She was walking fast now, her eyes deliberately forward. She wore a jean skirt not unlike Olivia’s, only longer, with a plain black tank top, and her red hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. As he approached, he could see the sprinkling of freckles on her arms and legs, the skin beneath them pale in the morning light.
“Ellie,” he said when he was a few feet away, the word coming out in a puff of air. He paused to catch his breath as she turned around, looking unsurprised to find him there. Her eyes darted over to the film set, about a hundred yards behind them, and she took a few steps to her left, moving around the side of a gazebo. Graham hesitated only a moment before following her.
“Hi,” he said, his heart still beating fast. “How are you?”
She smiled. “Did you go for a swim?”
He shook his head, confused, and then realized he was wearing nothing but swim trunks. “No,” he said, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m in costume. We’re shooting a scene over there.”
Ellie nodded. “So what are you doing over here?”
“I wanted to say hello.”
She smiled. “Good morning.”
“Howdy,” he said with a grin. Her eyes were very green, and he felt suddenly and uncharacteristically flustered as they landed on him. “Are you on your way to work?”
She nodded.
“What are you doing later?”
“Why, are you going to ask me to dinner at the Lobster Pot?”
Graham started to answer and then realized she was kidding. “I was just hoping maybe I’d run into you.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s the nice thing about small towns.”
Graham was about to respond when she turned and began to walk away, making her way up the green with surprising speed. He couldn’t help but be stunned by the quickness of it all, and there was nothing for him to do but watch her go, hoping she might turn around. But she never did, and it wasn’t until she reached the door of a blue storefront that Graham realized what had caused her to take off. Behind him, a group of photographers was rushing over, stumbling a bit on the uneven grass in their efforts to reach him first.
As the frontrunner finally made it up to Graham, he dropped his camera bag, panting. “Who was that?”
Graham only shrugged as the guy snapped a few half-hearted pictures of him standing alone on the lawn.
Afterward, when he arrived back down at the set, Mick looked up from his notes and stubbed out his cigarette, his eyebrows raised.
“Well?” he asked. “Are we feeling more inspired now?”
Graham smiled. “Yes,” he said. “We are.”
From: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, June 10, 2013 10:22 AM
Subject: this afternoon
Ellie!
(Just giving you a proper Russian salutation, now that I know your name.)
I’m done shooting at 4 pm today. Want to go in search of an authentic whoopie pie?
Yours,
Graham!
Chapter 7
The reception in the shop was only ever spotty at best, so Ellie spent the morning flitting between the cash register and the ancient desktop computer behind the counter, grateful that her mother wasn’t in yet to ask any questions. Last night, she’d explained away Graham’s visit by claiming he was looking for Quinn, and this morning, she’d managed to avoid Mom altogether by ducking out early to open the store.
The truth was, Ellie wasn’t sure what to say, or even how she felt about any of this yet. All she knew was this: as she logged on to the computer for the sixth time this morning, she was desperate to see that familiar e-mail address show up on the screen.
It didn’t matter that she’d only just seen him out on the green. It didn’t matter that she now knew who he was. It didn’t even matter that it was Graham Larkin, of all people. For more than three months now, this was the thing she’d most looked forward to—that breathless moment as the page unfurled itself on the screen, bringing with it the promise of a new e-mail from him. That small chain of bold letters and numbers—[email protected]—was all it took to set her heart pounding.
Now it was like her brain was split in two. One half understood that the person writing to her was just down the street. But the other half still couldn’t let go of the more general idea of him, the comforting and mysterious stranger with whom she could talk about anything. His sudden presence here had thrown her wildly off balance, and even as she noticed—with a little thrill—that a new e-mail from him had indeed arrived, there was something disconcerting about it. It was like talking to someone on the phone from across the room; even though you could see his lips moving, and even though you could hear the words, it was hard to process the fact that the two things were somehow the same.
The e-mail was just like him: clever and sweet and a little bit funny. And he wanted to see her again. She closed her eyes and let her fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment. When she opened them, she hit the reply button and thought about all the reasons there were to say no.
The problem was, she wanted to say yes.
Sorry, she began, typing slowly, one key at a time. Then she erased each of the five letters and sat back with a sigh. Most girls, she knew, would be delighted to find out they’d been corresponding with a movie star. But to Ellie, it just seemed unfair. She wanted nothing more than to spend time with GDL824 this afternoon. It was Graham Larkin she wasn’t so sure about.
She was still staring at the screen when the door to the shop was thrown open, and she only just managed to close her e-mail as Quinn arrived breathlessly at the counter. Last night after Graham left, Ellie had discovered a text from Quinn that said simply !!!. But Ellie had no way of knowing whether those little exclamation points signaled enthusiasm or anger or something in between.
And so she hadn’t written back, even though she wanted nothing more than to sit down with her best friend and marvel over the fact that somehow—unbelievably, ridiculously, impossibly—the random guy from California she’d been trading e-mails with for months had somehow turned out to be Graham Larkin.
Quinn leaned against the counter, breathing hard. “I’m late for work,” she said, coughing a little. “But apparently we have a lot to talk about…”
“I know,” Ellie said, pouring her a glass of lemonade from the pitcher they offered customers. She swallowed hard, realizing how nervous she was to look up and meet Quinn’s eyes. Just yesterday, she’d helped her get ready for her big date, had watched the way her friend lit up at the prospect of the evening. Yet through some strange quirk of chance, Graham had ended up on Ellie’s front porch at the end of the night, and she felt awful that—however unknowingly—she might have ruined things for Quinn. “Listen, if I’d known it was him—”