Map to the Stars (19 page)

“Hey, girls, we're totally sold out and you were great! I really think we're going to get some good PR out of this event.”

Wynn and I barked a laugh in unison. Mom's van was going to be in the background of every celebrity newscast in America tonight and she had no clue. I sought out Wynn's eyes so we could share our inside joke, but as I locked on hers, they widened in surprise at something over my shoulder. Instinctively, I stiffened.

“Hey, Pickles.” The voice was warm in my ear, but the tone was uncertain.

When I turned to face him, Roddy and a few of his fellow Transformer-size buddies had already formed a perimeter around Graham, separating him from the curious onlookers. Tiny Melba was stuck a few rows back, looking like she was on a pogo stick as she jumped repeatedly to try to get Graham's attention. When she finally wove through the bodies, Roddy held her firmly in place.

Graham kept his focus on me.

“Um, any chance we could talk in private?” he asked, gesturing to the back of the truck.

I rolled my eyes to think he would consider the inside of a food truck a haven of privacy, but made a motion for him to follow me around the side. Wynn trailed behind us. As we walked, Graham turned and spoke over his shoulder.

“You must be Wynn. Annie described you to a tee. You here for the holiday?”

“I'm still waiting to see how this plays out before I determine how chatty-chatty we're going to be here,” Wynn answered him.

I laughed. Gotta give the girl credit. She was as star-crazed as they came, but even though this was the first actual celebrity ever to speak to her
AND
it was her forever-and-ever crush, she wasn't about to give him an inch.

“She's got my back,” I told Graham. He looked chagrined and gave up on trying to charm anyone else, including my mom, when we poked our heads into the truck. When she saw Graham standing there, she gave him a surprised once-over and he smiled tightly back at her.

“Hi, Mrs. Shelton.”

“Did you forget my name or something? It hasn't been that long, has it?”

“Sorry. Hi, Miranda.”

“Graham.” She nodded, then gestured over her shoulder. “This is Annie's dad.”

Graham's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded in Dad's direction and said, “Sir.”

Dad smiled back. “Nice to finally meet you. Heard a lot.”

Graham gulped. I almost felt bad for him, but during this whole exchange all I could really think was “Go away, go away, go away” about everyone who wasn't Graham. I'd heard his grandstanding, but I wanted to see what he had to say one-on-one. Finally, they all got the hint and invented excuses to leave us in the back of the truck.

When we were alone, I leaned against the stacked cart of baking sheets, wiping my hands on my apron. Graham was in a white dress shirt and looked around for something he could prop against while still preserving it from stains. Not finding a safe spot, he stood awkwardly in the center of the truck and stuffed his hands inside his pockets.

I'd conditioned myself to seeing a lot of Graham: on billboards, on posters in the Cineplex, on magazine covers. But he hadn't seen me since Barcelona and I could tell it was affecting him.

For a moment, I took pity and wanted to make it a little easier for him. “Are you okay?” I offered as a starting point.

“I messed up,” he said immediately. Well, at least he put it plainly. But I wasn't sure whether he meant just then, outside, where he'd finally jumped off the career high dive, or whether he was referring to everything he'd done before that point. I waited.

“I never should have hung up on you that night. I should have listened. You were totally right and I've been completely miserable. Australia was . . . awful. I missed you like crazy.”

I exhaled. My thoughts were tumbling on top of one another. “What you said out there—did you mean it?”

“Of course I meant it! I've been wanting to say all of that since Venice.”

I studied the floor. He'd answered my question about whether he'd planned to blow up his career, but it wasn't
really
the part I'd been asking about. I meant the part about the girl. Me.

Graham took a step toward me and placed his hand under my chin. He tilted my face up so I was looking him in the eye. He said softly, “I'm just glad you were here to hear it.”

“Well, you have Joe to thank for that.” I jerked my chin out of his hand and Graham's eyes slid to the floor. I wanted this moment, but I didn't know if I could handle this moment.

Graham sighed. “Look, I know I messed everything up. Everything. I know you probably don't ever want to talk to me again and I totally understand. I'm an asshole. And everything you said to me that night, well . . . I know you have a hard time speaking your mind, so when you lit into me, believe me, I get how upset you had to be to do that. And I know I haven't done anything since then to earn back any of your trust. I just . . .”

His shoulders fell. “I just wanted you to know I heard you. That your words meant something. That I'm so, so sorry. And that I miss Grannie like crazy.”

He ventured a look at me, then sighed again. “Sorry. I shouldn't try to joke. I miss
you
, Annie. You.”

I studied him, anchoring myself against the cookie trays so I wouldn't do something stupid like fling myself into his arms. He was waiting for me to say something and I had no idea what I wanted that to be. He'd done this horrible and hurtful thing to a lot of people. But he was apologizing and explaining and I was really trying hard
to listen. I thought about my dad and where we'd be now if I hadn't heard him out.

I settled for the truth. “I liked what you said out there.”

He ventured a step toward me again, this time taking my hand in his. His shoulders relaxed when I didn't pull away. “Which part did you like?”

Oh, hell no. He wasn't getting me to voice my feelings first again. “I liked the part where you said I was brilliant and completely right about everything.”

“Funny, I don't remember using the word brilliant.”

“I liked some of the other words you used too,” I said, suddenly enthralled with an empty baking sheet on the cart next to me.

Neither of us moved. Graham waited quietly until I brought my eyes to his. They were warm, familiar. He took a deep breath and held my gaze before saying, “How about these words? I love you, Pickles.”

And there they were. Such simple ones, but so huge. Here was this boy who had run my emotions through the ringer. He'd made me crazy mad, crazy irritated, and crazy jealous. And crazy happy.

The crazy happy part was all I could remember at that moment.

He made me feel things and own those feelings. He'd also messed up, but everything he'd done and said today showed how much he wanted to earn my forgiveness. If there was anything I learned from everything with Dad, it was this: sometimes when you love someone, you find ways to forgive the unforgivable.

Before I could find the words to answer, there was a knock on the
shuttered serving window. I flung one side open and peered down at Wynn.

“Just checking on things in there,” she said, one eyebrow raised.

Graham stuffed his hands in his pockets again and looked miserable. He hadn't gotten a response from me yet and I could tell he was bracing for the worst. I hid my smile by biting my cheek. Everything was crystal clear now.

“Things are fine in here. More than fine.” I pivoted to Graham and tugged his hands free, holding them tight. He blew out his breath a couple times before bringing his eyes to mine. Giant question marks were in them.

I grinned and shrugged. His dazzling movie star smile answered me. Wynn looked between the two of us with satisfaction.

“Thank GOD because I'm getting a little antsy out here with all these cameras aimed at me. Well, at the truck anyway. I am beginning to reconsider
all
of my feelings on stardom and—
HEY
!”

I'd pulled the window shut on Wynn at the mention of cameras.

“Didn't take the rest of the paparazzi long to get here, huh?” Graham said.

“Seriously. It's like they have tracking devices on you.”

Graham dropped my hands to turn his pockets inside out, pretending to look for one. “Nope. But it doesn't matter anyway. I'm done hiding from them. No more disguises.”

He gave my ponytail a tug and used the straps on my apron to yank me closer to him. I settled into his arms, feeling their longed-for weight slide around me.

“Well, I don't know if I'm totally on board with that,” I said.

He drew back a little, looking at me in surprise. “I thought you, of all people, would be more than on board with that.”

“In theory, yes. But I'm just saying, we don't have to let
everything
hang out for everyone to see, do we? I'm speaking of Godzilla toe, of course.”

I ducked just in time to avoid his swat. He laughed as he wrapped me again in his arms and I snuggled back into position.

“So, we're an open book?” Graham asked.

I nodded and he winked, then cradled me against him as he used one arm to swing the serving windows wide open.

“I love you, Graham,” some girl in the crowd screamed upon seeing him. Graham held my gaze while waving with his free arm. He smirked. “See,
she
loves me.”

I grinned. “Shut up, you idiot. I love you more.”

Graham's eyes got very soft then and he blinked a whole bunch of times, while I smiled up at him. I didn't take my eyes off his for a single second, though I knew a dozen cameras were now trained on us. After a couple of moments, he swallowed and smiled back.

His head ducked close to mine and his eyes sparkled. The last thing I saw as his lips settled over mine were his lids sliding closed.

As flashbulbs exploded like fireworks, I melted into a Hollywood kiss that was a hundred percent . . .

Authentic.

Executive producer credit on this production goes to editor extraordinaire Annie Berger (no relation to my Annie of #Grannie, but had I known you first, there might have been). I will never tire of editorial letters that demand more and more kissing scenes, and I'm so excited you brought me along with you to HarperCollins!

Director credit to my agent, Holly Root, who keeps me sane(ish).

I'm so lucky to have a supporting cast and crew of treasured CPs: Gail Nall, Alison Cherry, Deanna Romito—a ginormous thank-you for helping this book take shape in so many ways I couldn't even list them.

Post-production credits galore to the entire team at Harper, especially production editor Bethany Reis and copy editor Jessica White (whose knowledge of European travel details is bizarrely wonderful), designer Kate Engbring, and the entire Epic Reads team for teaching the world how fandom is done right.

Research and development credit to my past coworkers at 20th
Century Fox, Miramax Films, and Allied IM. I landed my former job as a movie publicist when my predecessor fell for her mega-movie-star client and vacated the position—sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. Graham's fall-from-grace story line came directly from an A-lister I had the privilege of working with, and I'm so cheered to see that the years since then have changed the climate of Hollywood to the point where that kind of cover-up would not be necessary today.

Story consultant credits (and many thanks) to Elodie Nowodazkij and Marieke Nijkamp for French translations, fact-checking, and much more.

A big hug to Alexandra Pritchard for being an early fangirl of this one!

Saving the best for last: my family deserves not just movie credits, but all other types of credit out there for being my “safe on base” spot at the end of every day. Jack, Ben, and Caroline: no, you may not read this book yet, and also, it's probably bedtime. John: #Johnifer4Ever. Let's keep that one trending. . . .