Hollywood Ever After (Red Carpet 1)

“Do you have any security settings on your inbox?” He reached for my laptop. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all, thanks, actually.” I handed it to him. “Josh said he’d emailed me. But I didn’t get them.”

Arthur began clicking away. “Let’s see.”

I curled up on the couch, vaguely aware of the sounds coming from the kids’ bedroom. Will squealed with laughter, making Arthur and me grin.

“And that is the sound of Will being tickled mercilessly by his sister, who he undoubtedly woke by doing something mischievous.”

Arthur smiled then turned the computer toward me. “This is probably him. There’s a lot in your junk mail. Here.”

I took the laptop and stared at the junk file. There was a long list of emails, all from the same email address. They dated back to the day I’d left California.

They were from him. He’d written to me every day. Were they poems? No, not poems. Songs. Song after song, and he sent them to me. The last email was from the morning we’d left Texas. His words jumped out at me, filling my heart.

I feel you on my fingers. I hear your breath in my ear. The smell of your skin, soft on the back of your neck, is there when I sleep… I don’t want to wake up.

My hands were shaking a bit and I felt the heat in the pit of my stomach. He was able to convey the raw honesty of his emotions, and his words had a powerful effect on me.

“Is it him?” Arthur asked. He eyed my face then said, “Guess so.”

“Thanks…yes.”

“It’s okay, you know.” He regarded me carefully as he spoke. “For you to be in love with him, I mean.”

My first reaction was to deny what he was saying, but I caught myself. “Why? Explain it to me so that this makes sense.”

“Why not? To be loved and return it, it’s a gift.”

I stared at him for a minute until I realized that he was returning my completely baffled expression.

“It just doesn’t make sense to me. I’m me, suburban single mom. But he’s Josh Wiley, he has…options.” I sounded confused.

“Maybe you’re the option he likes best, Claire. Ever think of that?” He smiled before turning back to his paper.

I was his best option? That didn’t quite click for me, even if it sounded wonderful.

I stared at his emails, moved and astounded that they were to me. From him. I didn’t know much about him, not really. Yet somehow it didn’t matter. We fit, in every way that seemed to matter. We fit well.

Out of pure curiosity I Googled Josh Wiley—and I instantly regretted it. Fan pages, blog spots, news articles from magazines and newspapers, pages and pages of links devoted to him. His birthday, birthplace, favorite color, and favorite song—everything was available online. There were pictures of him at film premieres, at concerts, at fashion shows (with the amazingly stunning Fiona Lukas), in the post office, during his grade school years. There was information here that I didn’t know about him yet. And as fascinating as it was, I didn’t want to learn it this way, impersonally.

It was also a little overwhelming to learn how many people felt like they knew him by reading these pages. I didn’t know if half of this information was true. It just seemed like an invasion of his privacy, an attempt to participate in his life without him inviting it.

I closed the Internet browser and went back to my inbox. He had emailed me every day we were apart. He’d missed me as much as I’d missed him.

There was a knock on the door and I peered at it curiously. Had he had time to go home and clean up already? I felt a smile tugging at my lips as I turned in greeting.

Arthur answered the door. The bellboy stood there, holding a huge basket of bluebells and tulips.

I felt my chest tighten. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Why did he have to remind me he was still there? Because it was a game to Daniel, a game he was determined to win.

I joined Arthur at the door. “I don’t want them.”

Arthur looked at me, surprised.

“What do you want me to do with them, ma’am?” the young man asked.

“Are you sure they’re not from Josh?” Arthur asked.