The Real Thing (Sugar Lake Book 1) Page 19

  “Think I wanted to screw up your first time? No way. You trusted me, and that meant the world to me.”

  “Aw, Z. That’s so romantic.”

  He scoffed. “I also jerked off twice before I met you so I’d last longer. Not so romantic, sweetheart. A necessity.”

  Laughter burst from her lungs. “Seriously? That’s . . . oh my God. Do all guys do that? Do you do that now? Geez, what other things is the male race hiding from us?”

  He was laughing as Sam Shearson shuffled past the front window.

  “Here he is now.” Willow squeezed Zane’s hand. “You’ll love him.”

  ZANE TOOK IN the large elderly man entering the bakery. His checkered button-down shirt didn’t quite go with his cargo shorts. Dark knee-high socks and black orthopedic sneakers rounded out his quirky outfit. Wrinkles mapped his deeply tanned skin like rivers coursing around a thin-lipped mouth and slightly hooked nose. Smiling eyes surveyed the bakery from behind wire-framed glasses resting on the type of ears mothers grew their children’s hair long to hide.

  Sam stuck a finger up toward the ceiling. “One banana nut muffin, a cuppa coffee, and a hug for my newly engaged friend.” He opened his arms, and Willow walked in, embracing the man as if he were family.

  “Aw, thank you, Sam.” She glanced over her shoulder at Zane, and Zane’s nerves went haywire. She took Sam’s hand and led him to the table as Zane rose to his feet.

  “Sam, this is my fiancé, Zane Walker. Zane, this is Sam Shearson.”

  Sam had a good two inches on him and probably thirty pounds. A fluff of white hair circled his bald crown, and Zane couldn’t help but notice several fine white scars on his hands and forearms. The marks of a fisherman.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Zane held a hand out in greeting.

  Sam pushed his hand away. “Get on in here.”

  He tugged Zane into a tight embrace, slapping him on the back harder than expected. “You hurt my Willow, and I’ll take you out on my boat and drown you in that lake. Got it?”

  “Sam. That’s illegal,” Willow teased.

  “Don’t you worry your pretty little head.” Sam pulled out a chair at Zane’s table. “I’ll take him out into the ocean. Ocean floors don’t tell your secrets. You don’t mind if I sit and chat with your gentleman friend, do you, Willow?”

  Willow raised her brows. “I’ll get your breakfast, but be good to him, Sam.”

  Sam waved her away and set a serious glare on Zane, then dropped his eyes to the empty chair by Zane’s side.

  Zane sat, feeling like he was about to get reamed. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to hurt her.”

  Sam’s eyes roved over his face. “No, son. I don’t expect you do. But hurt comes in many forms, and I’ve read the papers.” He slapped the newspaper down on the table so hard, coffee splashed from Zane’s mug. “Not that I believe all the garbage. You Hollywood types got no privacy. It’s not like it was in my day. Hell, I’d go out on the fishing boat before dawn and be gone until dark. Come back stinking so bad no woman wanted to be anywhere near me. No expensive colognes for me. No, sir.” He pointed at Zane, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I don’t care what the papers say. I know enough about you from when you lived here.”

  Aw, Christ. What the hell did that mean?

  Willow brought Sam’s coffee and muffin, along with a fork and knife. “You guys let me know if I can get you anything else.” She headed back to the counter and gave Zane a thumbs-up.

  Zane hung on Sam’s next breath as the old man lifted the coffee to his lips.

  “Mm. Willow makes a mean cup of coffee.” Before Zane could respond, Sam said, “Star quarterback, on the track team, the homecoming parade. You were the boy whose parents lived on the other end of town. The scared boy.”

  “Excuse me?” Zane felt like he was sitting at the bottom of a valley and all his childhood fears were about to come crashing down around him.

  Sam proceeded to cut his muffin into bite-size pieces, working in silence. If it weren’t for the kind smile on his lips, Zane would think he was purposefully dragging out his misery.

  He took a bite of the muffin and pointed the empty fork at Zane. “I know a thing or two about being scared. Can’t be afraid out on the high seas. Mother Nature will beat that fear out of you quicker than you can drop a fishing line.”

  Zane raked a hand through his hair, unsure what to make of the old man.

  “You ever fish?” Sam asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Then you know when you hook a live one, every muscle comes to life. Adrenaline surges through your veins, and you hold your breath, or curse, or pray that you’ll be able to reel her in. And when you do, you finally breathe like you’ve never breathed before.” He took another bite, sipped his coffee, taking his sweet time. His eyes never left Zane’s. “You were stuck in that middle ground for a while. Scared but ready to bolt. And then you made it. Everyone in Sweetwater followed Zane Walker’s success. You were the talk of the town for the first few years after you left. I couldn’t walk into the post office without hearing a story or two.”

  Zane wondered if that was why his parents had moved away.

  “So tell me,” Sam said. “Can you breathe now, son?”

  A laugh escaped before Zane could stop it. Now he knew why Willow loved this man. He had successfully dragged Zane through an emotional roller coaster in less than five minutes and completely disarmed him with the unexpected question.

  “That’s a hell of a question.”

  Sam popped another piece of muffin in his mouth. “Yes. Yes, it is.” His eyes dropped to Zane’s screenplay, lying faceup on the table. “Beneath It All. That yours?”

  At least he’d let him off the hook with the first question. Only now he felt like one of the fans begging for his autograph. He didn’t like being the guy who wanted something from a stranger, and Sam was too nice a guy to be used like this. Zane decided not to ask for his help after all. “Yes.”

  “Good story? Turning it into a movie?”

  He shrugged. “I hope so.”

  “I wrote a story once.”

  “Willow told me that you won an Academy Award.”

  Sam finished his muffin and coffee and rose to his feet without acknowledging Zane’s comment.

  “All done?” Willow came out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her jeans. She gave Zane a concerned look, and he shook his head, indicating for her not to say anything.

  Sam handed her a wad of cash. “Delicious as always. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Sam. As always.”

  “Walk with me, Zane,” Sam said.

  “Sure.” He folded his screenplay and stuck it in his back pocket. Willow gave him a curious look. He hugged her and whispered, “It’s all good.”

  Zane pushed the bakery door open for Sam, inhaling the crisp mountain air. Sunlight glistened off the lake across the street. He was glad they no longer needed security at Willow’s door. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

  “You are no follower,” Sam said, surprising him.

  Bridgette was setting up a display in front of the flower shop. “Hi, guys. Pretty day today.”

  “Sure is, sweetheart,” Sam said. “How’s that boy of yours?”

  Bridgette’s eyes lit up, as they always did when she spoke of her son. “Brilliant, bossy, and infuriating. Unfortunately, I think at five he’s already well on his way to manhood.”

  Sam and Zane both laughed.

  “That’s my boy,” Sam said, and continued walking at a slow pace.

  They walked in silence and turned at the corner. It was still early summer, with a nice morning breeze, and many of the shop owners had their doors propped open.

  “It was 1960,” Sam said out of the blue.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When the whole award thing got under way. Hell of a fluke, too. We’d docked the boat in San Diego and hit a local bar. I’m sitting there drinking my beer
, and the guy next to me is talking to the bartender. It was pretty dark, and I was dead tired, but the guy had a gorgeous, deep voice, and it was the kind of voice you don’t forget. Well, I waited until he was done talking, and I said, ‘I’m sure this will sound crazy, but you sound just like Orson Welles.’” Sam turned left at the next corner. “The guy picks up his drink and says, ‘That’s because I am Orson Welles, and this voice has made me a hell of a lot of money.’”

  “No way.” It wasn’t the most eloquent of responses, but it was too late for Zane to take it back.

  “That’s exactly what I said. We got to talking, and I told him about this little tale I’d written. To make a long story short, he said to send it to him. I did, you know, expecting nothing. And a few weeks later I got a phone call from him. The whole thing was crazy. But sure enough, he got it made into a film. Winter Fear. You ever see it?”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Zane admitted, wishing he had. “Were there more opportunities that followed? Did you ever write anything else?”

  Sam waved a hand dismissively as they turned another corner, heading toward the lake again. “Oh, opportunities were offered, but happiness isn’t found by taking every opportunity. It’s choosing the right opportunities. I didn’t mean to write that story. It came to me, I wrote it, and that was it. Strangest thing, too. I was horrible in school. Why do you think I became a fisherman? My father had taught me a trade, and thank goodness he did. Oh, I bitched a blue streak when I was younger. I wanted to hang out with my friends over the summers, but you didn’t tell my father no.” He laughed under his breath. “No, sir. Back then you got the belt. Not like nowadays, when kids curse at their parents.”

  Zane knew all about being horrible in school. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”

  “Dumb luck. That’s what it was. But I made a few good friends over that time.” They reached Main Street and turned toward Willow’s bakery. Sam stopped in front of the hardware store. “Here we are. Get that door for me, will you, please, son?”

  Zane pulled open the door. “Why did we walk around the block when we could have walked two doors down?”

  “A man’s got to have a purpose at eighty-five,” he said as they entered the store, “or he won’t make it to eighty-six.” He went straight to the aisle with nails and picked up three, three-inch nails.

  “They sell them in boxes.” Zane reached for a box.

  “I don’t need a box. I need to fix a loose board on my deck.”

  “You may need more than three nails, and then you’ll have to walk back here.”

  Sam smiled and headed up to the cash register with his three nails in hand. “Like I said. At my age a man’s got to have a purpose.” He paid for the nails, and when they left the store, Sam stood on the sidewalk looking out over the lake. “What’s your purpose, Zane?”

  “That’s a tough question.” His goals were clear—to do whatever it took to win Willow over once and for all, to be the best man he could be for her, and to get up the guts to bring his screenplay to the big screen, but his purpose? That was much more difficult to define.

  “Goals and purpose are two very different things. Your goal might rely on others, but your purpose? That’s all you, son. And I guarantee, when you figure that out, the rest will follow.” He checked his watch. “It’s time for me to head down to the library. Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For giving me a purpose to reach my goal,” Sam said. “I made it around another block. That’s a good day in my book.”

  Zane watched him stroll away and called after him, “Hey, Sam. How does a deep-sea fisherman from San Diego end up in Sweetwater?”

  A smile crept across the elderly man’s face. “My right opportunity came in the form of Ruthie McGee, the sweetest woman to ever come out of Sweetwater. That is, until your Willow came around.”

  Emotions bubbled up inside him. “My girl is something, all right.”

  “So are you, Zane. You’re not that scared kid anymore. If you believe in that story in your pocket, you’ll find a way to bring it to life. But I’m not telling you anything you didn’t figure out a long time ago.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “LOOK WHO WANDERED into my shop.” Bridgette came through the arched doorway from her flower shop after closing Thursday afternoon with Aurelia Stark, looking just as fresh and beautiful as she had first thing that morning.

  Willow wiped her hands on her shorts, which were stained with flour, frosting, and grease from trying to repair her oven. “Girls, you’re right on time. My oven went wonky again, and the cupcakes came out funky. We have no choice but to eat them.” She locked the door to the bakery and hugged Aurelia. Her long, naturally wavy brown hair fell to the middle of her back. She was as petite in height as Piper, but curvy like Willow, and at twenty-seven she still wore some of the same clothes she’d worn when she was eighteen—today it was jeans with holes in the knees, white Converse, and a simple white tank top. And somehow she managed to look like a million bucks.

  “You look incredible. Whatever you’ve done, it suits you.”

  “Long story.” Aurelia made a beeline for the kitchen.

  Willow and Bridgette exchanged a concerned glance.

  “I’ve been texting you all week. What’s going on?” Willow grabbed plates from a cabinet and slid them across the counter.

  “My phone is having issues.” Aurelia took a big bite of cupcake and set two more on the plates for the girls.

  “Bummer. What happened?” Bridgette nibbled on her cupcake.

  “I think it has something to do with being thrown at a moving car.”

  Willow nearly choked on her cupcake. Aurelia’s phone always took the brunt of her bad days.

  “I know, right?” Aurelia stuffed more cupcake in her mouth. She glanced at Willow’s ring, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Holy crap. So it’s really true? You and Zane? You guys own the Internet right now. They’re running the pictures of you two in Lake George with different headings every day.”

  True and becoming more real every day. Willow had made a point of avoiding the Internet since she and Zane had gotten together. She didn’t need to see what she already knew, and the Internet cheapened everything. Between gathering recipes for the set breakfasts, keeping up with the bakery orders, and Zane preparing for his filming and working on his screenplay, which he hadn’t stopped tweaking since he met Sam, the past few days had flown by. And the nights? They’d made love into the wee hours of the mornings. Willow was running on pure adrenaline, or as her mother had said when she’d come by that morning, she was living on love. Willow couldn’t deny the way her heart soared every time she and Zane were together, or that he hadn’t ogled a single woman since he’d made his feelings toward her clear. Or the way his laugh made her stomach flutter, his kisses turned her inside out, and seeing his stuff in her apartment made her never want him to leave.

  “It’s really true,” Willow finally answered. She and Aurelia had been close in high school, but Willow realized that while she’d clued her in on other meaningless crushes throughout those years, she’d never told her about her crush on Zane.

  “Wow. So does that mean you’re moving to California? What about the bakery? Oh my God, you can’t move that far away. Your mom would go crazy.” Aurelia spoke a mile a minute, and she grabbed Bridgette’s hand. “What about Bridge? No. You can’t do it, Willow. You can’t leave Sweetwater.”

  “Oh my gosh, Aurelia!” We aren’t even really engaged. “We haven’t even set a wedding date.” Willow had been trying not to think about how all those things would play out. She couldn’t expect Zane to move to Sweetwater, but she wouldn’t want to move away from everyone she knew and loved, and her business. She was getting way ahead of herself. He hadn’t proposed to her, no matter how much Zane wanted it to be real. Or how much she fantasized about it. He’d handed her a gaudy ring under a cloud of trickery. They were only playing house. That was the bottom line. She drew in a deep brea
th, feeling strangely relieved and sad at once.

  “So where is he?” Aurelia asked. “He starts filming next week, right? Is he out rehearsing?”

  “He’s been rehearsing like a maniac. He finally took a break and went to hang out with Ben.”

  “How is Benny boy? Believe it or not, I miss that pain in the ass.” Aurelia and Ben had a love-hate relationship. She finished her cupcake and grabbed another. “You meant it when you said I could eat these, right?”

  “Ben’s great. Still the luckiest man on the face of the earth where investing is concerned, and yes. Eat all you want. Please.” Willow was used to Aurelia bouncing between topics. She’d done it her whole life.

  “Can we please get back to the phone throwing?” Bridgette pleaded. “I have to pick up Louie soon. Harley bought him a Spider-Man bike, and he’s giving it to him tonight.”

  “Have you nailed that big, sexy hunk yet?” Aurelia asked.

  “Tsk! No. He’s just a friend.” Bridgette bit into her cupcake. “Besides, I think he has the hots for Piper.”

  Willow’s ears perked up. “Seriously?”

  Bridgette nodded. “He’s always asking about her.”

  “You guys,” Aurelia said conspiratorially. “They used to call him the muff marauder. The guy is packing major heat.”

  “What?” Bridgette squealed. “Muff marauder? I’ve never heard that.”

  “Oh yes. Heaven Love made out with him when she was in twelfth grade.” Aurelia turned her arm over and ran her finger from wrist to elbow.

  Bridgette’s eyes widened, and she inhaled her cupcake.

  Willow laughed. “Oh my.”

  “No shit, right?” Aurelia agreed.

  “You guys are pigs,” Bridgette teased.

  “Hey, I’m being serious,” Aurelia said. “It’s not my fault he’s blessed with a godlike penis. Zane, too. Don’t you remember Frances whatshername saying he was hung like a horse?”

  Willow held her hands up. “Okay. Stop. I can’t talk about my man’s manhood.” She scooped frosting from a cupcake and sucked it off her finger, trying to drown the image of Zane with any other woman.