The city of Los Angeles fills a space between the coastline and a decent-sized mountain range. This home was built in the high hills, and since the front faces the earthy, steep mountain scape, I can guarantee there’s a view to die for out back. Probably a hot tub, pool, and the rest of the nine yards.
Not that any of that will impress Brinley, but that’s not something I expect a mere brick and mortar structure to do. No, impressing the girl, that’s my job.
Although, if I were a betting man, I’d say Brinley’s been watching Time Warp. If that’s true, she’ll enjoy meeting Ian and Daisy. They’re an interesting pair, and they, like the couple who blazed the trail in the first season, did a great job of showing us how it’s done. I’ve been taking notes, hoping to get my own second chance one day.
Now it’s here.
The fact floods my limbs with enough adrenaline to fuel a diesel for decades. I squint against the sun and set my eyes back on the couple, the camera guy, and James Glidden, Marsha’s co-producer. Normally, with a delay like this, I might be wondering if the other party was backing out, but not Brinley. She’d never back out of a contract. Unless something terrible happened.
Please say nothing terrible happened.
What if the limo driver went rogue and held her captive under impossible demands? Or sold her off to some sex-trafficking ring?
Too many movies,I say to my racing imagination.
The loud hum of what sounds like a delivery truck rises over the distant hill.
“That must be her,” hollers Daisy. She and Ian wave me over as a new level of upset rises in my chest.Holy crud. It’s actually happening.
I stride over to the small setup and stare at the rounded hill. “Sounds loud for a limo,” I say.
“She refused the limo,” James says.
I roll my eyes. “Of course, she did. Town car?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
It’s then I spot the grill of a battered Toyota climbing up the hillside like its failing life depends on it. The paint job has seen better days. At once I envision Grandma’s cat Rusty, who lingered part way between this world and the next for years until finally giving up the cat ghost at a ripe twenty-three years old.Good old Rusty.
The engine revolts with rattles and clanks as it chugs up the steep hump. “Can’t she downshift?” I mumble.
Ian shrugs. “Maybe it’s an automatic.”
The camera turns in that direction as well. I can’t help but smile. This issoBrinley. If she’s going to make an entrance, it will be as humble as it gets—intentionally, of course. A middle finger to a society that turns itself inside out to impress with all the things money can buy. It makes me miss her.
But wait, that’s not Brinley. The chick at the wheel has shiny black hair and eyes rimmed in enough eyeliner I can see it from here. It takes a fraction of a second to glance over and see Brinley in the passenger seat, but the small space in time—that instant I worried she might not come—is enough to trigger some sort of spasm in my throat. It’s pulsing, probably visibly, just under my Adam’s apple.
I hiccup in response, once, and then twice.
James gives me a worried glance over from head to foot. I can see the leaked headlines now.A Drunken Dawson, Not So Awesome, Sloshes Onto Time Warp’s Newest Season.
Another hiccup forms in my throat.Oh, no, Lord, please make it stop.
I attempt to stifle this one by trapping the air in my throat, but it backfires and triggers a gurgle that sounds like a drowning Muppet in my chest.
“Hiccups,” I tell the small group eyeing me with concern. I barely get the word out before another slips out. Great. We’re off to a nice start. Maybe Perry was right. Maybe I should have tried one more time to get Brinley to go to dinner with me.
No, I didn’t want dinner. I didn’t want something that Brinley could walk away from, convinced as she’s ever been that I’m who she thinks I am. I wanted more time, more focus. I wanted a commitment, and I got it. Six whole days. Sure, I’ve had to come to grips with missing the Emmys, but this is worth it.
I watch, sweat coating my palm, tightness pressing my chest, as the ancient vehicle lurches to a halt and puts out a final, protesting thump. Both doors swing open, but my focus is aimed on just one.
Brinley climbs out, confident and poised, the red in her auburn hair blazing in the sunlight.Dang, she’s gorgeous.
She sets her attention on the task of collecting her bags. The girl who drove her here, which I now recognize as her business partner Janis, helps with the bags, then gives Brinley a hug before smacking her butt and sending her our way.
My hand aches with jealousy because, yes, I wouldn’t mind being the one to swat her playfully on the rear. I can see that she’s struggling to hold it all, so I hurry over to help her out like I should have done in the first place. A stray hiccup jumps up my throat on my way over, and I inwardly pray it’s the last of them.
Two luggage bags hang off the same shoulder, but the carrying case Brinley grips with the other hand seems to be causing her the most grief. It’s….moving.
