Ella stood in the kitchen at the carriage house, wearing an apron with dancing cupcakes on it. She held a big wooden spoon and was stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. “Hank!” It made him happy to see her eyes light up. “What are you doing here? Did you … do one of the sex scenes today?”
He laughed. “Nope. Not today. Tomorrow we’re doing both. Why?”
“Because it’s, uh, weird,” she said, with an apologetic shrug. “I mean, you and Samantha. I don’t know why. I mean, it’s not the age gap. You’re both beautiful people. Maybe it’s your personalities. I don’t know if they mesh.”
Was that a little bit of personal jealousy he heard? Or was she in acting mode, speaking of the craft and of film essentials, like believable chemistry between characters?
“As long as our characters are willing to jump in the sack, we go along, right?” He’d assume she was speaking from a purely academic standpoint. “I can get you on the set if you want. So you can see how technical it actually is.”
“No, thanks.” She flashed him an embarrassed smile. “Anyway, I thought you wouldn’t be home until really late.”
“I got out early.” He loved how she said “home.” It sure felt like home. He peeked into the pot. It was filled with tomato sauce and some kind of meat. “You made enough for an army.”
“Italian sausage and red pepper sauce, with some portabella mushrooms and a generous splash of vino,” she said. “The nonnas’ favorite recipe.”
“The nonnas?”
She chuckled. “My two grandmothers. They’ve both moved to the States since I last saw you. From Sicily. And I’m so glad they’re here. They make a lot of trouble for Mama. But she loves the challenge and the company.”
“When you say ‘here,’ are they visiting Charleston with your mother? Or are they all in New York?”
She shook her head. “Here. Everyone in New York moved to Charleston within a year of my setting up shop with Two Love Lane.”
“Everyone?” He was shocked.
She chuckled. “Twenty-three Mancinis. Mama’s house is the headquarters of all our get-togethers. Unless we’re at Uncle Sal’s pizza parlor on Wentworth Street. Sometimes he shuts it down just for us, but it’s so popular, he rarely does.”
“What’s it called?”
“Mancini’s, of course. It’s already become a Charleston institution. The college crowd loves it. But so does the older crowd. Uncle Sal makes the best specialty pizzas in Charleston, and he delivers. If he can keep up with the downtown rents, he should be there quite a while.”
“Wow.” Hank was flabbergasted. “I had no idea. Your entire family came south.”
He was happy for her. But on a deeper level, he was panicked. She didn’t need him. She had the entire Mancini family to love her, to support her, and always would, even if by some freak chance, they moved back to New York and she had to fly up to see them all the time.
She would never actually need him.
Ella shrugged. “After Papa died, things changed. He was the patriarch, really, of the American branch of the family. I think everyone wanted a change. They saw me leave the big city and the snowy winters, and they decided to try it too.”
He wondered if she’d left because of what had happened between them.
She looked up at him. “I know you’re wondering if I left New York because of our breakup.”
She read minds very well. “I did wonder,” he said. “And if I had anything to do with it, I feel terrible. And I’m sorry.”
Her mouth quirked up in a semblance of a smile. He saw the sadness still there, after all these years. “When we broke up,” she said, stirring slowly, “I was shattered for a while. I quit auditioning, and I moved home with Mama to figure out my life. I decided, for me, the best thing was to leave New York. I love Charleston, and Macy was here, so I came and taught at a children’s theater. It took me a while to get situated, but when Greer moved back and Two Love Lane happened, everything clicked.” She put the spoon down on a bread plate and looked up at him, her expression brighter. “It was the smartest decision I ever made, to move to Charleston. And now everyone in my family lives here, and honestly, I can’t regret what happened. It was for the best, in the end. I feel very lucky.”
For the best. Those were hard words to hear.
He didn’t know what to say, so he just went with whatever came. “After we broke up,” he said, playing with the spoon on the bread plate, “things clicked for me in acting, as you say they did for you with Two Love Lane.” He decided to leave the spoon alone and instead leaned back on the counter, his arms over his chest. He looked at the cupboards opposite him, their dull gray faces, the worn corners. “I got famous. And rich. I was offered great roles—fulfilling ones.” He paused. “But I’m still waiting.”
“For what?”
He flicked a glance at her. “To feel lucky.”
Their gazes held. Did she understand? He was the luckiest actor on the planet. But he wasn’t the luckiest man. Not by far. He couldn’t be. Not without her.
That was it. That was really it.
But he couldn’t say that. He’d come across as narcissistic. Cocky. Maybe a crybaby, even. She didn’t deserve to have him dump his regret on her.
“Oh, Hank.” Ella shook her head and stirred her sauce. She looked briefly up at him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” he said, “although I don’t deserve any sympathy from you.”
She lifted and dropped a shoulder. “Sympathy doesn’t need to be earned.”
He wanted to ask her, Did love? Did love need to be earned? What could he do to win her love? He so wanted to reach out and touch her hair. To kiss the top of her head. To pull her away from that stove and into his arms.
“You’re right that I’m feeding an army tonight,” she said. “The whole Mancini clan is heading to Mama’s so we can all hang out with the Sicilian relatives. They’re here on a visit. It’s one reason I’m staying here. I gave four of them my apartment for the next week.”
“That was nice of you.”
“And Pammy was nice to let me stay here.”
“I’m glad you decided to.”
She gave the contents of the pot another stir. “I’m in charge of the sauce tonight, and it’s got to be good. Mama wants me to be a better cook. And you know what? It’s kind of fun.” She looked up at him with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.
“How many people will that feed?” he asked.
“About thirty,” she said. “We’ll have close to that number. You’re welcome to come, you know.”
She said it with genuine warmth and enthusiasm, which Hank appreciated. It was a step in the right direction, was it not?
Even so, his heart sank a little because tonight he definitely wouldn’t have her all to himself. And then he got a brilliant idea … he remembered Mama Mancini. She’d been a lovely, warmhearted woman. He’d never met the nonnas. Maybe, just maybe, if he could get some people in the family on his side, he’d have better luck getting a second chance with Ella.
“I’d love to,” he said. “Thanks.”
And instantly got nervous. He’d played a Mafia guy in an Oscar-nominated movie (along with the film’s nomination for Best Screenplay and Best Director, he’d been nominated for Best Supporting Actor). The character had been a real loser. Italian stereotypes in Hollywood abounded. He’d never really noticed until he’d read a few articles and letters in the last couple of years in Variety and the Hollywood Reporter. They’d been written by Italian Americans who were fed up with Italians being portrayed as gangsters and lowlifes in cinema and on television. They’d had enough of The Godfather and The Sopranos and movies like the one Hank had been in. They wanted something fresh, something that didn’t smack of old prejudices against the Italian immigrants who’d flooded New York in the early twentieth century at the same time movies were taking off.
Would the Mancinis hold that Mafia role against him? Even more important, would they despise him for breaking Ella’s heart?
Of course they would. He remembered how protective Ella’s sisters had been when he’d met them the first time. Ella had taken him home to meet her family. On that visit, he’d seen a picture of her father, too, in a frame on the wall in their living room in the Bronx. Mama Mancini had said to Hank, “You’re lucky he’s not here to grill you.” She’d chuckled fondly. “He was very protective of his girls.”
Hank remembered telling her she had nothing to worry about. And Ella had come up to him then and wrapped her arm around his waist and said, “Papa would have loved Hank, Mama. He’s looking down right now with approval. I can feel it.”
Ten years later, Hank realized none of the Mancinis would care that he was a movie star. Usually, that would make him happy. Except they were the one group he longed to impress—to deflect, actually, with his celebrity. Instead, the only Hank Rogers they cared about was the one who’d hurt Ella a long time ago. She was their beloved sister, niece, daughter, and granddaughter, a professional actor who’d left her dreams behind in large part because of him.
But he had to do it. He’d hang out with the Mancinis tonight, and gladly. He’d show Ella he wasn’t a coward. He’d face the music, and if they threw him out, then he’d simply have to take it.
“Don’t worry,” she told him, reading his mind again. “They won’t be mean to you.”
“Hey,” he said, “if anyone is, I can’t say I don’t deserve it.”
She chuckled. “You’re actually going to have to put up with a lot of speculation, hints being dropped, people wondering if we’re getting back together, speeches about fate and love and how it never dies.”
“I can handle that.”
“And don’t be surprised if someone asks you for your autograph.”
“Really? After our history, someone might do that?”
“Oh, yeah. You’re still Hank Rogers. I mean, come on! Sometimes I forget, but other times I look at you and think, ‘It’s that guy from Shadowsfall, or Kelly’s Gang,’ and I can’t believe you’re standing in my kitchen.”
“Pammy’s kitchen.” He felt embarrassed and pushed off the counter. “I don’t want you to think of me that way.”
“It’s a compliment,” Ella said. “It means you were really good playing those roles.”
“So you saw them? On the big screen?” Somehow her answer felt important to him.
“Of course I did,” she said. “I’m still your biggest fan, no matter what happened between us. I want you to be happy. And successful.”
She was too good for him. She was a treasure.
He loved her.
Hank took a deep breath. “I was never sure if you saw them. But I always wanted to call you and ask. I wanted to know if you followed my career—”
She quit stirring and turned to him. “Stop beating yourself up. Of course, I follow your career. We were in love, Hank. We lived together. We shared our hopes and dreams. I can’t just lop you off like a bad limb from a tree, especially when your dreams came true. I needed to celebrate with you, from afar. Without contacting you, because that wouldn’t have worked. But I was there on opening day for all your films. And I always will be.”
His heart ached—with love. With regret. With pride and gratitude. And of course, with sadness. He’d had no idea she followed his career at all. He’d hoped that she’d seen every single movie. He’d wanted her opinions on them. None of them had ever felt like true successes to him because he hadn’t been able to share them with Ella.
He wanted to tell her. But how to explain that even feeling her absence keenly, he hadn’t wondered if he should try to win her back? It had never occurred to him as an option, not until this movie came up in Charleston. He might have gone on for the rest of his life not pursuing a second chance with her.
What had held him back, and what was different now? Why had he finally said yes to this movie and come here and told her he wanted another chance? He needed to know himself better before he felt able to move forward.
But time was short. Too short.
He realized he hadn’t even asked her about her afternoon on the set. He wasn’t the only one in the movie. “How’d it go today in the costume shop?”
Her face brightened. “Really well. It took way longer than I thought. About three hours. But I have four costume changes, and in each one, my hair is going to be different.”
Because the timeline in the movie spanned a decade. “In one scene, you’re supposed to be pregnant. What was that like?”
“Fun. Strapping on the belly of a woman eight months along is a bit awkward. But I loved strutting around in it. Someone who walked in thought I was really pregnant and asked me when I was due.”
They both laughed.
“Isabel wanted to speak with me about a change on one of my lines,” Ella went on, “something I totally cheered for because it makes my character slightly more complicated.”
“More stuff to latch onto.”
“Exactly. I want to play someone three-dimensional. Anything I can do to make her feel real, I’ll do. I’m flattered Isabel even asked my opinion about it.”
“I’m glad to see she’s so invested in the actors,” Hank said.
“Me too.” Ella glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “I have to be at Mama’s in about an hour. Is that too soon for you?”
“No, that’s fine. I need to bring something to her as a hostess gift.”
Ella waved a hand. “She doesn’t need anything.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, “it couldn’t hurt.”
“You don’t need to win her over. She’ll be perfectly pleasant. I promise.”
“I’m sure she will, but my mother taught me to come bearing gifts, especially when someone’s not expecting you. I’ll walk the two blocks to Harris Teeter and pick her up some flowers and wine and be right back. Then I’ll go upstairs and change.”
“If you insist. I’ll be finished with this sauce in a minute, and then I’ll change.”
They needed to stop talking about changing clothes. He was getting very bad ideas in his head. They were alone. Totally alone. In the old days, they’d indulged in quickies all the time while they were getting dressed or undressed.
He suddenly remembered something. “Hey, this morning I was in the shower when your friends came over with those doughnuts. Next thing I knew, someone opened the door. When I got out, my bathrobe was missing. Maybe it was Pammy. But I swear she was still asleep at the time. I had to run upstairs in a towel in front of everyone. Miss Thing was pretty entertained.”
Ella laughed. “The same thing happened to me. But it was because I forgot my robe.”
“I know. I saw you from the kitchen.”
“You did?”
He shrugged and grinned. “Sorry. At least you were covered up.”
“True. I saw you in a towel too.” Her cheeks turned pink. “I was in the bathroom upstairs putting on makeup with the door open and saw you behind me in the mirror, coming up the stairs and down the hall.”
“Oh.” He hoped he’d looked decent. He worked out with a couple of personal trainers. But this was Ella. He wanted to look like a god in front of her. Or close to.
She thought for a second. “It was Miss Thing. She’s just naughty enough to have reached into the bathroom and stolen your robe. I’ll bet we’ll find it hidden behind the couch.”
“I found it tossed over the back of the armchair,” he said. “Miss Thing is bad.”
“She is.” Ella grinned. “She wanted a look at you in your towel. And she probably wanted me to see you that way too.”
He paused a beat. “I like how she thinks.”
A smile danced on Ella’s lips, and in her eyes he saw the old heat. The old, familiar heat. Instantly, he could see in his mind’s eye the Ella he’d made love to was the same Ella in front of him now. But she’d blossomed even more and was alluring in whole new ways.
“I promise you, I didn’t forget my robe on purpose,” she said, and backed away a step. She picked up the spoon and held it in front of her.
He swallowed. “No, that was simply sheer luck—for me. It brought back a lot of amazing memories. The best ones of my life.”
She nodded, the spoon in her hand forgotten. It hung there sideways while she considered his words. He waited for her to say something.
And waited.
“Mine too,” she eventually whispered.
Hank took the spoon from her. And then he kissed her.