“Actually, when my mom and her mother moved there in the late fifties, there were families in that neighborhood straight out of Father Knows Best. The melting pot started getting stirred more during the seventies.” She’d skip over what everyone knew—that the area grew economically depressed, gangs arrived, street crime mushroomed and that’s when things could get dicey if you didn’t already have your friends and community in place, which the Rockwells did. “The hood’s changing for the better these days, though.”
Bill made a disgruntled noise.
“It’s true. Homes are being renovated, new businesses are moving in—”
“C’mon, Ellie, nobody really cares about our old stomping ground. The powers that be wrote off that part of L.A. a long time ago. I, for one, will never go back.”
“Can’t turn your back on your roots,” Jimmie said to Bill. “Don’t you still have family there?”
“Those who stayed deserved what they got.”
Ellie bit the inside of her lip. She didn’t like hearing his negativity, but she had to remember how Bill, like Matt, had taken on the role of man of the house at an early age. Except Bill had had four younger siblings, which hadn’t been easy.
Jimmie, obviously picking up on the heavy vibes, changed the subject. “Those are some shoes.” He nudged his head toward her feet.
“They’re retro sling back wedgies,” she said, tipping the toe of red-and-white polka-dot sandals this way, then that. “Got them at Sinister Shoes.”
Bill gave her a funny look. “Sinister Shoes?”
“I’ve heard of that place,” said Jimmie. “It’s down on Melrose. All the goths go there to shop.”
“Goths.” Bill shook his head. “Elvira’s cool, but I don’t get that whole vampire thing. They all seem depressed or something.”
Her insides shrank a little. Made her feel like a fake and a liar pretending not to be one of those into that whole vampire thing. It was really about loving the darkness, the mystery in life, but she didn’t want to explain.
All she wanted was this day, this experience with Bill, and for that she was willing to pretend she was somebody she wasn’t.
She angled her leg, showing off. “These shoes are really more of a retro pinup look,” she said a little too gaily. “Similar to what Betty Grable wore in those World War II posters.”
Bill and Jimmie stared at her.
“Betty Grable?” Bill finally said. “She was a movie star way before your time.”
“I’ve always loved the Golden Age of Hollywood, even as a little kid. I sometimes envision the stars like Audrey Hepburn, Veronica Lake, Betty Grable when I design some of my clothes.” When they looked at her black fishnet cover-up over her red bikini, she added drolly, “These aren’t my designs. I bought them at Target.”
A grin sauntered across Bill’s lips. “You did a lot of sewing as a kid, didn’t you? I think my mom said something about it once.”
She nodded, feeling a little giddy that he’d remembered something else about her as a child. Maybe she’d been more memorable than she’d given herself credit for.
“Hollywood’s Golden Era is one of my favorites,” he continued. “It spawned dozens of classic westerns, comedies and thrillers. Plus, it was the birthplace of film noir.”
“Watch out, Bill,” Jimmie teased, “your cine-matic-nerd side’s showing.” He glanced at his flashy gold watch. “Gotta split. Told Bev I’d take her to the festival, play some of those games. She’s hot about trying to win some grand prize cabin.”
“Beach bungalow,” corrected Ellie.
Jimmie nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I guess the winner gets a free rental there for the next two years.”
“Ten,” she corrected again. She hadn’t realized she’d been so into it until this moment. Sure, she’d been willing to be Team Java Mammas with the girls, but she hadn’t been personally driven to win anything other than the audition until this moment. Had to be the thought of hanging out with Bill for the rest of the afternoon, doing fun, wild things in some of those hot games.
And, if all went well, even more wild things afterward.
What Happens in Malibu Stays in Malibu.
“Ten, eh?” Jimmie gave a low whistle. “Now I’m glad I gave in and said yes to Bev.” He snagged a cookie off the food table. “What time does the shoot start tomorrow?” he asked Bill.
“Five a.m. sharp. We need the rising sun in the background for that first shot.”
Jimmie groaned. “Whoever said showbiz is glamorous needs their head checked.” He pointed at his pal. “Watch out for that guy,” he said to Ellie as he headed toward the tent opening.
Wouldn’t Bill be surprised to know she’d been watching out for him for a long, long time.
After Jimmie left, Bill stared at Ellie, trying not to think how drop-dead sexy that fishnet cover-thing was over that red bikini. Very teasing. Very exciting.
Both of which were Ellie right now. All grown-up and hot and retro sexy in that peekaboo red bikini and matching shoes. Enough to make a man howl at the moon.
“What’re you thinking about?” she asked.
With another woman, he might have said. But with Ellie…well, it was different. He wasn’t exactly sure why, just knew he felt more protective. Of her, certainly. But also of their past. As though that bubble of time so long ago was more fragile than he’d realized.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Famished.”
“Me, too.” He guided her toward the tent opening, his arm comfortably around her shoulders, their steps in sync. “Let’s go to the festival and get some chow.”
Ellie felt as though they’d walked this way a hundred times. His arm rested so easily around her, the side of his body seemed to fit perfectly against her. Muscles against curves, hard into soft.
When he leaned his head down, she caught a whiff of his cologne—cinnamon and musk—and nearly swooned at the rich, dark scent. Someone had once told her cinnamon was an aphrodisiac, and if she didn’t believe it before, she sure did now.
“Something about you, Ellie,” he murmured, his breath hot against her cheek.
She waited, but he didn’t finish the thought. Even if he had, she doubted she’d have been able to stay focused and hear the words because she was caught up in sensations. His breath caressing her cheek, his thigh rubbing seductively against hers as they walked, that cinnamon scent shooting straight to the pleasure center of her brain.
They headed out into the blinding sunshine. The sand sank underneath her feet and she stumbled slightly.
“It’s those sinister shoes,” teased Bill, helping her regain her balance.
“I wasn’t sure what to wear at the beach,” she murmured.
“Coulda fooled me.” He gave her an appreciative once-over, which gave her no small thrill.
She plastered on her best beach-babe smile, although she felt like a total fake. Except for the shoes. And the fishnet. And the tattoos, of course.
And how she felt every time she was near him. Those feelings were as deep and real as they’d been when she was a girl.
They faced each other, the heat from the sun pouring down on them. In the distance, waves thundered against the