She smiled down at her coffee with his sweet “Promise to call me if you decide to stay in town” drifting through her mind. Then the way he’d forced himself to one elbow, used his free hand to wrap the back of her neck, and draw her down for a good-bye kiss that had felt more like a let’s-get-this-started kiss.
Sophia’s bubbly laughter pulled Tessa from her thoughts, and she scrolled through her work email. To say she wasn’t tempted to stay in town just for more horizontal time with Ian would be a lie. But she knew it was better to cut off contact before she grew attached. Tessa had experienced enough loss for a lifetime. She didn’t have the heart to get involved with anyone who wouldn’t stick. And, as amazing as he’d been, she still doubted Ian Bellamy knew the meaning of the word stick.
She answered a few low-priority emails, then navigated into the Hawaiian Airlines website and browsed their rules for flight changes.
Before she’d realized how it happened, she was thinking about Ian again. Ian and all his muscle. All his passion. All his laughter. Just the memory of his laugh made her smile. And pretty soon, she was staring out the window, reliving every delicious moment of their night. Her brain was still floating somewhere near cloud nine. She’d never felt this kind of aftereffect. But then she’d never had a night like that before either.
Ian was exactly where he belonged—in the big-timer’s arena and nowhere near Tessa’s safe, stable life. She glanced over at Sophia and Abby stoveside, where Sophia dropped blueberries into the pancake batter.
Sophia was Tessa’s true north. That squeaky, silly, little three-year-old had nudged Tessa’s all-consuming career aside with nothing more than a smile. Yeah, last night had been one-of-a-kind unforgettable, but that creature right there in nothing but a pink frilly pajama tank and Powerpuff Girls undies, that was her heart, her life, her entire future.
Tessa set her computer aside. She’d look into changes later. Right now, she wanted to make pancakes with her daughter.
She picked up her coffee and paused to take a sip before standing. The words “…the star of Hawaiian Heat…” drifted from the television, drawing Tessa’s attention. The studio audience exploded in applause.
“Who do they have on today?” Abby called from the kitchen.
The pretty anchor pushed from a stool to greet the guest.
“Someone from—” Tessa caught a glimpse of the man’s face before the camera angle changed, and her stomach took a roller-coaster free fall. A man who looked a lot like Ian—way too much like Ian—but who was not Ian, strolled on stage wearing black jeans and a black blazer over a white button-down shirt.
As the man strolled toward the anchor and shook hands, Te
ssa’s mind darted in half a dozen directions—to Ian, to the cast of the show, to who was calling themselves a star when Ian was the only lead. But nothing made sense. None of the puzzle pieces Tessa had so carefully researched fit.
The anchorwoman released the man’s hand, turned toward the audience, and gestured to her guest with an enthusiastic “Welcome Ian Bellamy.”
A swath of heat cut through Tessa’s belly. Her heart followed her stomach to her feet.
“What?” she whispered. Dread coiled deep in her gut as if her subconscious had figured out what her conscious mind still fought. “Holy…”
Fuck. She held back the word purely out of habit, but her stomach took a free fall to her feet, and her mind fragmented.
Her coffee cup slipped from her fingers, and Tessa gasped just as it cracked against the corner of the coffee table and shattered.
Hot coffee splashed Tessa’s hands. “Ouch.” She jumped. “Oh my God.”
“Mommy?” Sophia called.
Tessa gathered her thoughts like a kid caught sneaking a cookie. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” But her gaze rose to the television again. “Just an acci—” The rest of the word evaporated as she watched the man slide onto the stool, lean against the leather back, and clasp his hands. His grin was wide and perfect. His skin tan. His hair gelled.
But he wasn’t Ian Bellamy.
Was he? Because he didn’t have a cut on his forehead either. And she’d seen one of them—either Zach or Ian—with a cut on his forehead yesterday. She hadn’t imagined that. She hadn’t imagined the crew member telling her Zach had gotten the cut while surfing. Still, panic tightened her throat. Fear pushed tears to her eyes. Her knees buckled, and she dropped back to the sofa. No, no, no.
“What happened?” Abby crouched beside her and put a hand on her knee, her nails a messy kaleidoscope of polish, compliments of Sophia. “Are you okay?”
Tessa didn’t look at her. She couldn’t pry her gaze from the TV or her mind from a major, major clusterfuck she hoped, prayed, she hadn’t made.
“…I understand you live here in LA,” the anchor was saying, “and that you grew up surfing.”
A knot formed in her stomach.
“I’ve won a number of championships too,” the guest said. “Was just about to go pro when I was snapped up for the Blue Lagoon remake.” He lifted his hands out to the sides. “And a star was born.”
“He’s a condescending, arrogant prick.” Ian’s words floated back to her, testing everything she believed. Tessa clung to the idea that the anchor had made a major screwup and called the guy by the wrong name—only that didn’t make sense. But, hell, nothing made sense right now. And she was terrified of what it would look like if it did make sense.
Sophia climbed up on the sofa next to her and plastered herself to Tessa’s side. “Mommy? Did you get an owie? It’s okay. Frankie will get Band-Aids.”