for a few seconds, and she felt her heartbeat pick up tempo. She had an overpowering sense of…something—was it joy? relief?—at the mere fact that she still knew how to
feel
. It had been so long since her body had reacted this way to anyone.

She knew precisely how long. She shivered as Noah’s face flooded her mind.

“Since we’re being honest, I have a confession to make,” Colin said, his words wiping the image away.

“What is it?”

“I knew who you were before I came over to your table last night. I’d been wanting to meet you anyway, and I couldn’t believe it when you walked into that bar.”

She stared at him in confusion.
What???
He knew her? He’d wanted to meet her?

He looked down at her hands resting on the table.

“I have your script,” he said. “Well, the script based on your book. My agent gave it to me a couple weeks ago. They want me to read for the lead.” He looked up and into her eyes again.

Her mouth fell open. Colin Marks reading for a part in her movie? Her emotions waged a war inside her, and she had no idea which side to defend. She knew she should feel excitement that the film had attracted such a big-name actor.

But what she felt instead was disappointment. Colin wasn’t interested in
her
. He just wanted to feel her out about the part. How silly that she’d started to think otherwise, even started to hope…

Her mortification deepened as she made a realization: not only was Colin not interested in her, he was being considered to play a character inspired by
Noah
.

Ohmigod. What does that say about me?

That she was completely unhinged, that’s what. She shook her head at the absurdity of the fact that the first guy she’d felt attracted to since Noah was potentially going to play him in a movie no one knew was about him.

The server returned at that moment with brimming glasses. As she placed one in front of each of them, Colin’s eyes never left her face. Hers studied everything but him—the table, his shoulder, the far wall of the bar.