Jo McNally - She's Far From Hollywood

“Yeah, but I was still recognized an hour after I arrived.” She cringed at the memory of Emily’s reaction in The Hide-Away. “I should have left right then.”

“Yeah, probably not your best idea to rent a ridiculously expensive car and park it in front of a bar in the center of town in the middle of the afternoon. Why not just hire a marching band to announce your arrival while you were at it?”

She held her phone away and looked at it in surprise. Her cousin wasn’t usually so...blunt. Amanda noticed her silence, and rushed to apologize.

“Oh, damn it, I’m sorry! I swear it’s the hormones talking. I have no filter anymore. I’ve turned into that crazy pregnant lady who’s laughing one minute, crying the next and throwing a tantrum after that. Everyone is tiptoeing around me.”

Bree sighed. “No apology necessary. You’re right. I was an idiot yesterday, sweeping into town like I did. And then I made a scene by arguing with that guy in the bar. You know how I fall back on that snob routine when I’m nervous.”

Her skin tightened at the memory of the one man who didn’t take her crap for one second. Cole Caldwell had ripped through her carefully crafted persona with a couple of grunts and well-aimed insults.

“I get it,” Amanda said softly. “I know all about defensive walls and how to build them.”

Bree nodded. Amanda’s childhood had been dark and painful, and she’d buried that trauma deep until she’d met Blake Randall last summer, along with his orphaned nephew, Zachary, whom they’d now adopted. They lived in Blake’s century-old castle in the Catskills, along with that romantic ghost Amanda credited with their happiness. She’d married Blake six months ago, but they’d gotten a bit of a head start, and she was now eight months pregnant.

“Bree? Are you there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just daydreaming.” She stood again, feeling restless. “This isn’t where I belong. I know that sounds awful and pretentious or whatever, but I don’t belong here. I mean, Caroline’s mom seems like a nice woman, but there’s a vegetable stand in her front yard. She bakes pies and bread. We have nothing in common.”

“Wait. She cooks? Didn’t you just write a whole book about cooking?”

“The title of the book is Malibu Style, and it’s about entertaining, not just cooking. Somehow I don’t think Nell would be interested in swapping recipes for my famous caviar and gruyere canapés.”

“You’ll never know until you ask. Maybe your next book will be about country style and bread-baking.” Amanda started to giggle. “Sorry, I just had a mental image of you posing for the cover in a ruffled country apron over your designer evening gown!”

They both laughed at that and ended the call with promises to stay in touch as they each counted down the next few weeks: Amanda to deliver her baby girl, and Bree to return to her real life in California.

After a shower and a bowl of cereal, Bree pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a T-shirt from Gallant Lake, advertising her cousin’s resort.

Beyond the compact kitchen, the rest of the cottage consisted of one more bedroom, a small bathroom with a claw-foot tub, the living room and the front bedroom she’d slept in. The living room opened to a covered front porch facing the road. While the decor wasn’t awful, it was...simple. It reminded her of the plain suburban home she’d grown up in back in Corona, California. That might be why it made her slightly uncomfortable. It represented everything she’d been trying to run away from since her eighteenth birthday.

There was a small bookcase in the back bedroom, and she pulled out a well-worn paperback. The cover featured a bare-chested man with long, dark hair, clutching a red-haired woman in a green velvet gown. A rearing horse in jousting gear was in the background, in front of an imposing castle.

“If I’m going to be here alone for the next few weeks, I may as well enjoy a trashy romance novel.” She grimaced, partly at the book and partly at the realization that she was once again talking to herself. Out loud.

The brave heroine was just beginning to succumb to the brooding charm of her medieval captor when Bree was startled by a knock at the door. She was surprised to see it was almost noon. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment for losing herself so completely in a bodice-ripper, as if she’d been caught being naughty. She tucked the paperback between the cushions of the sofa and went to the door. On the porch stood her biggest fan in the entire town of Russell, North Carolina: young Emily Caldwell. Emily grinned and raised her hands.

“I don’t have a camera, I promise! My mom and I are having lunch over at Miss Nell’s, and we thought you might want to join us. She made sweet tea and we’re having pimento cheese sandwiches on the porch. I promise not to act like a starstruck idiot today.”

The girl’s humor and friendliness touched Bree unexpectedly. She had no idea what a pimento cheese sandwich was, but she suddenly wanted one more than anything. If she didn’t find a way to socialize while she was here, she’d lose her mind. Or end up addicted to historical romances.

“I’d like that, Emily. I’d like that a lot.”

CHAPTER THREE

NELL PATTERSON SAT in her rocking chair and sipped from a tall glass of cold sweet tea. Emily was seated on the steps leading to Nell’s front yard, her hand idly scratching Shep’s ears as the old dog snored by her side. Emily’s mother, Tammy, was on the porch swing with Bree, humming softly to herself as a light breeze brought some blessed relief from the sweltering humidity of the afternoon. The four women had fallen into a comfortable silence after hours of nonstop talk and laughter.

Nell had quickly dispensed with everyone’s initial awkwardness during lunch by asking thoughtful questions and showing genuine interest. Bree found herself giggling at the stories Nell told about the farm animals and some of the customers who came to her fruit and vegetable stand. Tammy talked about her job as a teacher and the bar that was Ty’s pride and joy.

After a bout of shyness, Emily opened up and shared a story about the sophomore class pulling a prank on the high school principal, filling the floor of his pickup truck with ping-pong balls that came bouncing out when he opened his door. Tammy rolled her eyes and winked at her daughter, and Bree felt a pang at the look shared between mother and daughter. It reminded her of times she’d shared with her own mom. The memory was like a paper cut on her heart, unexpected and sharp in its sting.

Bree was reluctant to join in, worried that talking about her Hollywood life would sound pretentious. Which made her wonder if perhaps it was. She sighed.

Tammy turned. “You okay over there?”

“Just feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment.”

“You have friends here. You know that, right?” Tammy rested her hand on Bree’s leg. “Ty told me everything while we were on our way back from Fayetteville.” Ty and Tammy had returned her rental car early that morning. Bree glanced down at Emily, but Tammy went on. “Emily knows, too. I appreciate that you tried to shield her from it, but she’s almost sixteen and more mature than she may have seemed yesterday. It must be scary for you, going from your life to...this.”

“Please don’t take offense, Tammy, but I’m a fish out of water here.” She liked these women. They were so different from women she’d met in Hollywood, who tended to view all other females as adversaries and threats. A simple dinner party there was often nothing more than a prettily disguised battle, with winners and losers clawing for social status.

She didn’t feel the need to be on guard while sipping tea on Nell’s shaded front porch, moving slowly back and forth on the swing. There was no sense of competition, no furtive glances to see what the others were doing or wearing.