Lucky birds.
Zach resumed his trek up the bluff, losing sight of both Kat and the gulls.
Yet she remained front and center in his mind.
Meaning he wasn’t going to be able to dismiss her as easily as he’d like.
So, smart or not, he might have to make one last attempt to break through her wall.
Since he wasn’t likely to run into her again on the beach, and she hadn’t returned to The Perfect Blend, those locations weren’t options for a future rendezvous.
However . . . now that he knew she was living in close proximity—and they shared an affinity for blackberries—a gift of homemade cobbler would give him an excuse to orchestrate one more encounter.
If that didn’t work?
He’d fold his tent—and accept that the mystery woman would forever remain a mystery.
4
CALL ME!!!!! BIG NEWS!!!!!
Grimacing at the third text message that had pinged her phone in the past half hour, Katherine plunked the cell on the granite island in the kitchen of her rental house.
Typical Simon. Everything with him was urgent. High drama. Life and death.
But very little was life and death in Tinseltown—least of all the type of stuff that sent her agent into a tizzy.
She slammed her arms across her chest and glared at the phone. Simon was the last person she wanted to talk to—but ignoring his messages was useless. He’d keep sending them, with increasing frequency, until he wore her down and she responded to shut him up.
He knew her well.
Too well.
And he’d become an expert at pushing all the buttons that would maneuver her into making decisions he assured her were in her best interest.
Not to mention his.
Another incentive for her to take a break from a life that was spiraling out of control.
Her control, anyway.
Heaving a sigh, she gritted her teeth and picked up the cell again. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to leave Hope Harbor. So no matter how hard he tried to convince her to come back, she’d have to stand firm.
She jabbed at his number and girded for a fight.
“Finally!” Simon didn’t attempt to hide his exasperation.
“Hello to you too.”
“Sorry, but you’re talking to a frantic man. Blame my lack of manners on stress.”
“You’re always stressed.” She rotated her head, trying to relieve the kink in her neck. “I got your message. What news couldn’t wait until I initiated a call?”
“Are you sitting down?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. Cut the theatrics.”
“You should sit.”
“Simon.”
“Fine, fine.” Apparently her don’t-mess-with-me inflection had sunk in. “There should be a drumroll here, and a bottle of champagne cooling—but we’ll celebrate when you come back. Guess who wants you to star in his next picture?”
Her breath hitched.
Star?
Star?
As in playing the lead role, rather than her usual supporting parts?
That was news.
Unless he was exaggerating—a very real possibility. Hyperbole was Simon’s middle name.
Plus, despite his continued expressions of confidence that she could jump from TV to the big screen, up to this point all he’d been able to land her were secondary roles in low-budget cable flicks.
“What kind of picture—and who’s the director?”
“Hold on to your hat, baby.”
At his pithy, two-sentence answer, she groped for the edge of a stool and sank onto the seat.
Major director.
Major picture.
Major leap in her career.
This was the break she’d dreamed of her whole life. While her gig on a popular TV series over the past four years had allowed her to build a hefty nest egg, a major film with an award-winning director could catapult her into the stratosphere on both a professional and financial level.
If that’s what she still wanted.
The very question that had prompted her to flee LA for Hope Harbor.
“Did you faint?” Simon sounded amused.
“No. I’m . . . digesting the news.”
“You should be jumping up and down with joy, like I am.”
Yes, she should.
So why wasn’t she?
Another question to wrestle with later.
She popped one of the blackberries she’d picked on today’s foray to the beach into her mouth. “What did you tell them?”
“What do you think I told them?” A touch of irritation sharpened his words.
“Simon—I’m not committing until I see the script.”
Silence.
She waited him out. She would not let him intimidate her—or push her to move too fast.
“It’s on my desk.”
“It needs to be on mine.”
“Your desk is in LA—where you should be.”
The lingering hint of sun-kissed sweetness on her tongue evaporated.
“I had to get away. You know that. Especially after everything that happened.”
“I get that, babe. Everyone does. But how long is this break going to last?”
“I don’t know.” She stood, paced over to the two-story wall of glass in the living room that offered a panoramic view of the deep blue sea—and summoned up her courage. “All I know is that I’m nowhere near ready to come back . . . or if I ever will be.”
There.
The truth she’d been dancing around and had never voiced was out.
Silence greeted her announcement.
Wrapping her free arm tight around her midsection, she swallowed as she waited for Simon’s explosion.
But he surprised her.
“That isn’t what I expected to hear.” For a man given to histrionics, his calmness was almost more unsettling than his usual frenzy.
“I know. It’s not what I expected either.” Not after all the years she’d invested in her career, building the foundation block by block, role by role, with copious amounts of blood, sweat, and tears.
“Okay. Let’s take a step back.” He exhaled. “I can see now that the incident with Jason had a much bigger impact than I realized. So take more time. Don’t make any rash decisions. I can send the script there for you to read, and I’ll talk to the director. Explain the situation. Buy you a bit of breathing space. Would that help?”
Pressure built behind her eyes, and the scene in front of her blurred.
A pox on Simon for throwing her a curveball with his sudden empathy. Why wasn’t he ranting and raving at her for not jumping on this opportunity? What was with his sympathetic, understanding act?
Act.
As the left side of her brain kicked in, her vision cleared.
Yeah, that fit.
Simon knew how to read people, and he was a master at manipulation. It was difficult to distinguish his rare sincere moments from his usual performance mode.
He was the one who should be on the silver screen.
“Katherine?”
At his prompt, she snagged a tissue from the half-empty box on a side table and swiped at her nose. “Breathing space would be appreciated.”
“Anything else?”
Peace. Rest. Direction. Guidance. Genuine caring.
Simon, however, wasn’t wired to provide any of those.
The guy from the coffee shop, on the other hand? Zach Garrett? He seemed capable of offering a friend true kindness and consideration, no strings attached. The sort of person who possessed a deep wellspring of compassion.