Within This Frame (12 page)

She didn’t have to be hungry to want to eat.

She remembered watching a television show once. Well, she’d watched a lot of those over the years, but one in particular stuck out to her. There was some dramatic scene—the male lead could have even been Tom Selleck—and all she could think about was the carrot. The lady sat at a table eating a cooked carrot for dinner. That was it—that was her meal. That baffled Maggie. Did people really live on a meal of a single carrot? And if so, were they happy that way?

Maggie had pondered the oddity of that while eating a bag of chocolate, her meal for the night. The irony of her dinner and how she looked compared to what the actress ate and how she looked was not lost on her. She got it. She just didn’t understand it. Chocolate was delicious. Carrots—not so much.

Freshly brewed coffee in hand, sans creamer of any kind, Maggie made her way to the backyard. It was a nice day, with summer nearby. The fenced-in nook was alive with varying trees and bushes. She stepped down from the deck and found her spot on the bench near the curved pond. The slow moving water flowed down the rocks, soothing her. Closing her eyes, she relaxed into the seat, hands clasped around the warm mug of coffee, sun on her face.

It didn’t immediately sink in that she was being watched, but when it did, she wondered how long she’d unknowingly been under scrutiny. Maggie slowly opened her eyes and looked toward the deck. Lance hadn’t made a sound as he’d opened and closed the patio door. He leaned over the railing, arms resting on the side of the deck, hands clasped together. The sun blocked out his expression, his stillness making her nervous.

“Why now?” he asked softly.

Maggie jerked as the sound of his deep voice broke the silence. “What?”

“You’ve been overweight for a while, right? Why are you just now doing something about it? What happened to make you decide to get in shape?”

“Nothing.” She lowered her eyes, knowing he had to have received the same invitation she did. Among other television show actors, it had been addressed specifically to the cast of ‘Easier Said’.

It seemed vain to confess that that was why she’d decided to get in shape, even if it was true. Maggie had been unhappy with her appearance for a long time, but she’d needed gumption to make a change. The invitation, and then Lance, provided that.

“Really? You just woke up one day and decided it was time?”

“Yes? Are you saying I can’t do that?” Maggie’s fingers tightened around the cup.

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying there’s usually a reason people make life-altering changes.” Lance straightened and jumped down the steps, moving to the pond.

“Maybe I got tired of seeing my fat ass in the mirror every day.”

Lance gave her a look.

“What? What are you thinking?” Maggie shot to her feet, setting the mug on the uneven ground. Her fingers trembled and she crossed her arms to hide it. “You’re agreeing with me, aren’t you? I know. I got fat. I used to be skinny and now I’m fat. Nothing I don’t already know.”

His mouth twisted to the left. “It’s not that at all.” He sighed and shoved fingers through his hair, messing it up in a way that complemented his looks—naturally. Slamming his hands on his hips, he locked eyes with her. “You’re not fat.”

She snorted. “I don’t think deluding me is part of the job. But thanks.” She patted his shoulder as she passed by.

Lance grabbed her arm, halting her. “You’re not fat.”

Maggie faced him, her throat closing.

“I mean, yeah, you have some extra weight, but you don’t look bad.” He dropped his hand. “You still look good. You’re still you, the same person you were when you were fifteen, or seventeen, or even twenty-five. And you’re beautiful. You always have been, no matter your size. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You look better now than you did when you were underweight.”

Her heart was ripped apart at his words. She couldn’t believe them. If she thought Lance really thought that of her, she wouldn’t be able to distance herself from him. Maggie fought to hide the crack in her exterior with harsh words. It was the only ammunition she had, so she used it.

“This, from the guy who’s never had to try too hard at anything. You just be and everything is easy for you. Try out for a role, it’s yours. Smile at a girl, she’s yours. Exist, everything is yours. Breathe, and you’re perfect.”

He stiffened. “You think you know me so well, don’t you?”

As she took in his angry stance, Maggie realized she didn’t know him that well. She knew a version of him—a younger, arrogant, insensitive version of Lance Denton that didn’t appear to fit him anymore. It had been a long time since she’d been privy to his life and a lot could happen to a person over the years. She swallowed, feeling like a jerk. The cameras only showed one version of reality. Maggie knew that better than anyone.

“It’s because of the fundraiser, isn’t it?”

Maggie spun away, her silence affirmation.

“Damn it, Maggie,” he quietly chided.

“I don’t want to show up looking like—like I do now. You know there will be all kinds of pictures, part of it, if not the whole thing, will be televised. I know it seems . . . stupid, but . . .”

“It is stupid. Why do you care what any of them think or say anyway? It isn’t like the cast of ‘Easier Said’ has been living perfect lives these past ten years. Judith Fletcher is so focused on her career that she’s missing out on actually living. She works, that’s all she does. Have you seen pictures of her? I can’t recall the last picture I’ve seen of her with an actual smile on her face. She isn’t happy.”

She faced him.

He ticked off fingers as he spoke. “Benton Jamison is an alcoholic and recently married his fourth wife, who happens to be thirty years younger than him. Tabitha Volden can’t even get a job anywhere because she’s a selfish, demanding bitch who thinks she has way more talent than she does. Sure, she looks good, but that’s the only thing she has going for her. Steven Stephens—well, he’s actually doing well. He’s one of the main characters in a drama that’s getting a lot of notice. Herman Lyle moved to Europe and no one’s seen or heard from him in years, so I can’t say how he’s doing.”

Lance paused, a sardonic light entering his eyes. “And then we have Lance Denton. He got in so much trouble during his early twenties that he’s a liability and pretty much no one will touch him. The few shows he did get hired for never had the greatest reviews. Apparently he was only good at one role, with one co-star.”

Maggie’s stomach dropped.

“He went through women like they were candy, and when he did finally settle down, the marriage lasted all of three years. He was forced to earn money on his looks, not talent, which, as so many magazines deemed, he does not have.”

“That’s not true,” she rasped. “You’re an exceptional actor, Lance. You just—you stopped trying.”

A faint smile tipped one corner of his mouth. “I was only at my best with you.”

She swallowed. Her heart pounded, fast and hard.

“You shouldn’t be doing this for anyone but you.” He leaned his face down until he was at eyelevel with her, blue gems simultaneously blinding and transfixing her. “You always gave everyone else too much of you and didn’t leave enough of yourself for you.”

Lance showed her his profile, his jaw tight. “It shouldn’t matter what everyone else thinks. When ‘Easier Said’ ran, you wanted to please them all, the whole world, me, and look where it got you.” He looked at her, the conviction in his eyes strong enough to force her back a step. “Do it for you. Do everything for you. If you don’t, none of it means anything, all right?”

“Did you . . .” Maggie paused, eyebrows furrowing. “Did you have to do something for you?”

The smile grew, tipped his eyes in sadness. Lance trailed an index finger down the side of her face, a caress that barely touched her skin but was felt all the way into her bones. “I did. I had to learn to like myself, flaws and all.” He straightened, took a step toward the deck, and the moment was gone. Maggie still felt it, though, living through her. “I’m starving. What did you pick out?”

Maggie picked up the mug of cooling coffee and followed him into the kitchen. Her throat felt like sandpaper and when she spoke, her voice came off gruff. “Some fish thing.”

Lance glanced over his shoulder at her, a grin in place. “Some fish thing? Sounds delicious.”

She set the mug on the counter. Maggie could continue to push him away, or she could enjoy Lance’s company while she had the chance. Keeping up her emotional walls was draining, and she didn’t want to do it anymore. She wanted to know the older Lance. He was open in a way the younger one hadn’t been permitted.

Maggie smiled, her chest tight, but the rest of her was light with relief. “It sounds about as delicious as every other thing in the cookbook.”

“Be adventurous.”

“Trust me, I am.” It wasn’t that Maggie didn’t like healthy food—she ate various fruits and vegetables—but she liked basic, simple meals. The stuff listed in the cookbook was beyond her. If she couldn’t pronounce something, she wasn’t sure she should be eating it.

After checking the recipe page of the cookbook Maggie left open, Lance rummaged through the white cupboards, finding garlic and lemon seasoning in the pantry. He raised them up for her inspection and Maggie gave him a thumbs-up sign. She got the thawed fish from the refrigerator and retrieved a bag of brown rice. Lance brushed by, setting her skin on fire, and grabbed two tomatoes from the bowl of real vegetables and fruit on the counter that was in place of the fake ones previously there.

“We need garlic, lemon juice, fresh parsley, olive oil, and salt and pepper for the salad. Can you find all that?”

“I would hope so, it’s my kitchen.”

He pointed a tomato at her. “No lip.”

Maggie crinkled up her nose at him and collected the items he’d called off.

“You know what else we need?” he said, using a can opener on chickpeas.

“What?”

“Music.” Lance looked up. “Music is a must for cooking.”

Turning on the small, vintage radio near the refrigerator as a Sara Bareilles song came on, Maggie remarked, “Remember how bad of a cook you used to be? You’ve improved.” He’d wowed her taste buds a few days ago with honey garlic chicken, forcing her to grudgingly compliment him.

“I remember,” he commented, giving her a look. “I’ve had a lot of years of practice to make up for the chicken and broccoli debacle. I made most of the meals when . . . when I was home with Olivia and Ivy.”

A dark cloud washed the joy from Lance’s eyes and he turned away. Olivia was his ex-wife and Ivy was their baby. Maggie wondered why he was working in another state instead of spending as much time as he could with his daughter, but it wasn’t her place to ask. He had to miss her, and maybe he even missed his ex-wife. She directed her attention to the tomatoes, slicing them up to dump in a medium-sized bowl.

Lance handed her a red onion and she went to work on that, eyes stinging and tears streaming down her face. The onion was potent, taking over her senses to the point that that was all she smelled. Maggie sniffled, nose running, as she cut the vegetable as quickly as she could.

“Don’t cry,” Lance said from behind, his body close enough that she felt the warmth of it against her backside. “It’ll make you seem clingy and we can’t have that.”

Maggie partially turned and tossed an onion chunk at him, laughing when it hit his chin. Lance blinked, and then a mischievous glint entered his eyes and he shoved a hand into the can of garbanzo beans and flung a handful at her. They rained on her like pellets, hitting her hair, face, and front. Maggie stood frozen, mouth open.

When the sound of Lance’s laughter filled the area, loud and warm, determination sparked through her, heating her blood. Maggie went on a fruit and vegetable rampage, throwing whatever was accessible at him. Lance ducked, arms raised to block his head, and then he found his own edible ammunition.

“You throw like a girl,” she taunted, her feet skating along various food matter that covered the floor.

“Good. Girls throw better than boys.”

Maggie paused at that, and Lance took advantage of her momentary befuddlement to grab her around the waist, pull the top of her shirt away from her body, and drop tomatoes down the front of it. She shrieked, reaching for the bowl of chopped onions as she clung to him, their feet imbalanced on the slippery floor. They swayed back and forth as Maggie rubbed the onions onto his cheek, eyes tearing up at the close proximity to the strong-smelling vegetable. Lance’s blue eyes filled as he stared at her, chunks of onion hanging from his face.

“Don’t cry, Lance,” she teased, tossing his words back at him with what she knew to be a devilish smile on her face. “We had a good run, but now it’s time to move on. Wouldn’t want to seem clingy, would we?”

His eyes narrowed even as a sexy grin claimed his mouth. With his gaze locked on hers, he bit his lower lip and grazed his upper teeth along its fullness. Maggie fought to breathe, fingers digging into his biceps. Aware that his hands held her waist, his body inches from hers, she closed her eyes and counted to herself, trying to steady her crazy pulse.

“Not even a week,” he said with derision, dropping his hands and moving away.

Maggie opened her eyes to find him studying her.

“Not even a week around you and it’s like no time at all has passed.”

She crossed her arms. Maggie felt it too—that unquestionable force that had her gravitating toward a person that should have remained a part of her history, not standing in her kitchen in the present.

“I wonder why that is.”

Lance’s mouth quirked as he looked her over. “I have phenomenal sex appeal.”

Face on fire, she averted her gaze to her chest, dismayed to find gobs of mashed tomatoes coating the tops of her breasts and shirt. “We should probably start over on the salad.”

Smirking as he walked past, Lance said, “Only if there isn’t a chance of a rematch.”

“You started it,” she lied.

A lone chickpea flew through the air to smack her shoulder. “I did not, and you know it. Chickpea and tomato salad, round two, here we come,” he muttered, grabbing another tomato.