“I drink champagne occasionally, but I’m pretty strict with what I eat and have cut out alcohol for the most part. I have a skin and hair condition that I have to manage really carefully.”
“Oh, nothing serious, I hope,” he says with a frown.
Why did I even bring it up? It’s irrelevant, as I knew it would be. Takira’s been vigilant about using natural products and monitoring my scalp for new spots. I’ve made sure to stay covered when I’m in the sun, avoid smoke, keep my diet clean, and meditate so my stress stays low. As low as possible under the circumstances, at least. As for exercise, Lucia and her choreography are the best personal trainers I’ve ever had.
“It won’t affect the movie,” I assure him. “It’s under control.”
“Neevah, I wasn’t thinking about the movie.” He shifts his gaze to the creek just beyond our gazebo. “I was thinking about you.”
A small silence pools between us, rising like the water not far away until I think it’s over my head and I can’t breathe.
“So,” he finally speaks into the tight quiet. “You’re the last person I thought would be alone on Thanksgiving.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Come on. You telling me half the cast didn’t invite you over for dinner?”
“I guess I did have a few invitations, but . . .” I break off and laugh at his knowing look. “Okay. Yes. A lot of the cast invited me over when they heard I was staying in LA.”
“You’re one of those social people.”
“And you’re not?”
He lifts one what do you think brow before we both ease into light laughter.
“I needed some time alone,” I tell him. “It’s hard to explain, but I’ve never done a film before, and to start with something like Dessi Blue—to be the lead and have people constantly needing something, expecting something. The sheer physical demand—it’s a lot. And we’re coming up on some of the toughest scenes. I don’t know all my lines for next week yet.”
I give him a sheepish look because I probably shouldn’t confess this to my boss.
“I won’t tell,” he teases, laughing when I roll my eyes. “Hey. I get it. I’m constantly pulled on, too. Someone asked Spielberg what’s the hardest part of making a movie. He said getting out of the car. As soon as you arrive on set, everyone needs something.”
“Well I don’t have that kind of demand, but I really needed to focus and prepare. With Takira going home, it was a perfect opportunity.”
“And your family? How’d they feel about you missing Thanksgiving?”
A bitter laugh leaks out before I can stop it. “It’s not the first time, believe me.”
“You and your family—you’re not close?”
“We had a falling out years ago, my sister and I. It drove a wedge between me and, well everyone.” I trace the rim of my plate with one finger. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear this and I don’t want to tell you.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Canon isn’t an easy man to read, but he’s never fake, and the curiosity and yes, concern in his eyes right now, is sincere. It coaxes me to discuss something I’ve rarely told anyone.
“I got engaged my senior year in high school.” I shake my head, wondering what that eighteen-year-old kid thought she knew about love and forever. “I know. It was stupid.”
“Not with the right person, it wouldn’t be. Jill and her husband were high school sweethearts.”
“They were?”
“Yeah. They went off to college, never broke up, and got married their junior year. Twenty-five years and three kids later, they’re still together, so I think it depends on the person.”
“Well he was not the right person—at least not for me. My sister? Now they were apparently a perfect match.”
“Wait.” He leans forward, surprise alight in his dark eyes. “He cheated on you with your sister?”
“And my sister cheated on me with him. They might have gotten away with it had she not gotten pregnant.”