She’d lost her mind. Two weeks after the wedding she still chided herself for revealing so much to Jesse.
First of all, she didn’t know him. Second of all, she didn’t know him! Had she not learned her lesson? How many men must betray her trust for her to realize love and all its happiness may never be bound for her?
She’d tried and failed. Wasn’t the definition of crazy—madness—to keep doing the same thing over and over?
She was halfway home from his beach house when she realized he hadn’t asked for her number. She considered it a break in her cycle of infatuation, crushes, love, and heartbreak.
They hit it off. They kissed. End of story. Besides, considering her romantic track record—publicly documented, thanks to her parents’ fame and her stupidity—a romance with a fellow cast member would be in bad form.
Such liaisons rarely ended well, and someone usually got hurt. Usually Chloe.
Guests would be arriving soon. Every Saturday, the Daschles held a brunch—10:00 a.m. to noonish. Open door. Come as you can.
Since she could remember, Saturdays were fun, filled withsurprises. Everyone from legendary actors to the lowest crew member, writers, singers, studio heads, stylists, photographers, neighbors, senators, athletes, and grocery store clerks had walked through the Daschles’ front door.
Kate met Rob, a British actor, at one of these brunches. He was in LA with Clive Boston on a promotional junket. Clive walked in with him, and Kate was a goner.
Love. Would it one day walk through the front door for her? She didn’t mean to be so focused on it. After all, twenty-nine wasn’t ancient, but ever since she could remember, she had a sense of destiny concerning the matter of love and marriage. Her own efforts to fulfill her desires had been disastrous.
On the edge of her windowed view, Chloe watched the gardener walk the perimeter of the pool, netting a scattering of leaves from the water’s surface.
From under the lanai, the maid hurried toward the guesthouse gripping a stack of linens.
Mr. Crumbly must be returning. Dad’s old friend from high school, a missionary, lived in the guesthouse when he was stateside.
Second only to Smitty, who introduced her to faith, Mr. Crumbly had the greatest impact on Chloe’s spiritual journey.
“Tell you what, just open your Bible,” he once challenged her. “Read and pray. You’ll find treasure. Trust me. Your heart will change.”
Humble and simple, he made her see God was accessible. Even eager to engage her. She was just so human in her efforts. Weak. Shamed. Guilty. How could God love her?
A squawk came over the intercom, an old tool that Mom insisted on using.
“Chloe, Kate and Rob are here. Aren’t you coming to brunch?”
She downed her tomato juice and hit the talk button. “On my way.” It was 10:01, and Mom was worried she wouldn’t be there. Like, when had she ever missed? Only if she was on set somewhere.
Despite the fact her parents never married with the hoopla and the vows, they were intense about family.
As she left her apartment and crossed the small patch of yard separating her from the main residence, she saw Dad in the guesthouse driveway talking to a short, lean man with a mop of black hair.
Chloe paused and leaned for a closer look, squinting through the midmorning California sun. Smitty?
“Hey, there you are.” Chloe’s sister, Kate, met her by the lanai furniture. “Rob and I wondered if you wanted to go to dinner later. We have—”
“Maybe. Who is Dad talking to?”
“Don’t know. Listen, Rob has a friend visiting from—”
“Oh no you don’t.” Chloe brushed past her sister, sniffing out their cook Glenda’s crusted French toast.
“No I don’t what? We just want an even number at dinner.”
“Ha!” Chloe greeted her father’s assistant, Becky, with a light kiss on the cheek. “Do you think I’m stupid, Kate? It’s a fix-up, and don’t you dare deny it.”
“Okay, fine, but he’s a nice guy. Gorgeous.” Kate collected a plate and started down the buffet line behind Chloe. “About as gorgeous as that man you were with at the wedding. Who was that? Rob, Glenda made her French toast.”
“He’s the screenwriter ofBound by Love.”
