“Not yet,” I said after half an hour of going back and forth with him. I’d been careful the entire conversation because of his own parents—he said he hadn’t talked to the man who’d hit him when he was kid since he and his mother had left Australia more than ten years ago and had immediately turned the conversation back to my own mom and dad when I questioned him about it.
“You’re being childish,” he’d said, as we walked back up the beach toward his stucco house after our lesson.
“No, I’m trying to figure myself out,” I’d told him. And I was.
He’d opened the door leading inside the house for me, grasping the frame, and raised his eyebrow. “At least the cameras have eased up off you.”
Considering my attorney hadn’t returned any of my calls about the status of our court date, the fact that I was no longer front page tabloid fodder was the best thing that had happened to me in a while. For the first few days after our relationship made it into the news, the paparazzi had showed up at random times outside his house and on the beach, snapping photos and hounding Paige and Eric, but for the last couple days, everything had died down.
On Wednesday evening as we shot an indoor scene with my onscreen dad—the guy who’d played the role of Chad in the original movie—Justin told me the paparazzi’s sudden disinterest in my love life was due to some actress who was twice as famous and five times more screwed up than me ‘accidentally’ running the Bentley she was joyriding into a cameraman.
“He’s alright,” Justin quickly assured me, digging his fingers into his dreadlocked hair and making me itch all over. When was the last time he washed that stuff? “But she was coked out.”
My costar gossiped more than Jessica, and I rolled my eyes. “I’ve finally figured out why you refuse to cut that shit.” I pointed up at his long hair. Then I dropped my voice to a whisper. “It’s full of secrets.”
The Mean Girls quote flew right over his head, and he continued speaking, staring up at the grip who was fixing a lighting issue. “How much time do you think she’ll get?”
I shrugged and sat down on the prop couch, resting my elbows on my lap. He followed, much to my irritation, and sat in the exact same position. I slid my teeth together irritably as his gaze burned into the side of my face. Finally, I turned toward him. “How would I know how much time she’ll get?”
“Don’t you get arrested like once a year?”
“Don’t you know when to shut up?” I retorted. When his expression faltered, I sighed, and said, “Who knows, okay?”
He leaned back, kicking his sandaled foot up on the coffee table and gave me a smirk. “You make work interesting,” he said, winking.
I tilted my head to the side and gave him sickly sweet smile. “Don’t you have an extra ready to go down on you in the Porta Potty?”
He stretched his long arms up and shook his head, swinging his hair in the process. “Not today. Besides, I’d much rather talk to you.”
Someone shouted that it was time to get back to work and I got up, glancing over my shoulder at Justin. “Me and some of the makeup artists have a bet going whether or not your character will get the silver bullet next season on your show,” I said, referring to the werewolf show he costarred in. “And from what I hear there’s no Sam and Dean-esque twists that will bring your ass back if they do.”
His mouth fell open and I felt myself smile as he followed behind me, asking if I’d ever even watched the damn show.
***
Even though I was tired to the bone after work, I had Miller take me to the homeless shelter. There were four hours left in my community service and I was determined to get them done this afternoon because my probation ended in seven days. Dave, my boss, looked generally excited to see me, stopping me when I passed by his office to thank me for a bunch of my old clothing I’d bugged Miller to drop off a couple days ago.
“Your donation means a lot to me, and to the residents.” He tilted his head back for a second and closed his eyes. When he lowered it, a genuine smile pulled across his face. “Thank you, Willow.”
“I’ve got more stuff in storage,” I told him. “When I go back to Los Angeles, I’ll have them shipped here.” I ignored the lump in my throat that I got when I thought about going back to L.A.
We’d been shooting my scenes too quickly for my liking which meant that at any moment my time here could be over and I’d have no other choice but go back home.
Dave thanked me a few more times, and then I finally managed to slink out of his office. I went into the dining room and dug around for the cleaning supplies in the storage closet, filling the mop bucket with hot water and hanging a bottle of cleaner and a cloth over the side of it. I dragged the bucket out into the dining room, and nearly screamed when I turned around to come face to face with a small, familiar face.
“You look like you just shit your pants,” Hannah said, lifting her eyebrow as I stumbled backward.
I recovered, giving her a look. “Aren’t you a little too young to say shit?” I lugged the bucket full of water into the middle of the dining room floor and she acted as my shadow, following a few steps behind me. “And besides, anyone would freak out when someone’s creeping up on them.”
She grinned at me as I started spraying the tables with a cleaner-filled bottle. “I can’t do much, you know.”
I paused. “Are you kidding? I fight like a girl,” I said. “You’d probably head-butt me in the chest and I’d be out like that.” I snapped my fingers, and she laughed, sliding into a chair across from where I was cleaning.