Chapter Fourteen

On Sundays, the staff took the day off, so I slept until noon. When I finally woke, my muscles ached and my head pounded. I would have slept for another few hours, but the burning in my stomach said I required food more than sleep. I wandered into the kitchen, barefoot and dressed in the clothes I had borrowed from Eunice. Silence encased the house, and I wondered if anyone remained. That would be fine by me—a day alone.

I rummaged through the refrigerator and cabinets in search of anything edible. Back when I influenced the shopping of this household, the cupboards exploded with sugary cereals, chocolate-frosted donuts, toaster pastries, and peach instant oatmeal. Now, it seemed, Meredith’s “bunny food” had taken over. Whole grain cereal, fiber bars, bran muffins, and flax oatmeal—how could anyone live like that? I’d be on the toilet night and day. I smiled at the thought, then frowned again. None of the choices sounded good, and the sad reality was I had no idea how to cook. I reached into the fridge and grabbed a piece of soy cheese. Grimacing, I bit into it, just as the door behind me banged closed. I spun around, the slice of bogus cheddar still hanging between my teeth.

Henry smiled. “Did I catch a mouse stealing some cheese?”

I swallowed and palmed the rest. “If you can call it that. Honestly, I’m starving and have no idea what to eat. It’s all nutritious and disgusting—I don’t even think you can truly call it food. More like cardboard in fancy packaging.”

Henry laughed.

I liked his laugh, friendly and deep, but not guttural; it always put me at ease.

“Rosa usually leaves some casseroles in the back of the fridge for the staff to eat.”

The smell of aftershave lingered behind him as he crossed by me.

He opened the fridge door, squatted, pushed a few jars out of the way, then produced a rectangular glass dish covered in foil. “Here we go.” He set it on the counter and winked. “This is the good stuff.” He lifted the foil.

I peered at what looked like creamy, light-green mush under melted cheese. My nostrils flared in slight disgust. “What is it?”

He laughed. “It might not look great, but I promise, it tastes wonderful.”

“But what is it?”

“She calls it her Mexican casserole surprise.” He smiled. “It’s not all that much of a surprise. I watched her make it once before. It has corn tortillas, shredded chicken, Ortega chilis, and like three cheeses… cream cheese, cheddar cheese, cotija cheese, and sour cream. I promise, it’s divine.”

“That’s a lot of cheese.”

“Well, I did just catch you eating cheese, so I’m going to guess you’re not a vegan, like the lady of the house.”

“Actually, that was soy cheese.” I swiped at the air. “I just meant I try not to eat something so fattening.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “Last time we hung out, you ate a cherry Danish, and if I recall, you went back for some pumpkin bread and a sugar cookie.”

“True, but I was super hungry. And sugar is different than fat.”

“I’m pretty sure that sugar turns into fat.”

“Touché.” I laughed and waved a hand toward the casserole. “Fine. Go ahead and warm up the goopy surprise.”

He winked, walked to the cupboard to withdraw some plates, then scooped some onto each one. A quick pop in the microwave, and the mystery meal lay ready to consume.

I’ll admit, once cooked, it smelled much better. Actually, it smelled yummy, like melted cheese, cooked tortillas, and Mexican spices. I timidly brought the first bite to my mouth and nibbled the end.

“Well?” he asked, having already eaten half of his portion.

I nodded. “Yeah, okay. It’s good.”

“I knew you’d like it.”

“Okay, I lied. I don’t usually avoid fattening food, and I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

“Nah,” he said sarcastically. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“But I have an amazing metabolism.”

“I noticed that, too.” He let his gaze roll down my figure with a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

“Ha!” I slapped him playfully on the arm.

He laughed, pretending to squirm away.

I scraped the bottom of my plate, before serving myself some more. It really was good, and before long, I had eaten three and half servings.

“Rosa told me you have some sort of amnesia. Is that what you were trying to tell me when we went for coffee?”

I hated to lie to Henry but knew I had no choice. He would never believe the truth. “Yeah, I’m guessing I hit my head in the jail cell, and it’s kind of wiped some of the past away.”

He set his fork down and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “This might be bad to say, but I’m glad.”

“Glad I got hurt?”

“Glad, because I like the new you more.”

I looked up from my empty plate. His beautiful chocolate eyes made my heart skip. Could he actually like me? No one ever liked me. In the past, men used me. Women hated me. Children feared me. And family, well they barely tolerated me. I hadn’t had a real friend in as long as I could remember. I offered a soft, closed-mouth smile. Not knowing how to really react to this moment, I decided to go with what I did know, insults. “Maybe I never liked you either.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

I set my fork down and crossed my arms. “So, you didn’t like the old me at all, huh?”

“Well, you didn’t make it easy,” he replied.

“I suppose I can give you that.” I turned to the fridge and snagged a bottle of root beer. I didn’t know if staff was supposed to drink them or not, but I had requested they always be stocked before. So, in essence, these were mine. I handed him one. I screwed off the top and held the bottle out. “To a better me.”

Henry clanked the neck of his bottle with mine. “To a better you.”

I sipped. The sugar tasted amazing going down. Again, it took me back to a presence that no longer existed.

He set his bottle on the counter and folded his arms over his chest. “Do you have plans for the rest of the day?”

I brought the bottle to my chin, blew in the hole, and pretended to think. “Um, well, let’s see. Does staring at the ceiling, taking a few more naps, and showering count?”

“Great, it’s settled then.” He picked up my empty plate. “I suggest we get out of here and go to the beach. We’re having a Santa Ana, so you know what that means?”

“Hot desert wind.”

“Well, yes, that. But what I meant was, it means we need to drive to the coolest part of the city. We need to go to the beach.”

“We need to, huh?” I laughed.

“Yes, this qualifies as a need. You game?” He smiled. His straight teeth glowed against his bronzed skin.

I loved the beach, and the company would not be too bad either. And let’s be real, anything would trump this depressing place. “Yeah, that would be cool. Oh, but wait. I have one problem.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“Hmm…let me text Eunice. You two are about the same size.”

Before, that comment would have sent me over the edge. Now, I was extremely thankful. I had borrowed a few of her things already. For some reason, in this alternative universe, my fairy godmother didn’t think to set me up with anything but a maid’s uniform. And she thought I was evil. “Let me go shower, and I’ll meet you back in half an hour?”

He nodded, texting on his phone. “If I am able to get you a suit, I’ll have her leave it by your door.”

“Cool, thanks.” I walked back to my room, ready to get out of here.

Eunice met me by the bathroom with a black bathing suit and a teal maxi dress. Her scowl indicated she was less-than-thrilled to help, but she still held it out. I didn’t get her. What she did and how she did it always conflicted. Such a mystery. Maybe this was part of her “choosing joy,” who knew?

“You know, Cindy. I think when we get paid tomorrow, you might want to think about buying some of your own clothes. I can’t keep giving you mine.”

“Good idea,” I said, taking the clothes. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

She nodded, then pranced back down the hall and out of sight.

I showered and threw on the garments. I didn’t really need thirty minutes. More like fifteen. Getting ready used to take me two hours. Now, I was only allowed ten minutes in the shower, and I had no makeup or hair products to worry about. Other than borrowing a plum lip gloss and a vanilla lotion from the drawer, I had little to do.

In my bedroom, I turned on a floor fan and held my hair upside down and raked my fingers through it. This would at least give me some volume. I didn’t have a brush either, so this would have to do. I flipped my hair back. Luckily, the layers made it somewhat presentable. I would obey Eunice though. As soon as I had money tomorrow, clothes and toiletries were essential. A week without them had been torture.

Someone knocked on my door.

I opened it, and my breath caught.

Henry wore black board shorts and sandals. His taut tank top revealed a six-pack and muscles, but my gaze locked onto the dragon inked on his left bicep.

“Do you like my tattoo?”

My cheeks heated. “Yeah, it’s cool. A dragon? Any significance?”

He pushed his bicep out, and I could see the full extent of the artwork. The black-and-white medieval dragon curled around his arm, horns on its head, and a red eye, with folded wings. A sword with a drop of blood pressed into the animal’s heart. “Oh, it’s wounded.”

A playful twinkle danced in his eyes. “Yes, it’s about living a life of honor and defeating those things that seem too big. A knight always has to defeat the dragon to win the princess’s hand. Why do you think that is?”

“To prove he was a big and strong man?” I teased.

“Um, sort of, but not exactly.” He chuckled. “The dragon was always a beast that threatened everybody. Only the brave could defeat it. If a knight could prove himself worthy of such a task, then the King would say he was worthy of the princess.”

“Have you defeated your dragon?” I touched the sword on his arm.

But he didn’t flinch. A soft grin slid across his handsome features, and his stare locked with mine. “I’m working on it. I guess I’m not worthy yet.”

We stared at each other for a moment. My pulse increased. I swallowed, not sure how to process what I felt. “Well, I like it. Ready?” More like, ready to change the subject? This man had done something to me. I hated to admit it, but I liked him. A working man. How could I have feelings for a blue-collar worker? But I did. Insane.

Of course, how could I not? He was super nice, even when I wasn’t nice in return. He had rescued me a ton of times. Even before I became a pauper, he’d been my hero. And let’s face it, the man could light a forest fire with his appearance. If I needed to be good, my first target would be him. I found when I was with him, I wanted to be good, to be better, and to be nice. Weird that he could affect me that way. Okay, it would be weird if anyone could affect me that way. I never expected to like anyone…or for anyone to ever really like me. Maybe I wasn’t a complete and utter reject.

To our fortune, the LA traffic traveled faster than its usual snail’s pace. The drive from the house to the beach took only twenty-two minutes. In the distance, the iconic Ferris wheel jutted high above the Santa Monica pier, surrounded by glowing florescent lights of every color. The parking lot buzzed with people and cars moving in and out. After four passes, he finally spotted an open slot and seized it.

“Looks like everyone had the same idea today,” I said.

“I mean, ninety-degree weather on a Sunday in the middle of November. Who would want to go to the beach for that?” He winked.

We both laughed.

Henry exited the car and walked around to let me out.

As I rose next to him, I thought of the day he and I first met. He had smiled by the car, and I was mean because he didn’t open my door. What a jerk, I was. Now, our stares locked, and I once again felt an intense attraction course through my body. It scared me, so I looked away.

“Do you want to go straight to the beach or up on the pier for a little bit?” he asked.

I had no money, and I could smell the caramelized sugar from here. What could I possibly do on the pier but drool at all the yummy treats? “The beach is fine.”

He opened the trunk, pulled out a red cooler and tan blanket, and then guided me down to the ivory sand. Prone bodies on colorful towels dotted the entire coastline. We weaved our way through them, in search of an open space. Some tanned, and others relaxed under umbrellas. Kids and dogs ran in and out of the water, while adults chased both. Young handsome guys flirted with women in bikinis, and the older men ogled from afar. Farther out to sea, surfers fought for the next wave, and kids bobbed in the water, running with the tide.

The sand seeped into my torn shoes, so I removed them and walked barefoot along the shoreline. The granules percolated between my toes, warm and supple, with every step. I tried to take it all in. The gentle ocean breeze as it hugged my skin and calmed my nerves. Majestic waves folded and crashed in front of us, surely lulling the masses with their soothing sound. The smell of salt and sea fanned the air. I breathed deep, realizing for the moment, I was no longer a maid, just a young girl on a date with a hot guy in Santa Monica, California. I embraced the normal and relaxed sensation I felt.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Never better.” I grinned.

After a ten-minute walk, we found a patch of sand. Henry flapped open the blanket, and we reclined on it. He removed his shirt.

It took everything in me not to stare. Every dark muscle cut into his stomach, prominent and hard. To divert my attention, I removed my dress. Never in my life had I worn a one-piece bathing suit. The plunging neckline and high cut on the hips made it bearable, but I preferred a bikini.

Henry grinned. “Would you like a root beer? I grabbed a few from the fridge.”

“Sure,” I answered.

He reached in the cooler and tossed one over.

I caught it. In the hot sun, the icy bottle was cold and soothing. I ran it over my arms and face, then unscrewed the cap and sipped from the lip. For a long while, we sat there, silent, drinking our root beers and staring at the crashing waves and the tide as it pressed in and out. We didn’t really need to talk. Just be. His presence pacified me. My life usually sucked. But right now, in this second, it didn’t. Even before all this fairy godmother madness, I had not experienced this much peace. Or anything close to it. I wanted to thank him… to hug him…to kiss him. As if he could read my mind, he glanced at me.

I offered a coy smile. Usually, that gave the guy a green light. But Henry either didn’t notice or ignored it, got up, and offered a hand.

“Want to walk down to the water?”

“Sure.” I shifted my bottle into the sand, raised my arms, and he took hold of my hands and lifted me to my feet. Our faces were now inches apart. My heart pounded, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me.

But again, he let go and moved to my side.

Together, we strolled down to the water. The beach at the water’s edge felt both chilly and firm under my feet. Waves licked at ankles, in and out, bubbling and hissing. With it, the ocean brought wildlife to the shore. A few times, I had jump out of the way of the lines of seaweed lapping at my toes. As the water receded, the sand tugged at my footing.

A seagull landed a few feet away and dunked his beak in the water, then flew away with something in his mouth.

Henry and I waded in a bit deeper to our hips. The waves moved our weight, and I caught Henry’s elbow to keep from falling backward.

His arm slid around my waist and lifted me back.

“Thanks,” I said, shyly.

He winked and let go.

We strolled back to the water’s edge. Henry reached down to pick up a purple sand dollar and chucked it back into the sea.

“Nice, you saved one.”

“Have you heard the story about the boy and the sand dollar?”

I shook my head.

“A boy walked down the shoreline, tossing the sand dollars back in the sea, and a guy came up to him and said, ‘You know, you’ll never make a difference. There are hundreds of sand dollars all along this shoreline.’ And the little boy bent down, picked up another one, and tossed it in the ocean and said, ‘It made a difference to that one.’ ”

“I like that.”

“I’m surprised you’ve never heard it before.”

I wasn’t. Who would tell me a story like that? I had no friends. Well, until now. I cupped a hand over my eyes and squinted to see him in the bright sun. “Tell me your story. Where do you come from?”

“My story?” He touched a knuckle to his chin and then fanned his hand out. “Well, I’m originally from San Diego. My parents lived a modest life there. My dad worked security at Balboa Park, and my mom was a pre-school teacher. Then about ten years ago, he decided to move to Colorado to start his own business. So, I went to high school in Colorado, and then came back to So Cal after graduation.”

“Why did you come to LA?”

“Why’d I come LA?” He faced me, squinting in the bright sun, with water dripping from his gorgeous face and chest. “Probably for the same reason most people do.”

“To be famous?” I lifted an eyebrow and smiled.

“Close. To get into the movie business. I want to sell my screenplay.”

My smile faded. “Your screenplay?”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to get someone to read it for a while now.”

I stared, afraid to ask this next question. If he answered the way I feared he would, the magic of this date would be over. “And you took the job with Mr. Tremaine as his limo driver because—”

He laughed. “Why do you think?”

It wasn’t an answer, but the implication made me suddenly ill. “You hoped to pitch to my dad.”

“Your dad?” His forehead crinkled.

“Sorry, Mr. Tremaine.”

“Yeah. Hopefully, the opportunity will happen soon. Rosa said I should just leave it on the seat in the back of the limo, but I’m not so sure. That kind of makes me nervous.”

“I don’t feel so good.” I turned for the shoreline and ran back to our blanket.

He followed. “Are you okay?”

Oh, how I hated people using Dad. It always infuriated me. Whether my dad knew me right now or not didn’t matter. I was still protective of him. And this guy—his limo driver, whom he trusted—waited like a panther ready to pounce at any moment. My father deserved to have a few places where he could enjoy his peace without moochers and leeches—his own home and car. Not to allow him to have that; well, it made me livid. “I’m feeling sick. I’m ready to go.” It was the truth. The idea of Henry right now made me want to vomit.

“Oh, okay.” He reached the blanket, flapped it out to remove any sand, and then folded it and tucked it under his arm.

In an effort to leave faster, I grabbed the cooler and sauntered up the embankment. The sooner we left, the better. One reason—well, certainly not the only reason—but one reason I avoided friendships stemmed from this exact problem. I had always wondered if people really desired to be my friend or if they just wanted to get to Dad. Sure, Henry sought to be my friend. But like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, he would betray my dad’s trust. I should have never tried to let him in or to be his friend. People sucked and could not be trusted. They always coveted more than they deserved. It infuriated me beyond reason.

Henry tried to talk on the way home.

But I only offered grunts of “mmhmm” and “uh-huh” the entire way. I sensed his stare and his confusion. But I had no desire to explain, and he didn’t ask. The perfect solution. I just wanted to shower and return to my solace. Better to be alone anyway.