Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
What were the odds of this happening? Not only me coming back here to shoot a film, but Kassie being here and my temporary landlady as well? I’d never thought I would see her again. We had parted ways, each of us living a life we hadn’t planned. For us to be back in the same place after all this time seemed unreal.
Kismet, some might say.
“Coincidence,” Annie would snort. “Snap out of it,” she’d growl.
I finished the pie, draining my water, the exhaustion I had been feeling gone. I was wide awake and tense, needing to move. To get rid of the excess energy building inside me and escape that scent that suddenly seemed everywhere. After unpacking, I rinsed the plate, took a deep breath, and headed downstairs.
Kassie
Oliver Hart.
Oliver fucking no-heart was in my house. Upstairs. I could hear him moving around. No doubt exploring his accommodations. I was certain, compared to the lavish lifestyle he lived, he was finding it lacking.
Maybe he’d take my advice and leave. Find an expensive hotel in Toronto and commute to the set here daily.
Being the masochist I was, I had followed his career. Watched him grow up right before my eyes, the gangly young man slowly morphing into a sexy adult. Confident, sure of his success. Always with a different woman on his arm. All those years, I had waited for the inevitable announcement of his marriage, surprised I never heard it.
He played the perfect leading man in his romantic comedy movies. Awkward and shy at times. Confident and charming at others. Saying the right things. Doing the right things. Always with a happily ever after at the end.
Unlike real life.
Last year, I had gone to the cinema, curious at the arthouse-type films he was part of. They were terrible, but he was not. The camera loved him and his talent showed, but the films were badly shot, poorly produced, and panned hard. Still, he appeared on the red carpet, smiling and gracious. But I was certain I saw a glimmer of vulnerability when the camera zoomed in closely. Then I told myself I was being stupid.
I didn’t know him anymore. I had no idea his thoughts, his hopes, or what was going on in his life. Maybe what I saw was boredom or concealed impatience. He made no secret of his dislike for the cameras that followed him everywhere. The paparazzi that shouted at him all the time. They were especially brutal after the two flops, but he seemed to ignore them the way he usually did, never acknowledging them on the red carpet or if they followed him to the grocery store.
I paced the room, unable to believe he was here. Back in Richton. Upstairs.
How was I going to handle it?
I huffed out a breath and pulled back my shoulders.
I was going to handle it just fine. I could be polite on the rare occasions I saw him. Our history was in the past. It had been twelve years. We’d both been eighteen and immature, thinking we were in love. We had both moved on. Our lives were totally different. None of the plans we had so blindly made were real. What seemed possible at eighteen was very different when you were thirty.
I nodded, shaking out my arms to dispel the tension in my shoulders. I would follow my routine. Work in my office. Bake my pies. Take my daily runs. Visit with friends.
The fact that Oliver was upstairs wouldn’t change anything. He was a stranger now—someone I’d known in the distant past. Simply a tenant. I would engage only when necessary and remain aloof. Polite but distant.
The knock on the door startled me and, opening it, I found Oliver standing there. His hair was in total disarray, as if he’d been in a windstorm. He had a small smear of blueberry on the corner of his mouth. He held out the empty plate. “Thank you for the welcome. The pie was delicious.”
Wordlessly, I took the plate, holding back the retort in my head that was snidely telling him if I had known it was him, I wouldn’t have bothered.
“Um, nice place you have up there,” he mumbled with a strange look on his face. “Not, ah, cluttered,” he added.
I lifted one eyebrow. “Not the sort of place you’re used to anymore, I suppose.”
He shrugged. “It’s, ah, homey.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a slight. I was proud of my rental. I made sure it was clean, neat, the furniture comfortable, and the place welcoming.
“Anything else?” I bit out, wanting to tell him off but remaining silent.
“I was wondering if there was a gym here now?”
“Sorry?” I asked, having missed his question with my rude inner dialogue.
“A gym? I didn’t see one listed on your information sheet. Does this hick town have a decent gym?”