Summer
Out of the corner of my eye, I sneak a glance at
him. I can’t help myself. Alexander Westbrook is in my car. I estimate the distance between us to be about one foot. I can practically smell his cologne, and it’s just as sexy as every other part of him. Oh, us mere mortals always hope stars aren’t as beautiful as they appear on screen.
Nope, I can say with absolute certainty that he’s even more gorgeous in real life. His green eyes really are that green, and deep and striking. His short, black hair is shinier than any hair in a shampoo commercial. And all that training for his superhero role paid off big-time. He’s pure muscle everywhere.
He’s more approachable and laid-back than I expected. Aside from the engagement ring freak-out, he’s friendly enough. I wanted to reach out and comfort him, but man, did that backfire. Serves me right for poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I may feel like I know him because I’ve seen him on screen for years, but he’s a stranger. A sinfully sexy stranger. When he told me I’m beautiful, my knees wobbled a bit. Thank God I was sitting down.
I tell him more about St. Anne’s on the drive, and half an hour later, I pull the car to a stop in the small parking lot in front of the establishment.
“I’ll get the cupcakes,” Alex offers.
“Thanks.”
He easily carries the box in one hand, and after locking the car, I lead him through the small front gate onto the property. Juniper trees line the cobblestone pathway leading to the main building. I love their smell.
There are six houses on the perimeter. As far as group homes go, St. Anne’s is one of the best. Each house has a supervisor, and there are no more than three kids in each bedroom. This isn’t intended to be a permanent residence for the children, only a place to stay until they receive a place in foster care. But that can take years, so this is the only home some of them know.
The door of the largest house and the institute center swings open and Shawna, the director, waves at us.
“Mr. Westbrook, so pleased to meet you. Thank you for making time to visit us,” she says, almost breathlessly. “I’m Shawna Delaware.”
“Nice to meet you, Shawna.”
Alex flashes her a winning smile. I recognize it from magazines and his movies. I can’t quite pinpoint why, but it feels different than the way he smiled at me when we were alone. That smile seemed warmer, this one more studied. It’s almost too perfect—the way it shows both his dimples and turns his expression into one of pure seduction. I like the real one better.
The kids are psyched when we enter the common room. All of them have gathered here, perched on couches or on the floor. The youngest ones are even dressed in Alex’s superhero costume. It seems to me they start talking all at once, but Alex’s experience with crowds shines through. He has no problem hopping from question to question, flicking his attention from one kid to the other.
“And when you jumped, you were like whoosh. I thought for sure you’d died,” one of the seven-year-old boys says. “Was it hard to jump?”
“Not nearly as hard as it looked.”
The boy’s eyes light up. “Really? I wanted to try, but Ms. Shawna caught me.”
Alex laughs, but I detect a hint of concern in his voice when he answers. “Best not to try it. It took me some training with the stunt master on set to be able to do it without hurting myself.”
“Whoa, you do your own stunts?” one of the older girls asks.
“Yeah. Most of them, anyway.”
A chorus of awestruck “cool” follows.
“Did you always know you want to be an actor?” the girl who asked him about the stunts continues.
Alex hesitates, then says, “Yes and no. Growing up, I wasn’t very good at school, or at sports, or at anything in particular.”
The crowd goes quiet, as everyone—myself included—hangs onto his every word.
“Then one day we had a filming crew at school. They were looking for a kid to include in a toothpaste commercial. Reading those two lines of the script was the first thing that ever came naturally to me.”
His confession feels raw and real. I appreciate his honesty with the kids. It takes a lot of strength of character to admit your flaws, or own up to your failures.
For the next two hours, Alex talks to the kids and shows them a few stunts. They’re utterly charmed. Maybe that charisma he exudes on screen, that inexplicable pull he casts at all times, comes from an inner place of openness and honesty. Shawna hops in and out of the room, checking in periodically.
After showing off yet another stunt, Alex heads straight toward me. I’m standing next to the drinks table at the end of the room.
“Need something to drink.” His voice is so hoarse, his throat must be dry as dust. He’s talked nonstop since arriving. But hot damn, that hoarseness is seven kinds of sexy, making me wonder what his bedroom voice sounds like.