The Idea of You (2 page)

“Yes, it would,” Sean agreed. “But that's not why I'm offering up the Archers' apartment. It's the perfect place to unplug.”

Alaina wasn't one to belabor a decision. “Great, I'll be there tomorrow.”

“
People
picked it up,” Crystal said loudly.

“Make that later today,” Alaina amended. “Text me where to fly into.”

“I'll do you one better,” Sean said. “I'll call Isaac. That bastard owes me a favor and probably owes you about twenty. He'll get you a jet, and I'll pick you up at the airport.”

Alaina's publicist was also a friend of Sean's. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“It's no problem. See you soon.”

She ended the call and dropped the phone on her desk. She turned her head, laying her cheek against the cool wood, and opened her eyes to see Crystal standing next to her chair.

“Where are you going?” Crystal asked.

Alaina squinted up at her. “Should I tell you?”

Crystal snorted. “Like you can't trust me. Who held your hair when you puked up gin when we were fifteen? Who covered for you when you skipped our algebra final? Who—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Of course I trust you. But what if someone tortures you? It's better if you don't know where I am, because then you can't
accidentally
leak it.”

Crystal stared at her like she was a moron. “It's finally happened. You finally believe the crap you act out on screen.” She shook her head. “If you don't tell me, I can't rescue you, but whatev.”

“I won't need rescuing.”

“Since when?”

Since never, and she was sick and tired of it. It was past time for Alaina to be accountable to herself and no one else. “I'll be in Ribbon Ridge, Oregon, but I don't want to see or hear anything to do with any of this.” She stood up and ran her fingers through her still-damp hair, pulling it back from her face and letting it fall against her back. “I don't want to talk to you unless you're calling to chat about the weather. Are we clear?”

“Crystal. But then, that's my name, isn't it?” She smirked, and Alaina rolled her eyes.

“I'm going to pack. Figure out how to get me out of here with minimum kerfuffle.”

“Got it.” Crystal turned toward the door, her gaze and fingers once again engaged with her phone. “Kerfuffle,” she muttered. “Such a great word and so underused.”

Alaina smiled in spite of the situation. But her amusement was short-lived as she recalled the specifics of what was going on outside.

It's just another stupid rumor,
she told herself.
It will pass.

Yeah, until it's trotted out in six months and again in a year and so on
, the other side of her brain argued. Every story about her, true or false, was part of the public consciousness, whether she wanted it to be or not.

She was just so exhausted by it all. It was past time to get out of Dodge for a while, and, given the future she was planning, perhaps time to get out permanently. The high-profile life she led was no place for a child, and if she was lucky enough to have a baby, he or she would come first.

E
VAN
A
RCHER ROUNDED
the larger of his parents' two garages and was immediately hit by the smell of smoke and the peal of an alarm. He instinctively pressed his hands to his ears and looked up at the apartment on the second floor of the garage. Smoke billowed from an open window. Despite the excruciating sound, he ran toward the door, threw it open, and vaulted up the stairs. The door at the top, which led to the apartment, was open. The acrid scent of smoke assaulted his lungs as the scream of the alarm violated his ears.

A woman stood beneath the alarm madly waving a towel.

Evan strode to the dining table situated in front of the windows and pulled a chair beneath the smoke detector. He said nothing to the strange woman, but nevertheless she moved out of his way. He stepped onto the chair and promptly pulled the battery from the alarm. Blessed silence reigned. He closed his eyes with relief.

“Thank you,” she said, draping the towel over her shoulder. “I am so sorry about this. Who are you?”

He didn't look directly at her but recognized her immediately. “You're Alaina Pierce.”

“I know who
I
am. Who are you?” There was a guarded, tentative look in her eyes. He universally sucked at decoding emotional expression, but that was one he knew. Probably because he'd seen it in the mirror so much when he'd been younger.

He jumped down off the wooden chair and returned it to the table. “I'm Evan Archer. Are you staying here?”

“Yes. Sean didn't tell you?”

“Nope.” Evan hadn't seen his brother-in-law today, but that wasn't unusual. He and Evan's sister Tori lived in a condo in Ribbon Ridge proper, while Evan lived fifteen minutes outside the center of town with their parents in the house they'd all grown up in. “Should he have?”

“Maybe not. My being here is a secret.”

Then it made perfect sense that he hadn't told Evan. He was terrible at keeping secrets. “I suck at secrets.” And knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

“I see. Well, do you think you could keep me a secret?”

Maybe. If he didn't make the mistake of blurting it out without thinking. “I guess.”

“Hey,” she said with more volume than she'd used before. “Would you mind looking at me so I can see if you're telling the truth?”

He forced himself to look straight at her. She was beautiful. But not in the glamorous movie star way he'd expected. She wore very little makeup, not that she needed any at all. The color of her skin reminded him of rich buttermilk, and her hazel eyes carried a beguiling sparkle. They were very expressive and probably her defining feature. Along with that marquee smile he had yet to see.

“Do you have a superpower that allows you to detect lies?”

Her mouth inched up into an almost-smile. “Yes, I do. It's a side effect of being ridiculously famous.”

“Good to know. I was only moderately famous, so that's a skill I don't possess.” He was also fairly lousy at lying. How could he recognize it in someone else? He looked away from her, settling his gaze on the still-smoky kitchen. “I'll do my best not to expose your secret.”

“How were you moderately famous? Wait, I remember. That reality show with the sextuplets.”

He flicked her a quick glance. “You watched it?” The show had ended almost fifteen years ago, but Evan remembered it the way one never forgot the most unpleasant moments of one's life.

“No, sorry. Sean told me about it.”

Evan noted the cookie sheet on the stovetop. It bore slender blackened strips. “Is that bacon?”

She groaned. “Yes. I read somewhere that you could broil bacon in the oven, that it was less messy than cooking it in a pan on the stove.”

“But you burned it.” Hence the smoke. “Did you forget about it?”

“Yes, actually. My assistant called, and I went into the bedroom to talk to her. Next thing I knew, the alarm was going off and smoke was clogging the apartment. Please apologize to your mother for me. I'm surprised you're the only one who came running.”

Evan didn't know for sure, but he suspected his parents were out. They'd been going on a lot of date nights lately. It helped them keep their minds off the one-year anniversary of his brother Alex's suicide a couple of weeks ago. “I was coming back from a walk.”

More or less.
Actually, he was getting pretty good at the lying thing, now that he thought about it.

“In the dark?”

He heard the surprise in her question. That was one inflection he could usually discern. Plus, even he knew walking in the near-dark in February was perhaps . . . odd. He shrugged. “It's not totally dark yet.”

“Oh, okay.” Was that sarcasm? He couldn't be sure. He also couldn't care less.

Intellectually, he registered that her being here was extraordinary—something he probably ought to have picked up on when he'd first come into the apartment. She was a world-famous actress, someone he'd seen in countless movies and whose talent he admired. “Why are you staying here?”

“I'm, uh, hiding out.”

“Why?”

“Just stupid famous-person stuff. The paparazzi were annoying me.”

He'd hated the fame that had come along with their reality show. Everyone in Ribbon Ridge knew who they were, which he supposed was to be expected even without a show, given the size of the town. However, it was one thing to be acquainted with people and another for them to think they knew you on an intimate level, as if you were friends. He imagined it might be like that times a hundred for Alaina. “That has to be hard. Your life really isn't your own. When we did the show, people were always talking to me like they knew me, like I was their buddy.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You totally get it. That's . . . weird. I mean, cool, but weird. Most people don't remotely understand.”

“But you signed up for that, right?” He hadn't. His parents had agreed to put them all on the show when an old family friend had pitched the idea. After the third season, they'd pulled the plug because of Evan's discomfort—something no one knew. Hmm, apparently he could keep secrets, too.
Good to know.

“I didn't sign up to have my life scrutinized and invaded.” Her tone had risen again. He tried to decide if that meant she was agitated, excited, or something else. Sometimes talking to strangers was like speaking in tongues. Sometimes?
Always
.

“Do you need any help with this?”

“No, I've got it handled. Thanks. But should you leave that battery out? What if there's an actual fire?”

“Are you planning on making more bacon?”

She shuddered, and a lock of her dark blonde, wavy hair fell against her face. “God no. I'll find something else to eat.”

He ought to invite her to the main house for dinner, but he was probably going to heat up a frozen burrito or make nachos. She wrapped her arms around herself, and for the first time, he registered the chill coming from the open windows.

He went and closed the window. “The smoke's mostly gone.”

“I'll go shut the one in the bedroom.”

“I'll get it.” He turned and went into the single bedroom. The light was on, and he saw an array of clothing spread out over the bed. His gaze lingered on a lacy bra and a matching pair of panties. She'd look amazing in those.

He quickly spun around and closed the window.

“Thanks,” she said as he moved back through the living room toward the kitchen. “What about the battery?”

“Right.” He'd meant to put it back, but her underwear had totally distracted him. He retrieved the chair and replaced the battery in the alarm. “All set.”

“Thank you for rushing to my aid. Maybe I'll see you . . . tomorrow. Or something.”

“How long are you staying?” It probably wasn't his business, but the question was out of his mouth before he could censor it.

“Until my life gets back to normal.” She laughed. He recognized that laugh from her movies. It was full and sexy and utterly distinctive. “What a joke. My life will never be normal.”

“Why don't you quit, then? If you hate the fame and you want a normal life, just walk away. I'm guessing you have plenty of money.”

“Yes, but I also love my job. Could you walk away from something you loved?”

Something he loved . . . What was that exactly? His family. His cat. His job? Not yet. But the potential was there. Finally. Yeah, he'd walked away from something he loved. After grad school, he'd moved away from home, from his family, whom he
loved
—to prove that he could. “Yeah, I could walk away. Maybe all the negatives associated with your job are telling you to leave. Sometimes you have to realize it's time to move on.”

That had been one of the hardest lessons of all, in both big and small ways. It had taken him years to learn to walk away from an incomplete school assignment and accept he could finish it later. Or let go of a specific rule or idea.

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice,” she said.

More sarcasm? Probably. “I wasn't trying to give you advice.” He walked toward the door but paused at the threshold. “If you want some beer, come over to the house and I can pull you a growler or whatever you want. You know my dad's a brewer, right?”

She shook her head. “That was a bit of a non sequitur, wasn't it?”

He was the king of non sequiturs, and as a result, he had learned a few defense mechanisms for when people noticed the oddity. “It's part of my allure.”

She took the towel from her shoulder and laid it over the back of one of the barstools. “Sean told me you own a bunch of brewpubs.”

“Not me. My dad. Technically, Archer Enterprises, and he's the CEO. My adoptive brother, Derek, is the CFO, and my brother Kyle is acting COO while my younger brother, Hayden, is in France learning to make wine.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and her lips did that almost-smile thing again. “Also an encyclopedia, I see.”

He had a canned comeback for that, too. “The better to charm you with. Seriously, if you want the beer, just come over.”

“Thanks. I'll keep that in mind.”

“See you later.” He closed the door and descended the stairs to the exterior door, which he'd left ajar. After shutting that tight, he crossed the parking area and went into the house, beelining for the beer tap in the kitchen. Talk of beer had made him thirsty.

He thought about their conversation, specifically regarding his job. After five years doing IT consulting work, he'd started a new career doing what he really wanted—writing and design. It was early yet, but so far he loved it. Yes,
loved
it. And he didn't want to walk away.

He sipped his beer at the bar and heard the back door open. Expecting Mom and Dad, he was surprised to see Sean and Tori instead.

“Hey, Evan,” Tori said, smiling at him. She wore the purple knit hat he'd given her for Christmas. “What's up?”

“Not much.”

Sean came toward the bar. “Say, I wanted to tell you. There's a guest staying in the apartment. She's a friend of mine.”

“I met her a little while ago.”

Tori joined them. “You did?” She glanced at the keg tap. “Beer me. Please.”

Evan pulled two pint glasses from the cupboard behind him, assuming Sean would want one, too. “She tried to burn the apartment down.”

“She what?” Sean asked as he reached for his beer.

“She burned some bacon and set the smoke detector off. I went in and helped her out.”

Tori winced. “Yikes, I bet the sound drove you up a wall.” His sister knew him better than almost anyone.

“It wasn't a big deal.” It had been like needles in his ears, and he'd felt a prickly sensation all over his body, but he'd tolerated it for the brief moments preceding the battery removal.

“So, Evan, it's important that you keep her presence a secret—you know who she is?” Sean asked.

“Of course I know who she is. Why is she hiding out here?”

“She didn't tell you?”

“She said it was something to do with being famous. She didn't seem very happy about it.” That much he could tell.

Sean took a drink of beer. “You get that it's a secret, right?”

Tori elbowed him in the arm. “Sean!”

“Hey!” Sean elbowed her back. “You said he wasn't good at secrets! Sorry, Evan.”

Evan held up his hand. “You're right. I suck at them.” Or maybe, he
had
sucked at them. He actually had a few secrets, and it felt kind of cool. “But I'm getting better. Anyway, you know me. I keep to myself.”

“Right.”

Tori rubbed Sean's arm. “Sorry, honey. I'm a little overprotective.”

“I know. It's cute.” He dropped a fast kiss on her mouth.

“I'll just leave you two alone,” Evan said. He'd come back down and get dinner later.

“You don't have to go,” Tori called after him as he left the kitchen.

He made his way upstairs to his old bedroom, which was now his new bedroom. He'd put most of the furniture from his apartment in storage, but some things were stuffed in his room, which was the largest of the six bedrooms upstairs. He'd been given the biggest room so that he could have a rotating swing. As a kid, he'd spent hours on that thing. They had another one in the gym on the lower level. Sara had used it, too. Their sensory-processing issues were similar and yet unique. And, of course, he had Asperger's to go with it.

He set his beer on his desk and opened his laptop. The open Word document stared at him. It was good that he'd learned to cope with unfinished things, as the manuscript was nowhere near completed, and he wasn't sure it ever would be. Ten years ago that would've driven him around the bend, but now it was just a tiny splinter in the back of his mind. Aggravating, but he could avoid thinking about it.