A Winter Wedding. Brenda Novak
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something after you landed?” Except for the fact that he didn’t have much to choose from, he didn’t mind feeding her. But with her determination to avoid public places, what would she have eaten if she’d stayed at his rental tonight? There was nothing in those cupboards, other than some coffee he’d taken over as an afterthought. He’d been asked to provide furnishings, not food.
“I should have,” she admitted. “I was in a hurry. Since I’d never seen your house in person, I wasn’t convinced it would work for my retreat, and I wasn’t sure where I’d go if it didn’t. I felt I needed to reserve time for plan B, just in case.”
“Makes sense, I guess.” He found a spatula, but then he began to wonder if he should give her other options. Not everyone cared for dairy foods. “Would you rather have canned soup? I’ve got tomato or vegetable.”
“No. I’ll take the eggs.”
He pulled out a frying pan. “Good choice.”
The eggs popped and sizzled as he stood at the stove. While he waited to flip them, she moved over to his mantel to examine the framed pictures he had there. “Don’t tell me this is Simon O’Neal!”
He could understand why that might surprise her. Simon was one of the biggest movie stars in America. “Actually, it is,” he said. “A few years ago, Gail, one of my best friends, opened a PR agency in LA. She took Simon on as a client, and long story short, they fell in love. They’re married now and have three kids.”
“And you hang out with them?”
“They’re in LA most of the time, or on location, but we get together whenever they come to visit.”
She moved on to the other photographs. “All the rest of these people are...”
“Those are my parents, on the left. The kids you see are my niece and nephew.”
“Your sister’s children, the one who lives in Pennsylvania?”
“Since she remarried and moved there a few years ago, yes. For a while, she was living in one of my rentals.”
“And these other people?”
He glanced over. “My friends.”
“You have a lot of friends,” she said.
“I’m guessing you do, too.”
“New friends aren’t the same as old friends.”
Was she referring to the paradox of being famous and yet lonely? “Are you missing home?” He supposed that would explain why she’d come to the Sierra Nevada Foothills.
“I’m missing something,” she said.
He flipped the eggs. “And that is...”
She turned away from his pictures and came back to the table. “Nothing. Never mind.”
* * *
Lourdes enjoyed dinner. Kyle—they were now comfortably on a first-name basis—was down-to-earth and didn’t seem too affected by her celebrity. He wasn’t overly solicitous, just real. Somehow that put her at ease, made her feel at home when she’d been on edge for so long. Maybe, since he was used to socializing with someone far more famous than she was, he didn’t consider her to be any big deal.
Or maybe it was just that Kyle was so comfortable in his own skin. Had she ever met a man more self-assured? She’d seen plenty of arrogance in her line of work. And vanity. The vanity was worse than the arrogance. But Kyle was different. He seemed to be at peace with who and what he was, and she admired his quiet strength, even though she didn’t know him very well.
He was the calm at the center of the storm, she thought and felt a spark of creative excitement. That was it! Her first idea! She’d write a song about how one person could provide a safe harbor for others in the middle of life’s chaos and confusion.
The fact that she felt like writing anything lifted her spirits. This was the first time she’d experienced that desire since her last album...
“What are you smiling at?” Kyle asked.
She sobered. “Nothing. It just feels good to be full. And warm.”
“You can turn the thermostat up higher, if you like.” He raised one eyebrow. “But I might have to go sleep in the garage if you do.”
She laughed as she handed him her plate, since he was standing at the sink, and went back to finish clearing the table. “You’re safe. The temperature’s perfect in here.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“So...you’re single,” she said as she brought him their cups.
He seemed startled by the comment. “Yes.”
“An entrenched bachelor?”
“Not quite. I’m divorced.”
She hesitated before going back to get their orange juice glasses. “Do you have kids?”
“No. And considering what my ex-wife is like, that’s a blessing.”
She wanted to ask him more—how long ago he was married, how he met his wife, whether or not she still lived in town. Lourdes also wondered, but wouldn’t ask, why they hadn’t had children. But then her phone buzzed on the counter, where she’d put it earlier. She’d left Derrick several messages while she was at the airport and then when she’d arrived in Whiskey Creek, and he was getting back to her.
Finally...
“Excuse me,” she said, taking her phone into the spare room where Kyle had put her bag.
* * *
Kyle tried to ignore Lourdes’s voice. She was whispering, so she wouldn’t be overheard, but her whisper was so loud it actually drew more attention to her conversation.
He was about to turn on the television. Whatever she had to say to Derrick Meade—there was no doubt it was him, since she’d said his name a number of times—was none of his business. But then he heard tears in her voice and couldn’t help pausing to listen.
“You must’ve been with her...Then where were you all day? You had to know I was trying to reach you...You always have your phone with you. You’d have it surgically implanted into your ear if you could...That’s what you constantly tell me, but that’s not what I’m feeling...Then why continue to put off the wedding? Before you met Crystal, you were in such a hurry...So it’s what’s happened to my career that’s made you back off? If I’m not the hottest singer in Nashville, you’re no longer interested?...I get that, but what else am I supposed to think?...So are you coming here or not?...Never mind. Go ahead and do whatever you have to do for Crystal...No, I’m not! You’re the one who’s acting weird...Forget it. I’ve got a lot to do, too. I’m fine here without you.”
The sudden silence led Kyle to believe she’d hung up. He also guessed she was crying. It sounded like it.
Should he knock on the door and attempt to console her? He’d always been someone who tried to fix whatever was broken, and that included the people in his life. But he couldn’t imagine something that intrusive going over very well for either one of them. They’d barely met.
Assuming she’d prefer her privacy, he put on Thursday night football. Hopefully, that would distract him and give her enough background noise to hide her sniffles.
But it was only fifteen minutes later that the door slammed against the inside wall and she charged out of the bedroom. “Kyle?”
He lowered the volume and looked over at her. Her red, swollen eyes left little doubt that there’d been tears. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She wiped her cheeks. “Not really, but I haven’t been okay in a while.”
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s