“Not in, exactly…” The look on her face as we’re beckoned up to the rooftop deck to ride up the mountain on the outside of the tram is utterly priceless. The car begins its smooth ascent, and the wind rushes through her gorgeous hair, lifting individual curls to stream out around her head.
She’s perfect.
I move closer to snuggle up to her, but she’s stiff, frozen in place.
The anxiety I felt earlier is suddenly back with more force than it takes to power the tram up this mountain.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice catching just a little. Did I misread her? Was she really faking all the fun for the paparazzi?
“I don’t mind heights. And I don’t mind cable cars. But being outside of a cable car, this high in the air, is surely nothing God ever intended.” Her voice is small, and a few words are carried away by the wind, but her white knuckled grip on the bar and the few words I heard were enough to understand.
I’m relieved and about to gather her to me to keep her mind off her nerves, when I glance up and see a couple photographers have beat us to the top and are shooting our ascent.
Even though it makes me feel like a real asshole to leave her panicking, pics where she looks stiff and terrified with me standing a couple of paces away will show the public that all the cuddling has been for show.
The crowd of photographers gives us space when we get to the top, hanging back as though trying to snap a picture covertly. Jenna’s visibly relieved when we disembark, and waiting for her, I have another surprise.
“Have you ever heard of a beavertail?” I ask, nodding toward the media in case she hasn’t seen them yet.
She gives a tight nod in response and takes my hand, holding it stiffly and far from her body.
“Is that…an animal part or a sex thing?” she asks carefully, giving me side-eye.
“Better than the first, almost as good as the second. It’s a pastry covered in different toppings.”
“Wait, there’s a restaurant in this heaven?” she says as I walk her toward the entrance. “Thank God. I’m starving.” Her eyes catch mine and glint wickedly. “I burned a lot of calories last night.”
My grin is too genuine, and I have to lower my head to hide it.
When I look up again, Jenna has selected a beavertail covered in maple— “When in Canada, eh?” and is utterly thrilled to discover, when the cashier hands her the fried pastry, that it’s the size of her face.
The sun is gleaming through the windows that surround the entire place, and the halo filter from before can’t touch the angelic look she now wears of pure light and joy. She runs over to a bar stool that’s positioned directly in a ray then flips back to me with a giant smile.
“Take my picture!” she says, holding the giant beavertail up to her head as comparison.
“Happy to,” I hear a voice reply.
It’s not mine.
Jenna and I both freeze for a second. A few stools down at the bar is a guy with a long lens camera—another paparazzo. Although we knew they were around, it’s the first time we’ve had to directly address anyone of them.
“So, is Janner back together?” he asks as he snaps a shot of Jenna, and then motions for me to join her.
I know I need to manage this moment. This was my idea, so I should take charge.
I walk over to where Jenna is sitting at the bar and smile for the camera.
“Yes!” I say heartily and over-loud. I wrap my arm around Jenna. She props an elbow on my shoulder, and I almost crack up at how over-the-top her pose is. “Now, can’t you see we want privacy?” I’m stiff in my delivery, and the only thing it seems we need is a to-go box because there’s no way that Jenna is eating that entire beavertail in one sitting.
The photographer snaps a few pics then shakes his head with a frown. He disappears a minute later into a dark corner to check the shots on his screen.
“Oh my God, that was amazing,” Jenna laughs when he’s out of earshot. “You’re a pretty good actor, I suppose,” she teases. “As far as co-stars go.”
I am acting, but it’s not the paparazzi I’m putting on a show for. My pretending is for Jenna. I’m trying to convince her I don’t feel anything for her and that’s a lie.
And, as she smiles happily and rips off another bite to hand me, I realize I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to play the role of boyfriend. I don’t want to spin this story a minute longer.
I want to be with Jenna for real.
But before I can have any sort of future with Jenna, I have to find out what happened to our past.
15
Jenna
Well, it’s true what they say. There is nothing like a fake date to make you wish you were on a real one.
Actually, no one says that, but they should, because I’ve learned how true it is all afternoon. For the past six hours Tanner has whisked me around town from one perfect spot to the next on our pretend date.
I have seen more gorgeous vistas on this PR excursion than I have in my entire real life. Of course the views are real. It’s the relationship that’s not.
How many times can I remind myself that I wanted this? That I asked for—no, insisted on—it?
At least as many times as I’ve wished things were different today, I suppose.
And it’s funny, but I would have sworn Tanner has been feeling the same. I was positive he was going to pull me into his arms on the cable car, but then he held himself back.
Because I said sex only, I remind myself. I never added a “hold me when I’m scared” clause.
Then, again, on top of the mountain, there was something in his eyes. Something that didn’t look a thing like acting. Something that looked an awful lot like—but it couldn’t be. Probably just a trick of the light.
After all, if he was feeling things for me, he would have been kinder to the intern last night.
Perhaps New Jenna should just be brave and ask him exactly what he envisions for the future, what happens when the photogs go home. What happens when we go home.
But there’s every chance the answer will be that we continue on our separate ways. Because that’s the right answer.
So why do I keep hoping that he’d give me the wrong one?
When I compare the Tanner I’ve gotten to know over the past weeks with the one I fell for back then, it’s almost amazing how little he’s changed. He’s more muscular, for sure, his hair’s less shaggy and more coiffed. His confidence is now born of pride and hard work versus the swagger of youth, and the tiny crinkles around his eyes when he smiles weren’t there when he was a teenager.
But besides all that, he still knows just how to make me smile, make me happy. Make me come.
So I guess the other question is, if he’s still fundamentally the same person, as I believe I also am, then why did I believe things would ever end anywhere but here?
Because of course I want more from him than sex. I want all of him.
And it will always end this way, with me painting a target on my heart and handing him an arrow.
For now I’m just going to focus on enjoying the champagne and oysters that we’re currently enjoying in a window-side table. Naturally, the little cluster of guys taking our picture attracted a group of curiosity-seekers, so basically we’re eating in front of a full audience.
“Do you think this is what it felt like to be in an olden-time royal court?” I ask, changing the subject in my own mind more so than between us. We haven’t talked about anything meaningful all day. Too many people listening.
“What do you mean?” Tanner asks, expertly detaching an oyster in mignonette from its shell.
“You know. Eating in front of the entire village while they gawked at you.”
“Oh, that. Meh. You get used to it,” he says, far more focused on stealing the last lemon wedge from my plate than on the retinue just outside the glass. I stare doubtingly at him until he finally looks up and meets my eyes.
“You will, too,” he offers.
It hits me suddenly that after this movie comes out, no matter what the critics think of it, I’m guaranteed to be dealing with this kind of attention for as long as the buzz lasts. And despite having wanted this break forever, I wonder if I’m ready for it.
The panic must show on my face, because Tanner turns his full attention from the food to me.
“Hey. I know you inside and out, Jenna. And you’ve got this. There’s nothing this world can throw at you that you can’t handle. You’re tough, you’re cool, you’re talented as hell, and you’re a total badass. So rest assured that no matter what happens, you’ll handle it with grace and style, just like you always do. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.” I nod.
“You know, I think we’ve done enough. Want to head out?”
He must really not want to carry on the charade any longer.
And I can’t either.
“We can’t—” I start, intending to tell him that the sex is over, that this right here is the end of the affair. That in order to be the fierce woman I’m capable of becoming, I have to get him out of my bed to get him out of my head.
But he’s already speaking. “Let’s ditch the shutterbugs and take a walk. Just me and you. Today was so amazing, but I wasn’t really present for any of it. I was so focused on making sure our story was being told the way we want that I missed all the fun I wanted to have with you.”
In spite of everything, my heart lifts along with my hopes.
Then Tanner flashes me his classic smile, the one that roped me in all those years ago. It starts on the right side of his mouth then curls over to the rest of his face so that both of his perfect dimples are on full display.
And I guess I really am the same person I always was, because even knowing what I know, I realize I’ve already fallen in love with Tanner James all over again.
That’s the only thought ringing through my head as we go through the motions of taking care of our tab and walking outside for the now-familiar awkward-pose.
“What a great night, Jenna,” Tanner announces in front of the crowd, with all the subtlety of a twelve year old in a school production. “We should go back to the hotel now.”
“Yes. Together,” I add, my distraction only making this better.
“Well that’s not a publicity stunt,” a girl in front snickers to her friend, and I see several other people snort and agree.
“I thought they could act at least. Must really hate each other,” someone else adds.
It’s almost too easy. We don’t even have to try to lose them. We walk to our car, and pull away without a single person following.
And why would they? We played them like fiddles all day.
If I’d ever doubted my acting abilities, today would have put that to bed permanently. Regardless of the relative realness or fakeness of the date, we managed to convince half of Vancouver that we could hardly stand to touch each other, when in reality the chemistry between us takes work to ignore.
After a few deceiving turns to make sure no intrepid reporter is following us, we have the driver drop us at Creekside Park. Tanner leads me down for a walk along the harbor. The almost full moon is gleaming off the rippling water, and the docked boats are bobbing on creaking ropes. Those and our footsteps are the only sounds.
We walk for a long while without speaking, the air between us growing tight and taut with the heat and flare that burns constantly when we’re together. The attraction that we hid from the crowd all day is so strong now that we’ve unleashed it, and I find I’m suddenly shy.
I think we’re on a real date now.
And I think I like it.
Eventually, words come and conversation trips and stutters as we talk about the weather and the water. He asks me if the breeze is too chilly for me enough times that I eventually realize he’s just looking for an excuse to put his arm around me. Does he feel this same fumbling that I do?
Or am I reading too much into this?
I try not to think about it. Try to just live in the moment.
A mile or so later, we’re holding hands freely, swinging them lightly between us. The few words have become a torrent, and, if this really is a date, it’s the best date I’ve been on in a long time.
“I can’t believe you’re not going to name it The Jet!” I laugh, when we’re deep in the middle of a game of name your future yacht. “Or, like, Jet Stream. It seems obvious.”
“First of all, what kind of a douchebag do you think I am? Wait, don’t answer that.” He elbows me playfully when I open my mouth. “And second, boats are always women. So she needs a womanly name. Like…”
“The Jenna?” I do a Vanna arm, displaying my imaginary namesake.
“Meh. It’s okay.”
I shove him, hard enough to make him wobble a little too close to the edge of the dock. He grabs for my waist to stabilize. His touch warms my body instantly, and I hold him for a moment before our bodies separate to continue walking.
“Well I’m going to name my boat The Squan,” I say, as our hands clasp again.
“Oh, cool. Like the town where your family has a beach house,” he says.
“Wow. You remember that?”
“Of course.” He stops walking for a second. “Is that where you went after?” The tone in his voice has changed, and I notice a heaviness in his eyes.
“After what?” I ask, but there’s a knot in my stomach, and I already know the answer.
“After you took off.” He’s serious, and it makes my chest tighten.
This is not a conversation I’m prepared to have right now. Or ever. If I ever decided to move forward with him, it would mean a necessary forgetting of the past, a revisionist history in my mind and heart. It’s the only way I could get over his indiscretion. Not by rehashing it.
But Tanner seems set on talking about it. “We had an apartment together. You took all your things. You were gone so fast. I had no idea where you went.”
I drop my hand from his and wrap my arms around myself. “Does it matter?”
“Yes. It does.” He pauses, waiting for me to say something, and when I don’t he adds, “Please.”
That’s the word that kills me. I owe him this.
Sighing, I glance off in the distance, unable to look at him while I dredge up the past. “I moved into one of the apartments that the modeling agency keeps for the girls, until I could find my own place,” I confess, softly.
“No, you didn’t. I called the agency, and they had no idea.”
“They lied for me.” I drop my arms and turn and face him. “And you know what? You only called them once, so it wasn’t exactly hard to do.” Now I’m getting serious. If we’re going to be telling the truth, then Tanner should remember his own.
“I should have called more times,” he admits. “I took off to Australia, and I didn’t try hard enough to explain the truth to you. And that’s my fault. I still haven’t told you, and I should have the first day of our shoot.”
Those words hit me hard. They’re not what I expected, but they’re what I need. Still, I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it. I try to brace myself, but I’m shaking and I can’t look at him when I ask, “The truth about Natalia? You loved her, didn’t you?”
“Oh, Jenna.” His tone is so gentle that I do look up, and so the tenderness in his eyes catches me, and I can’t tear my gaze away, no matter how painful his next words will likely be. No matter that my own eyes are already watery.
“The truth is that kiss wasn’t real,” he says. “An asshole with a film crew pretending to be a big publicist approached Natalia. He told her he was putting on a big celebrity charity kissing contest. I should have called you, of course I should have. I know that now. But at the time, I didn’t think it was any bigger a deal than an acting job. I put on a performance and never expected to hear about it again, unless I got a notification that a check was being delivered to the children’s hospital in my name. But there was no charity. The crew sold the footage to TMI, and I
never saw you again.”
And because I’m looking in his eyes, I can see that the words he speaks to me are absolute truth.
And my heart breaks all over again as I raise my trembling hand to press against my mouth.
“It wasn’t real,” I repeat, my voice cracking.
“It wasn’t real.”
It feels like a seven-ton boulder has been lifted from my chest, a weight that has pressed against me from the moment I first saw that stupid video. I can breathe deeply for the first time in years. Tanner never cheated on me.
“But then why didn’t you try harder to tell me?” I’m confused. Such a silly misunderstanding could have been cleared up easily. Even if I was avoiding his calls, he could have found a way to reach me.
He lowers his eyes. “Honestly? I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what? That I wouldn’t believe you?”
“I was afraid you were giving up your dreams for mine.” I wrinkle my brows in question, and he asks, “Why did you turn down that audition for that Judd Stow movie?”
That came out of nowhere. I shrug, not remembering right away.
“What about the Zanetti series?” he asks next.
“That conflicted with my schedule for Marisa’s Closet,” I say, defensively.
“You would have nailed the part for the new Supergirl if you’d gone for it,” he says, confidently.
That one I do remember. I’d canceled that audition because I’d wanted to go to an award show that Tanner was hosting.
Wait.
My eyes sting as I start to put together where his questions must be leading. “I wasn’t good enough for you. You didn’t try to come after me because you were embarrassed by me. You wished I was an actress instead. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
I try to step away, but Tanner pulls me closer. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. If anything, you’re too good for me.”
“Then I don’t get why you’re bringing up all this stuff.” I’m stiff in his arms, unable to look at him until he gives me a good reason.
“You canceled so many auditions, missed so many opportunities. Because of my career. I was afraid you were giving up all your chances of becoming a star because of me. I was afraid I was in the way of your dreams.”