If today was anything to go by, The Perfect Wave was going to hit it out of the park. The director was a great communicator who seemed to respect his cast and crew. We’d had numerous conversations over the past few months about how I saw this character, and we were totally aligned. He seemed to like what I’d done in preparation and had been obviously relieved when I knew my lines. Luckily for me, my co-star was equally focused and professional. We’d gotten through things faster than I expected, and I was on my way back home by six.
I grinned as I remembered the jokes from the crew, which was always the sign of a happy set. Not that the bitching wouldn’t start later, but at least right now there wasn’t tension and unhappiness draining all the creativity from the production.
I was psyched. The next six weeks were going to be great.
We pulled up outside my cottage and before Jed had a chance to open my door, I sprang out. “I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.” My call time’s varied, but there were a lot of early mornings. I slammed the door shut.
“You sure have some fancy rides,” a woman called from behind me.
I grinned before I even turned around. “How was your run?” I asked Lana, who was out on the porch, a glass of wine on the table in front of her.
“Good, thanks. You been anywhere nice?” she asked, which surprised me. She hadn’t initiated our conversations before. She’d never been rude, just concise with her answers. Had she figured out who I was?
“Yeah, down the coast. For work,” I said.
There was no glimmer of recognition on her face, no knowing smile. She just nodded as I slowly climbed the steps to her porch.
A slice of cold air ran down my back as I turned toward the ocean. The sky had turned black. Just a few minutes ago it had been a beautiful afternoon.
“It’s going to rain,” she said as I reached the top of the steps, accompanied by a rumble of thunder. She raised her eyebrows and grinned, clearly delighted at the prospect.
“I thought you didn’t like the rain?”
“No, I don’t like dumbass out-of-towners trying to get themselves electrocuted.” She smiled and took a sip from her glass. “There’s nothing like looking out at a Maine thunderstorm from under a blanket on a porch.”
I stared back at the sea that was transforming into molasses as the sky growled again.
“Can I get you some wine?” she asked.
I should say no. Head home, read through tomorrow’s lines and go through the resumes of potential new girlfriends. Should. But didn’t want to.
“Thanks, but let me. You stay there.”
She nodded. “Bottle’s on the counter. Glass is in the cabinet above the coffee maker.”
The screen door snapped shut behind me as I stepped into Lana’s cottage. The layout was the same as my place—airy and open with a breakfast bar forming a barrier between the kitchen and the dining area. There was a built-in window seat by the table and a vase of brightly colored flowers on the counter. Somehow, Lana’s place seemed warmer than mine, even though it looked so similar. Even the barstools were the same. Maybe it was all the photographs. They were everywhere—on the walls, the windowsills, the fireplace mantel.
“You find it?” she called from the porch, interrupting my surreptitious snooping.
“Yep, I got it,” I replied as I collected a glass, scooped up the bottle and headed out. “It’s like my place.” I put the glass on the table next to her drink and topped up her wine before pouring some for myself.
She’d shifted slightly up the bench so she wasn’t behind the table anymore.
“You all set there? You want me to get some popcorn?” She looked so damn cozy, all snuggled up under a blanket as if she were getting ready to watch a movie instead of looking out at the horizon.
“If I had any, I’d say yes. You can’t underestimate the entertainment value of a storm. Far better than anything to come out of Hollywood.”
“Oh really?” Maybe she did know who I was and was just messing with me.
All of a sudden it was as if someone had set off water cannons and the rain started to fall so hard I thought the roof would cave in.
I took a seat next to Lana and we both stared out across the sea as if it held all the answers we were looking for.
“I can’t imagine not seeing the ocean every day,” she said after a few moments. “It reminds me how small I am. How nothing much matters.”
“I’m not sure if that’s really depressing or kinda inspiring.”
“It is what it is.” She shrugged. “Where are you from, by the way? Did you grow up in California?”
“Indiana. No ocean but on the edge of the lake. My family’s house is about a fifteen-minute bike ride to the water. But you had to go further to find the more interesting bits, the places good for fishing.”
“You don’t strike me as a fisherman.”
I turned my head to look at her. “What do I strike you as?” I took a sip of my wine, then set my glass on the bench between us, our arms brushing with the movement.
“A guy with a lot of nice rides.”
I chuckled.
“Cars, I mean.” She laughed.
“That’s what I thought you meant—don’t be such a pervert.”
A deafening crack of thunder interrupted us.
“Christ, it’s like it’s aiming for this deck.”
“It isn’t. You just need to be respectful. And it will mind its business.”
“Respectful?” I asked, intrigued.
“Yeah, like don’t hang out on the shore, or under a tree or in a bandstand.”
I turned to look at her. Her cheeks pinked, letting me know she was aware of my scrutiny. I wanted to shift a little closer so we were thigh to thigh, smooth back the wisps of her hair, feel if she was as warm as she looked.
I took a breath and followed her line of sight. “Oh, we’re back to the bandstand debacle. Will you ever forget that?”
“The next time I see something dumber.”
“Well, that shouldn’t be long from what I’ve seen of this town. Do you know I actually saw a woman with a cat on a leash the other day?”
“Hey, Polly Larch has had six cats in the last three years. And they have all either disappeared, been run over or died for medical reasons. She’s just keeping her cat safe. Nothing stupid about that.”
“I wasn’t trying to say—”
“There are plenty of eccentric people in this town, that’s for sure. And even a few stupid ones. But the stupid factor increases tenfold when the tourists arrive.”
“I stand corrected,” I said gently. I really didn’t mean to be insulting. I liked Worthington. And her. “You know my grandfather brought me to Maine once when I was a kid.”
She turned to look at me. “From Indiana?”
“Yeah. To fish. My parents were working and my brothers were older. I got to vacay with my grandad. It felt like I was here the whole summer, but my mom said it was less than two weeks.”
“And that’s why you wanted to come back?”
“I came back for work. But it’s nice. Brings back memories.”