Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
But the way he said my name was so…dreamy—as if he were savoring every consonant. Hold up. Were we having a moment? No, it had to be my imagination.
I swallowed hard and tried to think of something clever to add, but Janet was already pulling him away.
“You have to be at the studio in an hour.” She tapped her watch meaningfully. “Shall we?”
Pierce released my hand and followed Enid and his entourage into the adjoining living area without a second glance.
Yeah, definitely my imagination.
But you know, I hadn’t gotten my selfie and until I was given a formal heave-ho, I figured I’d milk my brush with fame for all it was worth. I oh, so casually sashayed into the room and plastered my back against the nearest bookshelf, transforming into a human fly on the wall.
That was easy enough to do in this house. Mr. G was a self-proclaimed collector of eclectic and beautiful things. His shelves were filled to capacity with books and mementos from his travels that I’d helped him curate with tasteful knickknacks…like a miniature antique clock, silver frames with pics of old friends, and sea glass from Crystal Cove.
Bookshelves lined two walls, one of which faced the garden and the pool beyond. The other two walls showcased museum-worthy landscapes. The space was lush with thick silk taffeta drapery, Persian rugs, a baby grand piano, elegant furnishings, a massive marble-and-stone hearth, and a game table in front of the window.
It was a fitting spot to hold court with a movie star.
I made sure I had a good view and could hear all the juicy details when Mr. Gowan stood on wobbly knees, leaning heavily on his cane to greet his esteemed guest.
“Hello, sir. It’s a thrill to meet you in person,” Mr. G effused in a raspy tone.
“Likewise,” Pierce replied, shaking his hand.
Pierce waited for Mr. G to situate himself in his burgundy brocade chair beside the fireplace before taking the corner seat on the sofa. They passed a few minutes with idle conversation one would expect to have with a celebrity.
Mr. G told him how much he enjoyed his movies and claimed to be a big fan. Pierce thanked him and declined Enid’s offer of coffee or tea, flashing a megawatt devil-may-care grin that reduced the usually sensible nurse to a puddle of goo. Another ho-hum exchange later about the weather and how nice it was to enjoy a crackling fire on a cool morning later, I realized this was going to fizzle with a photo any second now.
I was right.
Janet butted in to remind Mr. Gowan that Mr. Allen was an exceedingly busy man. She wasn’t rude, per se, but I kind of wanted to smack her. Mr. G didn’t have the luxury of time on his side. He deserved to savor precious occasions. And damn it, I still wasn’t sure how to finagle that selfie without fangirling all over him.
This wasn’t about me, though. This was Mr. G’s show.
Pierce whispered something to Janet, who inclined her head and asked Enid for a glass of water for herself and maybe coffee for the entourage. Enid practically stumbled over her own two feet, jumping and taking coffee orders. Cream? Sugar? Sparkling water or still? Janet suggested they follow her to make it easier. Enid started to refuse, but caught on that Pierce wanted a moment alone with Mr. Gowan.
I was positive I’d get roped in to helping in the kitchen, but they forgot about me or simply hadn’t noticed me trying my darnedest to blend in with the books and bric-a-brac. Any other day, I might have been insulted, but today…I had a front-row seat to history in the making. Okay…that was dramatic, but c’mon, this was exciting shit.
“You’re sure you don’t want a cup of coffee or tea?” Mr. Gowan asked.
“No, thank you.” Pierce crossed his legs and continued conversationally. “So…you knew my mother?”
“Yes. We were cousins.”
Pierce bolted forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Really?”
“First cousins, which makes us second cousins, I believe.”
“And you’re just coming forward now? Why? I don’t get it.” He sounded genuinely confused and a touch agitated. “No offense, but she never mentioned you.”
“Why would she?” Mr. G countered. “I was more than a decade older than her. She followed me around when she was a little girl pushing her beloved baby doll, Annie, in a stroller with books tucked under a soft green blanket. She’d tug at my jeans and ask me to read to her. So I did. Family gatherings were hell for me as a teenager. A game of chase or an hour wiling away with a pile of books was a welcome distraction. I saw her a few times a year until I finally escaped to the West Coast and gratefully dropped off the face of the Earth.”