"It is amazing," he said, arms flexing as he crossed his arms. "It's based on a true story, you know. We flew the guy out on location, got to hear it straight. He was a real f**king hero." His face scrunched as he apologized for the profanity. "Beg your pardon. It was just surreal to see what was written on the paper in the flesh."
"You don't have to apologize." But I felt like I needed to. 'Based on a true story' had become a cliché and I'd assumed they'd taken a grain of truth and turned it into a virtual bread factory of explosions and riveting soundtrack that had very little to do with truth.
"He's a true American hero," Cade continued, looking out the window like something transfixed. "Not a wannabe like me."
“A wannabe?” I repeated.
“National Guard,” he answered quietly. His whole demeanor changed, the sunny, charismatic force somewhat dimmed. He was somber and almost eerily silent compared to the guy who first sat down at my table.
I scooted to the edge of my seat, curious. "I had no idea you were military."
"Yeah," he said gruffly, not meeting my eyes. “I didn’t do anything worth remembering.”
“Don’t say that.” I reached out, putting my hand over his. Something about his demeanor, his sadness, made me forget he was Cade Wallace. “Anyone serving our country, fighting for our freedoms is worth remembering.”
“Is that right?” he said, halfheartedly.
“Yep,” I said firmly. “Most actors can only say they’ve played characters, researching experiences to tell an authentic story. You’ve actually done it.”
He glanced up and his eyes drank in my own nice and slow like he was seeing me in a whole new light. Or maybe even the first time. I pulled my hand away and let out a nervous chuckle, wondering what Cade’s story was, and why in a technology age where every booger celebrities picked was readily available, there was nothing at all listed as far as a military record.
"Anyway,” he began, cutting through my musings, “I was in the neighborhood and figured I'd come and meet the team that's going to help make sure it gets the box office reception it deserves."
I wrung my hands in my lap, refreshing the blush in my cheeks. "I'm just a small part of the team, Mr. Wallace."
"My mother was a nurse. She spent her life doing the grunt work while doctors got all the glory." He winked as he rose to his feet. "Trust me—I know what a big role the small parts play."
I sat a little taller, wishing Natasha or any of the handful of women that had been looking at me like I wasn’t fit to scrub the toilets were around to hear that. "Well, alright then."
"You take care and I'll see you bright and early on Monday." He stopped and turned back to me, giving me another dazzling smile. "It was nice meeting you, Leila."
****
Le Goût had been on my ‘Big City Dreams’ list since forever. They had a Michelin star chef on staff and were always given amazing reviews in all the right newspapers and magazines. Even though I'd only been on the outside looking in, watching beautiful people around tables with dishes that cost as much as my grocery bill for the month, I knew that Le Goût represented something special. It was the pinnacle of class and prestige—everyone that was anybody had walked through the doors at least once. Even scoring a reservation less than a month in advance was impossible. Unless you were Jacob Whitmore.
Jacob put the Porsche in park as we pulled to the velvet rope in front of Le Goût. The valet was on his p's and q's, promptly moving to open my door. Jacob held up his finger and the man paused, arms at his side, giving us a moment.
"Are you alright?" His eyes flickered over my face. "You've barely said two words since we got in the car."
I unclicked my seatbelt slowly and when I met his gaze I didn't even bother with a white lie. I'd gotten my mother's text over thirty minutes ago and Jacob had to call Le Goût and give them the okay to seat her and Dad, even though they were mega early for our 8pm reservation. I'd become a whirlwind, saying the hell with drying and flatironing my hair and forgetting all the strategic make up I'd planned to apply. It was my first time at my dream restaurant and my curly hair was in a messy bun on top of my head and I was wearing an unassuming black dress because I didn’t have the time to steam the scarlet number I wanted to wear. God only knew the trouble my mother was getting into. Add that to the stress of my parents meeting Jacob and no wonder I was close-lipped.
One side of his mouth tugged upward. "You're nervous about your parents." When my eyebrow arched, he remedied. "Nervous about your mother."
I gave him a slight nod as I fiddled with my clutch. I'd told Jacob about my run in with the paps at my parent's house and accidentally let it slip that my mother tipped them off. I'd expected him to write her off, to think she was just another fame hungry momzilla living vicariously through her offspring, but he'd just laughed and asked if they got any good pictures. And he still wanted to meet her. It was terribly sweet--and upped the ante to a fever pitch that had dread coursing through my veins. He was the first guy who ever seemed genuinely interested in my family and learning about where I came from. It made the possibility that something would happen and keep everything from going off without a hitch.
"It'll be fine." He stroked my thigh, his touch taking the edge off. "It's just dinner."
I gave him a smile and with a nod from Jacob, the valet opened my door and I stepped out of the car. I ignored the part of me that knew it was a lot more than that. I breathed in and out as I clung to his arm and we breezed inside.
All the sights and smells helped to dull the nerves and I relaxed as we turned to the dining room. The area was a sea of glossy, important looking people, the jewels and watches at their wrists glittering as brightly as the silverware on the table. I held my smile, believing that maybe, just maybe the night wouldn’t turn into a train wreck until I saw my mother. Her face was furious and disdain flowed off her in waves—and was directed at the waiter. We were easily fifty feet away, but I could still hear her words loud and clear.
"What do you mean it’s twenty-five dollars for Perrier? I can buy it for two bucks at the drugstore down the street!"
Oh God.
I rushed forward, hoping she would put the crazy back in the box once she spotted me and Jacob. "Mom!"
She turned her head back to the front and went from meltdown to Miss Congeniality. "Leila!" She swat the waiter away like she was the Queen of England as she stood up, holding out her arms. “It’s so good to see you!”