Unforgettable You Page 6

  The women hadn’t even joined the actors in the den for what had become the customary nightcap. After everyone else had gone upstairs, Will could no longer deny the need to check on Carrie. He found her in the kitchen, scouring the countertops with enough vigor that he was tempted to warn her about ruining the surface. He kept his comment to himself though. The scowl on her face implied she wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

  When she finally noticed him, she stopped scrubbing and stared, clearly waiting.

  “You okay?” Will asked.

  “Fine.”

  Will had been in enough relationships to know that a clipped response of “fine” was anything but. He didn’t blame her for being angry. Even if it hadn’t been Juliet’s intent to cover Carrie in pie, her behavior over the last week had been atrocious enough for everyone to know she likely didn’t regret how things had turned out.

  “The pie was delicious,” Will offered.

  “Thank you.” Her tone was still flat. Angry. Warning him to give her space.

  He never had been good at heeding warnings. “May I make myself some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  He moved to the coffee machine and was immediately confused as he looked at the buttons. The options seemed endless—from size to flavor to temperature. “Um…”

  She pulled a mug from a cabinet and slid between him and the machine. “Decaf?”

  “Please.”

  He watched as she masterfully scooped beans into the grinder, filled the filter, and started his coffee brewing. “Anything else?”

  “LA is a different world, Carrie,” he said in response to her question. “Juliet is pretty sure that she’s the only person on the planet who matters. Don’t let her get to you.”

  “It’s easy to tell someone not to feel like a doormat when you’re not the one getting stepped on.”

  “I know,” he admitted. “But I think it’s important for you to know she acts like that because deep down she’s as insecure as everyone else.”

  She scoffed. “I don’t care. She chooses to behave like that. It’s a choice. Her choice. I don’t care why. I care about how her behavior impacts my mother-in-law and me. She is a spoiled brat, and you all enable her.”

  Will held his breath. The fiery anger wasn’t unwarranted. This situation wasn’t his fault, but he hadn’t spoken up when Juliet acted out. He hadn’t put her in her place and told her she was out of line. “You’re right,” he said as shame bloomed in his chest. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to Donnie about her. I’ll tell him to get her in line.”

  She relaxed slightly. “That won’t help anyway. He’s so far up her ass, I don’t know how he can breathe.”

  “Well,” Will said with a hint of a grin, “she’s awfully full of hot air.”

  His comment lingered for a few seconds before Carrie chuckled.

  “Yeah,” she said, “she really is.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” Will asked. “I think I’ve got this thing figured out, if you’d like to have a seat on the patio and relax for a few minutes.”

  “Am I that much of a mess?” she asked as the edges of her frustration softened.

  “Nah,” he said. “You’re doing great.”

  “I would have thought an actor would be a better liar,” Carrie said. “You don’t have to make me coffee. I can do it myself.”

  “Well.” He looked at the machine. “I’m pretty lousy at building a fire, so I thought if I sent you out there first, you could do that.”

  Carrie sighed, but her smile widened. “Okay. Decaf, please. I take it black.”

  “I can handle that.” Or so he hoped. While Carrie was outside, likely starting a fire without issue, Will hesitantly pressed buttons until her coffee started to brew. Finally, he made his way outside carrying two mugs with him as flames danced in the firepit. “I never could have done that.”

  “All you need is lighter fluid, dry wood, and matches. I’m sure you could figure it out.” Carrie added another log to the cast-iron pit before she put the mesh top on and eased into the chair next to him, accepting a cup once she was settled. “What made you want to become an actor?”

  Will focused on the burning logs. “I didn’t have a lot of ambition to do anything else.”

  “Oh, come on,” Carrie said with an air of disbelief. “It takes a lot of hard work to get to where you are.”

  “Or dumb luck.”

  “You are talented,” she insisted.

  Will considered how to answer that. Talented by some standards, he supposed, but by others, he was starting to realize he really didn’t have what it took. “I used to think so.”

  “You heard me reading lines,” she said with a laugh. “It was truly terrible.”

  He fell quiet as he stared at the dancing flames. After a long silence, he admitted, “I wasn’t very good at much else. I dropped out halfway through the first semester of college, threw what I could in my car, and headed for LA. I’ve been there ever since.”

  “You’ve been successful.”

  “That depends on how you measure success.”

  She tilted her head as she looked at him. “What are you thinking, Will?”

  He grinned. “That you make a great fire.”

  “You’re unhappy,” she pointed out.

  The bottom of Will’s stomach dropped out. He hadn’t expected her to call him out so bluntly. “I don’t know when it became not enough, but it’s not. It hasn’t been enough for a long time. I tried to break away from it. I took time off last year. I thought I was ready, but being involved in this project… Something is missing. I don’t know what it is.” He looked into his mug before casting a quick glance at her. Though she seemed genuine in her concern, embarrassment flared in his chest. “This can’t be interesting to you.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “It’s very boring.”

  She stopped lifting her mug before it reached her lips and furrowed her brow at him. “Are you kidding? It’s nice to know the rich and famous have midlife crises too.” Carrie took a sip of her drink as he chuckled. “I’ve been thinking about opening a restaurant,” she said. “Here. At the inn. Like a tearoom.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Mama would like that. It would keep her occupied. She needs something to keep her busy.”

  “So do it.”

  “If it were only that simple.” Carrie eyed him like he didn’t have a clue what he was saying.

  “It is.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Why?”

  She held his gaze for several seconds before explaining, “Maybe you don’t have to concern yourself with things like bills and living expenses, but I do.”

  He laughed a tense, uncomfortable laugh. “Right.”

  “The only reason you and your friends are staying here,” Carrie continued, “is because I had to find a way to pay property taxes, medical bills, and the utilities. If I had the money to invest in a restaurant, you wouldn’t be here. I’m trying to keep that woman in her home for as long as possible.”

  “I apologize,” he said.

  Carrie shook her head as she looked at the fire. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

  Will looked up at the dark sky. “I’m sure it seems like I have everything, but it’s not easy living your life on the front page of the tabloids. Reading headline after headline about how your career is over and having details of your life exposed and exaggerated. Poor Mr. Celebrity, right?”

  “I wouldn’t like it either,” she said. “But it is part of the life you’ve chosen. Just like maintaining this house is part of my life. I might not like it, but I could walk away if I chose to. I could convince Doreen to sell. And you could find another way to make a living. We’re where we choose to be, Will.”

  “I’ve been in this business for over twenty years,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I’ve grown weary of it. Do you know that this is my big comeback?” He faced her, but Carrie didn’t respond.
“It’s been over a year since my last film, which, by the way, was the last in a string of unbearable flops. Taking a break wasn’t all by choice. Finding someone who wanted to put my name on their work isn’t as easy as it used to be, but that was my chance to stand back and figure things out. I needed to recharge, regenerate, and remember why I wanted to be here, but I haven’t been able to figure that out yet. I don’t remember why I wanted this life. It seems so shallow and unimportant now.”

  “What would you do if you weren’t acting? You mentioned the other night maybe something behind-the-scenes?”

  He stared into the pit and pressed his lips together, as if debating if he should share. “I think I’d like to write.”

  “Write what?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head and hoped they could drop this line of thinking. He tended to get depressed when he thought about his life too much. “How do we end up in these conversations?”

  “Beats me, but I find them exhausting.”

  “Me too.”

  She looked up at the stars. “Doreen walked into the kitchen one day about eight months after Mike had been gone and asked where he’d gone to. I didn’t know what to say. I stuttered around until she moved on to something else, but a few weeks later, the same thing happened. I took her to the doctor and found out she’d been struggling more than I’d realized. We spent months getting test after test. When we finally sat down to get a diagnosis, she only asked one thing of me: that I never put her in a home. I agreed, but I didn’t take into consideration that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with her and running this place. We had to cut back on guests and events. Two months ago, I didn’t know how I was going to keep her here, but I knew I had to. This is her home. She was born here; she wants to die here. I couldn’t bear the thought of being the person who took it away from her. So…now you’re here and I’ve bought us a little bit more time.”

  Will could see a sheen of unshed tears in her eyes, and the underlying depression he’d detected so many times suddenly made sense. “She loves you for what you’ve done for her.”

  Carrie nodded. “I know. I love her too. My mother passed when I was young, and I’m not close to my dad, so in a way, Mama is the only family I have left. She’s always taken care of me. She was my rock after losing Mike, even though I know she was hurting too.”

  “How did your husband die?”

  Carrie lowered her gaze. “Some kid walked into the convenience store where Mike had stopped for cigarettes and ended up shooting the three people inside for the hundred bucks in the register. They all died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well,” she said with a shrug, “I’d been telling him for years that smoking was going to kill him. I’m okay,” she said when he didn’t respond to her sad excuse of a joke, “for the most part. Days like this—”

  “I’m going to talk to Juliet,” Will offered.

  “Oh, don’t. It’s not her. Well, it is, but I can handle it. It’s just…everything else.”

  “What is everything else?”

  “Losing Mama a piece at a time, being in the house Mike grew up in with daily reminders that he’s dead, taking on the burden of this place. It’s more than I bargained for sometimes.” Carrie rolled her head, looking at him for a moment before laughing. “My God, that sounds so pathetic.”

  “No, it doesn’t. You’re doing great, Carrie. You really are.” Will reached out, putting his hand on her forearm and giving her a gentle squeeze. The simple act seemed to have them mesmerized as they both stared at where they were connected.

  “The fire is burning out and it’s getting late,” Carrie said softly. “I should get to bed so I can get up in time to fix breakfast. I’d hate to disappoint the great Juliet Ramirez yet again.”

  Will frowned. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t, I promise. I’m just tired.”

  He was tempted to push because he suspected that wasn’t the entire truth. He felt connected to her for some reason, and when he’d touched her, he was certain she felt the same. She wasn’t exactly running away, but she was setting a clear boundary. He wanted to point that out, but she stood and snagged the nearby garden hose to douse the fire.

  As she did, Will took her cup and stood by so he could follow her into the house and right to the dishwasher.

  “Thanks,” she said as she accepted the mugs from him. She dumped the contents into the sink and then opened the dishwasher. After placing the dishes inside, she turned and jolted, as if surprised to see him still standing there.

  Suddenly the room seemed too small, the air too thick. He was certain she noticed the shift between them too. She was no more than six inches away. Close enough that he could touch her. That same comfort that he’d felt sitting with her in the kitchen discussing wine while she made yogurt washed over him. Something about her felt like home to him, and warmth started to spread throughout his chest. The temptation to pull her to him so he could bask in that feeling was strong and unexpected. However, something stopped him.

  When she cleared her throat and slipped around him, he realized that thing was common sense.

  “Thanks for tonight.” Her words came out quickly, forced.

  Oh, yeah. She’d felt something too. He grinned. “It was nice.”

  She gestured behind her toward the door. “I am never going to be able to get up if I don’t get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Right. Sleep well,” he said.

  She made it to the door before turning to look back at him. He was still watching her, and when she caught his gaze, she smiled too. “Don’t stay up too late, Will.”

  “I won’t.”

  She disappeared before he forced his breath out with an audible sigh. Well, that was a surprising turn of events.

  Chapter 5

  “Shit,” Carrie hissed as she rushed down the stairs. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  It was nearly five in the morning. People would be getting up at any moment, eager for their breakfasts, and she had yet to get anything started.

  She’d spent half the night tossing and turning, thinking and rethinking the evening she’d spent with Will, and slept through her alarm. Sighing with relief at the smell of coffee brewing, she bolted into the kitchen.

  “Thank you, Mama,” she said to the woman already cutting up fruit. Walking to a cabinet, Carrie pulled a mug from the cupboard and filled it while she explained. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I didn’t even hear my alarm go off. What needs doing?” She turned, finding the old woman looking crossly at her. “I’m sorry. I overslept.”

  “What are you doing in my kitchen?”

  “Making breakfast?”

  “No, you are not.” Mama angrily wiped her hands on her apron as she moved across the room. “Guests do not fix meals. Not at my inn.” Taking Carrie by the elbow, Doreen started guiding her toward the door. “Go. Sit. Enjoy your coffee in the dining room. I’ll bring breakfast out when it’s ready.”

  Carrie started to protest. She wanted to deny being a guest, remind Doreen that she lived there, that she was married to Mike who had been at the store for the last few years, but the words caught in her throat as a harsh reality crashed down on her.

  Mama didn’t recognize her.

  Tears burned the back of Carrie’s eyes. “Mama?” The word came out as a broken plea.

  Doreen pointed over Carrie’s shoulder. “Go. I’m perfectly capable of handling this.”

  She forced her lips into a smile. “I know that. I wanted to help.”

  “I don’t need help. I’m an old hand at this.” Doreen returned to the island to finish what she’d been doing.

  Swallowing the emotion that was threatening to choke her, Carrie passed by the dining room and headed straight for the small room that served as her office. Even though she knew she’d get the answering service, Carrie pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called Mama’s doctor.

  She left a message requesting he call her as
soon as possible and then put the phone back into her pocket. She stared out the window at the still-dark sky. In her mind, she could see Doreen cutting fruit and wiping her hands on her apron before spreading the food out on a platter, creating a perfect presentation. Carrie had watched her do it a thousand times before.

  When she was younger, helping Doreen during the busy summer months, she had thought it odd how much work the woman had put into simply laying out food. She’d spend nearly as much time putting out the food as she had spent preparing it.

  When asked, Doreen had explained to Carrie the importance of presentation, showing pride in her work, even if it was simply slicing fruit. Mama had instilled a work ethic in her that had pushed Carrie through school and kept her going in her culinary career despite the long, crazy hours and insane demands put upon her.

  It was in that kitchen, under Mama’s watchful eye, that Carrie had fallen head over heels in love with a boy in ripped jeans and a baggy T-shirt.

  Carrie stood there for a long time reliving the past, snapping out of her thoughts only when she sensed someone standing behind her. Clearing her throat, she blinked her tears away and turned around. Will stood in the doorway, his features shadowed by the lights from the other room.

  “Do you need something?” she asked after a moment.

  “Are you okay?” When she didn’t answer, he stepped into the office. “What is it?”

  “Mama,” she whispered. “She doesn’t know me. She…” She swallowed when her voice cracked. Lowering her face, she closed her eyes, but a hot tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

  “I’m so sorry,” Will whispered.

  He only hesitated for a moment before he pulled her to him.

  Carrie didn’t even pause. She didn’t think twice about accepting his comfort. She needed support, and she didn’t care who offered it. Resting her forehead on his shoulder, she sank into his embrace as she finally let go of the emotions she’d been fighting.

  Will spent more of his day worrying about what was happening at the inn than on the set. Carrie had started occupying more and more of his mind, but usually those thoughts were about the conversations and light teasing they shared. This day, his mind was consumed with worry for her and wishing he could be at the inn to help her through what he was certain was a tough day.