Danielle Steel - One Day at a Time

“Sorry,” she said, looking sheepish, and like a little girl again, “it's my favorite movie.” He smiled then. It was quite a compliment from a woman he had come to admire in a single day. She wasn't trying to flatter him. If he hadn't come in, he wouldn't even have known she was watching his movie.

“I liked that one too although I thought I was awful in it,” he admitted casually, grinning at her. “I'm going downstairs. Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks.” It was nice of him to ask. They felt like two kids at a pajama party, in Jane's very sophisticated house. Coco had left her clothes all over the floor of the bedroom. It made it look homier to her. Everything was so neat when Jane was around. Coco thought her mess added humanity to it, although her sister wouldn't have agreed.

“See you in the morning. Enjoy the movie,” Leslie said to her, as he closed the door, and went downstairs for the glass of milk he had wanted and another ice cream. He half hoped that Coco would come down and join him, but she was too engrossed in the movie. He went back upstairs after he finished the milk and ice cream. And this time, when he went back to bed, he fell into a sound sleep within minutes, and didn't stir until morning. He felt as though he had left all his worries behind in L.A., and he had found just what he had wanted when he came here. A safe place, out of harm's way, far from people who wanted to hurt him. And in the safe place, he had found something even more rare. He had found a safe woman. He hadn't felt that way since he had left England and come to Hollywood. And he knew that, tucked away in this house in San Francisco, with this funny girl and the two big dogs, nothing bad could ever touch him here.

Chapter 4

It was another perfect sunny day when they both woke up the next morning. The weather was warm, and the sky was a brilliant blue. Leslie came downstairs before she did, and had already made bacon to go with their waffles. He poured himself a glass of orange juice, and put the kettle on to make tea for both of them. He was pouring the water into two mugs when Coco walked into the kitchen. She had just let both dogs out into the garden. She was going to take them for a long walk after breakfast.

“Smells delicious,” she said, as he handed her a mug of green tea that he had found in the cupboard. He had helped himself to some English Breakfast tea, and drank it without milk or sugar. And a moment later he set a plate of waffles down on the table for her. The maple syrup was already on the table. They both laughed as they remembered the scene of utter chaos when he had walked into the kitchen the day before. “Thank you for making breakfast,” she said politely as he sat down across from her, with his own plate of waffles and bacon.

“I'm not sure I trust you in the kitchen,” he said, teasing her, and then glanced out at the bay through the enormous window. “Are we going to the beach today?” he asked, looking at the sailboats already gathering in race formations. There was constant activity on the bay and an endless flock of boats.

“Would that be all right with you?” she asked cautiously. “I can go by myself if you don't want to. I need to pick up some things, and I should check my mail.”

“Would you mind if I go with you?” He didn't want to overstep his bounds with her, or be a nuisance. She probably had things to do, or might prefer some peace and privacy at her cottage, or even a chance to see friends.

“I'd love it,” she said honestly. And how painful could it be spending a day in Bolinas with Leslie Baxter? “I want to show it to you. It's a crazy little village, but it's terrific.” She had told him about there being no signs, so no one could find them.

An hour later, they got in her van with both dogs, wearing jeans, T-shirts, and flip-flops. She warned him that it could get chilly if the fog rolled in, so they had both brought sweaters. And there was no sign of anything but blue skies as they drove down Divisadero toward Lombard, and joined the flow of traffic heading north to the Golden Gate Bridge. They chatted easily as he told her about growing up in England, and he admitted that sometimes he missed it. But he also confessed that it was different now when he went home. His fame had even changed the way people treated them there. No matter what he did to convince them otherwise, the ordinary people he had known growing up now acted as though he were special or different in some way, no matter how ordinary he still felt.

“Tell me about Chloe,” Coco said, as they drove across the bridge, and up the hill to the rainbow tunnel in Marin.

“She's delicious,” Leslie said, and his face lit up the moment he thought about her. “I wish I saw her more often. She's very smart, and extremely adorable. She takes after her mother.” He said it with a look of deep affection, not only for the child, but also for the woman who had been his girlfriend long before. “I'll show you pictures of her when we get to Bolinas.” He always kept a batch of them in his wallet. “She wants to be a ballerina or a truck driver when she grows up, apparently she thinks they're interchangeable and equally interesting professions. She says truck drivers get to dump things all over the road, which she thinks is extremely entertaining. She takes every imaginable kind of lesson. French, computer, piano, ballet.” He looked proud and happy whenever he talked about his daughter. He said his relationship with her and her mother was easy and straightforward and always had been. “Her mother had a serious boyfriend for a while recently, and I thought she was going to get married. I was a little worried. He was Italian, and Florence would have been even harder for me to get to than New York. I was relieved when they broke up, although Monica deserves to have someone in her life too. To be honest, I was jealous of him with Chloe. He got to see more of her than I do. I don't think her mother's seeing anyone right now,” he said as they took the Stinson Beach turnoff and drove through Mill Valley.

“Would you ever go back to her, because of Chloe?” Coco asked him with interest, and he shook his head.

“I couldn't, and neither could she. The trail is cold on all that now. It's been too long, and there's too much water under the bridge. It was really over for us before Chloe was born. She was just a wonderful accident that happened. Chloe is the best thing that ever happened to either of us. She makes everything worthwhile.”

“I can't even imagine having children,” Coco said honestly, “at least not now.” And even when Ian had been alive, she had felt too young to think about having kids, even with him. “Maybe when I'm in my thirties,” she said vaguely as they drove along. He admired the way she handled the curves in the road with the ancient van. It made some pretty scary noises, but it chugged along. Leslie mentioned that he loved working on cars. It was a boyhood passion he had never outgrown. He was impressed by the hairpin turns that followed the cliffs along the coastline, which she negotiated with ease. She seemed competent and calm and in control of her life to him, no matter what her mother and sister thought. He felt certain they were wrong. And the closer they got to the beach, the happier Coco was.

“I hope you don't get carsick,” she said, glancing over at him with concern.

“Not yet. I'll let you know.” The weather was gorgeous and the scenery fantastic. Both dogs were sound asleep in the back of the van, and after twenty minutes of sharp turns, the road dropped down to Stinson Beach. Half a dozen shops sat haphazardly next to each other on either side of the road. An art gallery, a bookstore, two restaurants, a grocery store, and a gift shop. “This has to be one of the lost wonders of the world,” Leslie said, looking amused at the quaint town, if you could call it that. It was over in two blocks, and they rounded a turn, passing some narrow roads with falling-down shacks.