Page 38 of His Girl Hollywood

For the thousandth time that day alone, Don cursed Frankie Martino. Not only had he not been able to honor the memory of someone he’d loved, but now he’d hurt Arlene too. But he didn’t know what to say to her because they were edging increasingly closer to dangerous ground. Frankie had indirectly hurt Arlene enough, even when she didn’t know the truth. He needed to switch to a happier subject. “Tell me something, are the famous Morgan Sunday dinners still a thing?”

That banished the last of the tears from her eyes. “Of course they are! I still drive down to Pedro every weekend if I’m not on location.”

“Good to know some things haven’t changed.” He took a last bite of his prime rib, trying to savor it. It was incredible to be here, eating a meal like this with the girl who’d once known him better than anyone else on this earth. And to feel a little like a stranger in his own skin.

“Like us, you mean?” She gave him a pointed look and drained her cocktail.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’d say you’ve changed for the better though.” He met her gaze and gave her a meaningful look. There it was again, the inexorable pull toward her he’d felt that day on set when they’d kissed. As strong and as inevitable as gravity. But he couldn’t give in to it again. Not if he wanted this rapport between them to last. He broke away and looked at his plate. He could swear he heard a mournful little puff of air escape her mouth.

“I can’t say the same for you,” she murmured. He looked up at her then, expecting to find censure in her eyes. But instead, mischiefand mirth were sparkling there. She was teasing him. God, he’d forgotten what that felt like.

“Personally, I think I’ve aged like a fine wine.” He winked at her, starting to feel more himself again.

“Ha! This is exactly what I mean—or were you always this arrogant and I never noticed?”

“Oh, you definitely never noticed.” They both laughed then, and his shoulders relaxed. This was the first time he’d been able to be around her and not feel like he was walking on eggshells. He only had himself to blame for virtually disappearing from her life. Add the pressure she was feeling with the picture, and of course it made sense why she’d been on edge. But it was nice to find this again. This ease and comfort in each other’s company. He’d taken it for granted as a kid. Apparently, he’d taken a lot of things for granted.

The busboys came and cleared their plates, asking if they wanted to see the dessert menu. Arlene said yes as he declined. They looked at each other. “It’s still on the Evets Studios tab,” she reminded him.

“No, it’s just… I wanna look good for the picture.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like you won’t dance it all off tomorrow.” She looked at the waiter. “We’ll split the icebox cake.”

Don chuckled. “All right, I know when I’ve been beaten in a fight.”

“I haven’t beat you,” she insisted. “I know what’s best for you, that’s all.”

Maybe she did. Maybe she always had. Heaven knew he’d found a way to make a complete disaster of his life these last ten years without her by his side. Regardless, he liked this version of her. Self-assured. Confident. Taking charge. Not at all the meek kid sister he’d known as a boy. The only trouble was he was developing less-than-brotherly feelings for her. He’d had every pair of histrousers tailored to show off his feet and his butt when he danced, but right this moment he wished he hadn’t made all of them quite so tight in the groin. He could use some breathing room.

Their cake arrived before he had time to blink, and she dangled a spoon in front of him, urging him to take the first bite. He did and she looked at him expectantly. “Delicious, but not as good as your mother’s apple pie.”

She looked proud then, as if he’d paidherthe compliment, not her mother. He envied her. That closeness, that unconditional love. He’d never had that with his own parents. It had only ever been guilt and judgment.

Her eyes sparkled and he could swear he saw the ghost of a light bulb turn on above her head. “Do you have plans on Sunday?”

Was she asking what he thought she was asking? “No, so long as I don’t have to be anywhere with Eleanor.” She made a face at the mention of Eleanor, and he couldn’t help it. He laughed. That was exactly how Eleanor Lester made him feel too.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You.” He chuckled. “Your distaste for Eleanor.”

Her face scrunched up into a moue at having been caught out, and he was possessed with a sudden urge to kiss the tip of her nose. “I don’t have a distaste for Eleanor.” He gave her a look, and she blew a whistle of air through her lips like a horse. “Okay, fine, I’m not her biggest fan.”

“Why?” Don genuinely wanted to know. Arlene had barely exchanged three words with Eleanor. It was he who had to dance with her every night, who had to deal with her temper tantrums and her moods—and until two weeks ago, endure her seemingly undying devotion to Frankie.

“That’s irrelevant,” Arlene said in a tone that made it clear the subject was closed. “I don’t want to talk about Eleanor Lester. WhatI wanted to ask is why don’t you come with me? For Sunday dinner. I know Mom would love to see you. It’s high time you come home.”

Home. He liked the sound of that. He hadn’t called anywhere home in a decade. His parents had died within a few months of each other a year and a half ago, but their house had never been home anyway. Not really. Still, he shivered at the thought of being back there. Of having to face the ghosts that he was certain haunted those rooms.

“What happened to the house?” he asked. Part of him hoped it had been demolished, taking all his memories with it.

She brightened at the question. That wasn’t what he’d expected. “Mom bought the other half of the duplex and knocked down the wall in between. Said she needed more space for her grandkids to play.” He smiled. He liked the idea of the Morgans in the tiny half of the duplex where he’d grown up, banishing the sullen tension that had seeped into those walls with their laughter and love. “You don’t have to go to that side of the house though if you don’t want to,” she added more quietly, suddenly thoughtful.

He shot her a look of silent gratitude. For knowing what he needed to hear. “I’d love to come. And to see what Pauline has done with the place. I’m sure it’s far lovelier and homier than it was when my parents lived there.” He meant it too. His heart felt lighter at the thought of getting to see Mrs. Morgan and taste her cooking again. He’d missed it—and her—terribly.

Arlene reached out her hand as if to take his, but then drew it away quickly and buried her hands in her lap. He didn’t think she even realized what she’d done, but his heart swelled at her instinct to reach for him. Even if she hadn’t followed through. “Mom’s making apple pie.”

“Oh, well, in that case…” He put his spoon down and made a show of pushing the plate away from him. She laughed, and herealized it might be his favorite sound in the world. Odd. He hadn’t remembered her laugh having this effect before, making him feel buoyant and hopeful. Like nothing could ever go wrong so long as he could still make her laugh.