Love Unscripted (7 page)

“
See you,” he said softly, still holding my fingers in his hand.

I felt my heart skip another beat as it flopped in my chest.

“
See you,” I managed to breathe out.

I walked him to the gray steel door in the kitchen and watched him intently as he made it to the opposing door across the alleyway, completely unnoticed. Ryan paused in the open doorway and smiled at me one last time before disappearing into the bakery.

“
Did I miss som
ething?” Marie asked, her eyes looked me up and down like I had the word ‘guilty’ written all over my body.

“
What do you mean?” I tried to sound oblivious to her accusation. I was not going to volunteer anything – I promised him.

She tilted her head over towards the window where two photographers stood on guard outside. I wanted so badly to run upstairs and dump a few buckets of water out of my second story window to shoo them away.

“
I have no idea. Maybe some of the famous wandered off the reservation,” I replied flatly. “Did you cut up any limes yet?” I was searching for a new topic while keeping my fluttering heart in check; there was no way I was going to discuss the past few hours.

“
Yeah, but we’re almost out,” she grumbled.

Eventually the paparazzi disappeared, obviously disappointed that they were not going to get the million dollar shot of Ryan Christensen in my pub.

The rest of the night my mind lingered over the memories of the day. Ryan had been so charming, so kind, and funny. I felt such remorse for saying out loud that he was full of himself. I could not have been more wrong about a person.

His speckled blue eyes were so mesmerizing when he looked at me while kissing my hand. How strange I felt from this chance meeting. I allowed myself a brief smile before forcing my mind back on running my pub. I knew I’d never see him again; we came from two different worlds that weren’t meant to exist together.

The next day I had some errands to run; I had put off grocery shopping long enough. I also had bands booked for Friday and Saturday nights and that definitely meant that we would have much bigger crowds than normal. I completed my personal food shopping and then packed my cart with fresh lemons, limes, and oranges for the bar before heading to the checkout.

I picked the lane with the fewest people standing in line, thinking that would get me out of the store quicker. How foolish of me to assume that would be the case. The elderly lady in front of me began arguing with the cashier, and you know things are only going to get worse when the cashier calls someone for a price check.
Just my luck
.

I let my eyes glance over the front covers of the magazines that filled the end racks, trying to kill time. Most of the covers had delicious pictures of baked items surrounded by words like ‘low fat’ and ‘diet’ or photos of Hollywood actresses airbrushed to perfection. The absurdity of it all made me chuckle.

I studied the pictures of the Hollywood superstars that filled the front covers of the rest of the magazines until my eyes focused on a familiar face with piercing blue eyes. There he was – Ryan Christensen – a side note or feature on the cover of every gossip magazine on the rack.

I glanced over some of the titles around his pictures:

As much as I despised those rag magazines, morbid curiosity got the better of me. I grabbed the first one with ‘The Whole Truth’ advertised and thumbed through it until I came across Ryan’s featured article. The pages were filled with glossy pictures of him trying to look inconspicuous in some club, pictures from the movie set, and photos of him posing.

There was no ‘truth’ as the headline promised. All the words that surrounded his pictures were nothing more than speculated hints of scandal and allegations of his indiscretions.

As I scanned over the print, it appeared that I knew more ‘truth’ and facts about this man than this pathetic magazine did. During our time together Ryan had revealed a lot about himself – indirectly just through my observations – and directly through his stories.

I noticed Ryan rubbed his forehead a lot when he was stressed, how he cracked his knuckles out of habit, and how he chewed on the inside of his lip when he would ponder something.

My mind drifted over the four amazing hours we spent together yesterday. Those memories of Ryan were different from the visions plastered in the magazine. He was nice, down-to-earth, just like a regular guy.

For as kind and friendly as he was, I noticed other character traits that most people probably didn’t see. Many people deem actors to be outspoken and gregarious, but Ryan was anything but that. He was shy but very playful, lousy at flirting, and a bit of an introvert… just like me.

But through his career decision, some good luck, and perhaps some incredible timing, Ryan’s status was raised from normal guy to almost God-like overnight. Any chance he had at being a normal person was now destroyed by fame. That realization made me sad. I pitied him.

My lips pursed together as I read the caption under one of the pictures: “Ryan and Suzanne – making out on and off set.” The words cast visions into my mind of him kissing every girl that presented an opportunity. He was desired by so many that he could have his pick.

My internal monologue started again.
He probably has a different girl in his bed every night just like my ex-fiancé, Thomas
. The thought completely disgusted me. I shut the magazine and slapped it back on the rack.

By Friday night, I had replaced thoughts of Ryan Christensen with about thirty different mixed drink recipes. I was happy to see a decent sized crowd enjoying the guitar player I hired. He was engaging the crowd with a good mix of popular tunes, and I couldn’t stop myself from dancing behind the bar
. I’ll have to book him again
, I thought to myself as I mixed two jack and cokes for a customer.

I caught sight of Pete, my weekend bouncer and long-time friend, as I scanned the crowd. He was six foot three, built like a linebacker with a real thick neck and a close-shaved goatee, and was partially blond but mostly bald. He wasn’t hard to miss. I wondered what was wrong to make him leave his post at the front door. I noticed he was escorting a young man with short brown hair and ripped jeans over to where I stood. The boy looked like he was an older teenager, but definitely not old enough to be in a bar.

“
Taryn,” Pete yelled over the music. “This kid says he has a delivery for you.”

“
Are you Taryn Mitchell?” the boy asked.

“
Yes – that’s me.”

“
I have a message for you,” he said loudly as he handed a white envelope to me.

I tore the envelope open; inside was a hand-written letter.

I had to read the note twice; it didn’t sink in the first time. Does this mean that he likes me? He wants to see… ME? Why? So I can be a third leg of some new love triangle? So he could get his rocks off with the local selection while he’s in town?

He was a super celebrity and I wasn’t - and as much as I wanted to see him again, I’m intelligent enough to know that nothing lasting could come from it.

I grabbed a pen from next to the cash register, bit the cap off with my teeth, and with all my strength and resolve I wrote NO on the back of a Mitchell’s napkin. My heart was thumping from this ordinary but strangely painful action. He wasn’t the first guy I’d denied, but he was definitely the first for a denial on a napkin via teenager messenger service.

Ryan Christensen was not long-term boyfriend material and I had no interest in having a one-night stand with anyone, regardless of how famous they were – so why even go through the motions? I could not put my heart on the line for this one.

I swallowed hard, folded the napkin, and handed it to the boy.

“
Please give this to him, Jason,” I muttered somberly. I was hoping not to regret this decision.

My eyes shot over to my trusty friend.

“
Pete, please make sure this young man makes it safely to his car.” I stood there and watched as the boy left through the front door with my reply in his hand while an old, familiar pain caused the fissure in my heart to crack a bit wider. It would be another long night devoid of love.

The next morning, the sounds of the birds chirping outside my window pulled me from my dreamless sleep. It was gray in my bedroom; not the bright, sunny yellow I had hoped to wake to. The weather seemed to match my sullen mood perfectly.

I took a deep breath and held it in my lungs for a moment before exhaling with force while a vision of Ryan appeared in my thoughts. I pushed my hair back off my forehead and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes.
Maybe if I press hard enough into my skull the vision would disappear?

As I trudged my way down the hall to the bathroom, my thoughts flashed back to writing “no” on a napkin. Why did I do that? He asked for my phone number and I chickened out.

A split second later, rationality sunk in. He’s not just another guy who has the potential to rip your heart out and hand it to you while it’s still beating. He would be capable of
much
more damage than that.

But he wanted to see me again – so he must think that I’m attractive enough. After all, his last known speculated girlfriend was beautiful.

I took a long look at myself in the mirror, trying to see if I could agree with his assessment.

I pulled the hair tie from my ponytail, brushing out my long hair. My summer tan was faded, my bikini lines were just about gone, but I still had a bit of glow left on my face.

I turned the sink on, splashing some cold water on my eyes. The more I rubbed, the bluer my eyes appeared.

“
Not bad for a twenty-seven year old,” I whispered out loud to the mirror.

But so what if he likes me - then what? Do I get to add a famous person to my short list of friends?
Deep in my brain, doubt slipped out of its cage.

Despite Ryan’s outward gesture, how could I ever compete with the many Hollywood starlets out there? All of them waiting in the shadows to bag their own leading man. With their designer clothes, designer hair, and high-gloss tans - not to mention their killer figures, silicone breasts, and filthy-rich bank accounts. Examples of them were listed conveniently in the supermarket tabloids, and they were all on the hunt for one of their own kind. Ryan Christensen was definitely on their eligible bachelor’s list.

Then I wondered why I thought the famous, single actresses would be any different from me. They too had their fair share of stardom hell with losing their men to on set hook-ups and wandering infidelity. Even the beautiful starlets were left broken-hearted.

And then my depressing thoughts got worse. Standing directly in line with the gorgeous actresses looking for husbands would be the legion of super-hot models looking for their own arm candy.
Ooh, look at me, I have Mr. Super-Hot Actor Man on my arm.

If he wasn’t an actor and extremely famous at the moment, would any of these women
ever, ever
give him the time of day? I think not.

Heck, while I’m making the list, why not add in all the eligible daughters of the rich and powerful… and top it off with several million regular women around the globe who would kill for a shot at Ryan Christensen.

That would be an awful long line to stand in for one man.

Oh hell, what’s the point? In a few weeks he’ll be gone anyway. Off to another location to do his next movie with some totally sexy co-star who he’ll bond with, and in no time they will surely try to get into each other’s pants.

Every day millions of people go off to work, but how many of them have to fake romances or stick their tongues in someone else’s mouth for a living?

Honey, have a great day at work and I hope you get some good tongue action on set today! Oh, you’re doing a love scene today with a hot, single actress? Good for you! Should I call the lawyer now or wait until you officially leave me for her?