Chapter Fourteen

Adeline watched Eli as he struggled to speak. She could see the wheels spinning, and she was pretty sure smoke was about to spew from his ears.

But it gave her the answer she needed.

Eli could no longer differentiate himself from Benjamin, and he didn’t know how to answer a question as simple as who he was anymore.

But then his gaze met hers, and she could tell there had been a shift. And his accent dropped. “My mom passed away right before I got my first acting job. I was only twelve at the time, but she was the one who always believed I could do it, even when no one else did.”

Oh. Things were getting real. Adeline hadn’t meant that he’d need to bare his soul to prove that he was himself. She hoped he hadn’t felt pressured into it.

“I’m sure she’s proud of you,” she said, not knowing what else to say. Every interview she’d read in a magazine or seen on TV had been Eli talking about surface-level stuff, with him cracking jokes the whole time. Adeline had always assumed he didn’t go much deeper than that.

But the more time she spent with him, the more he proved her wrong.

Even as she thought it, she still had the nagging feeling that she didn’t know Eli. She saw the persona he chose to show her. Most of the time, she knew, it was probably his alter ego, Benjamin. And right now—was this real? Was he showing his true colors? Or was it just another act?

But the pain in Eli’s eyes at that moment. It was raw—the type that couldn’t be faked. “Would she be proud of me?” he asked. He sat on the floor and leaned against the box-riddled couch. Eli fiddled absentmindedly with a strand of lights that hung from one of the boxes. “I love what I do. But it doesn’t seem to be enough anymore. What if I don’t want to be Benjamin all the time? What if I don’t want to have dyslexia and work five times harder than everyone else for the same result? What if I don’t want to be divorced and sleeping on my friends’ couches?”

He stopped, his breaths coming rapidly.

Okay, there was no way Eli was faking. That was genuine. And…heartbreaking.

Adeline used her foot to push a stuffed reindeer out of the way, then slid to the floor next to him. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she didn’t know where to start. Maybe she’d begin with the easiest one. “I didn’t know you have dyslexia.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not many do. It’s the reason I became a method actor. I have an incredible long-term memory, but my short-term memory is rubbish.” He had slipped into his accent again, but it seemed to have been by accident. “Sorry,” he said, the accent gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “Force of habit.”

Was it bad that she was okay with him using his accent? She had kind of gotten used to it, and she hated to admit it, but it was super attractive.

“How does being a method actor help with your dyslexia?” she asked, curious. Adeline didn’t see the connection between the two.

Eli released a long sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. This didn’t seem to be a topic he was comfortable talking about, and Adeline wondered if she should drop it and instead focus on trying to cheer him up. She could turn on some Christmas music and make her world-famous hot chocolate, and they could pretend that everything was right with the world.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” she said, but Eli held up a hand before she could continue.

“Actually, I’d like to. If you’re okay with it.” He paused. “It’s only difficult because I don’t usually share this kind of stuff, and I’m unsure the best way to approach it.”

He wanted to confide in Adeline? She couldn’t help but wonder why he’d want to share something so personal with someone he barely knew. Or maybe he’d been wanting to confide in someone, but no one had cared enough to listen. The thought was sad.

Adeline smiled and gave him a small nod, encouraging him to continue.

“Growing up, I never thought I’d be able to be an actor, even though that was what I’d always wanted to do,” he started. “I was in community plays, and loved them, but was always in the ensemble. During the auditions, when I was given a script and asked to read a part, I would be so focused on getting the words right, I was unable to put any emotion behind it.” He picked up the plush reindeer and played with its ear. “But I could sing and dance, and that was something I could prepare beforehand, so at least I was able to be a part of the production, if only in a small way.”

“How did you overcome that?” Adeline asked, but then wondered if he’d see it as prying.

“Practice. I began to read everything I could get my hands on. Junk mail, billboards…everything. I still don’t read for fun, but I can read when I need to. Once I get a job, though, and they give me the script, I record myself speaking the lines and listen to it over and over again.” He leaned back against the couch, his head resting on the cushion, and stared at the ceiling, like his thoughts were somewhere else. Adeline didn’t interrupt, mostly because she was now plagued by her own thoughts.

She had had a preconceived notion of what Eli Hunt was like—of what all actors were like—and she had been wrong. He wasn’t anything like her dad. But she didn’t know how to tell him that.

Adeline was going to try, though. Because Eli was telling her things he didn’t share with anyone else, and it felt like a moment where there needed to be some sort of quid pro quo.

“That’s why I become my characters, you know,” Eli continued, before she could jump in. He still stared at the ceiling. “Even if I forget my lines, I know my characters so well that whatever I say will be something they would have said. I do a lot of improvising, and directors know to expect that of me. They don’t mind, though, because it’s always my character speaking, and a lot of times it’s better than what was originally written.” He paused. “When I become my characters, I become them. I mean, I really become them.” He threw a side glance at Adeline, and his lips quirked up. “Or I did. Before coming to Starlight Ridge.”

Guilt settled in her stomach. That was Adeline’s cue. She needed to come clean.

“I need to apologize,” she said. “I’ve made hard things even more difficult for you.”

Eli sat up and placed a hand on hers, prompting her gaze to meet his. “You’ve been wonderful and have nothing to apologize for.”

Heat crept into her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “Except for avoiding you for the first few weeks you were in town.”

His hand retreated. “All those times I stopped by your shop…”

“I saw you coming and snuck out the back,” she finished for him, glancing up. “There are some issues that I apparently need to work on. And giving Hollywood actors the benefit of the doubt is one of them.”

Eli stared. Then he surprised her by laughing. Really laughing, until tears streamed down his cheeks.

She didn’t see the humor in it.

“I’ve never had anyone avoid me before,” he choked out. “My ex-wife excluded.” When Eli could finally breathe properly, he grinned. “That just made my night. Thank you.”

Adeline wasn’t sure she understood. So she continued to stare. And probably looked like one of the many unblinking fish out in the ocean, which could be a bit unnerving if you weren’t used to it.

Eli met her gaze, though, and held it, his smile still firmly in place. It was like that laugh had shaken off all the troubles that plagued him, and he seemed lighter—like he was free, at least for the moment. He scooted in a little closer to her. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t need to be someone else. Even when I’m Eli Hunt, I feel like I’m still putting on a show.”

“Like today, dancing as a chicken for all of the cameras,” Adeline said. Her lips twitched up at the memory.

Eli’s eyes were an intense shade of blue that she hadn’t noticed before. They were hypnotizing, and she wondered if she should put a little more distance between her and him.

“Yes, like today,” he agreed. “Or every time I go to the grocery store, or the dentist. Someone is always watching. But tonight has reminded me how nice it is to just talk to someone. Be real. Thank you for that.”

Adeline wanted to tell him that it was no problem, that he could talk with her anytime. But Eli’s lips stopped her. They were gentle, unhurried, giving her plenty of time to back away. Her mother’s warning about staying away from anything Hollywood sprung to the front of her mind. And then she promptly shoved the warning back down again.

Because her mother hadn’t met Eli Hunt.

Maybe tomorrow he’d be Benjamin again, but for right now, in that moment, he was himself and Adeline saw him for who he really was. Without the cameras. And she liked it. A lot.

So she pressed her lips against his and placed a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in tighter. Eli let out a low laugh as he rolled onto his knees in front of her and pressed her against the couch, his kisses intensifying, and his hands settling on her waist. Adeline could feel Eli’s heart pounding against his chest. Her own heart mirrored it as she twirled a strand of his hair around one finger, grasping for anything that could help close the gap between them.

Eli nearly lost his balance, and he placed a hand on the floor next to her to steady himself. And then…crunch.

“Ow!” Eli toppled back, gripping one hand in the other.

It took a moment for Adeline’s pulse to calm and some semblance of reality to return. Eli. Kissing. Gorgeous hair. Christmas decorations. Blood.

Wait, blood?

Adeline jumped to her feet. A glass ornament lay broken, right next to where they had been making out. Eli must have accidentally smashed it with his hand.

Cuts. Blood. So much blood.

“Oh, this is all my fault.” She groaned. “I need to text Patty.”

Eli grimaced as he tried to get a better look at the cuts on his hand. “Who is Patty?”

“Our doctor. I’m sure she can run over and have you taken care of in no time.”

“Don’t you have a first aid kit? I can do it myself,” Eli said. His words came out slow and calm, but his eyes held panic, like he didn’t like the idea of Patty coming over and taking care of him.

Adeline eyed him. “I do have a first aid kit, but we need to make sure there isn’t any glass in the cuts. I’d feel more comfortable if Patty could do it.”

Eli’s gaze softened, and he took a step toward her. “Okay. And for the record, this is not your fault.” His lips quirked up. “If you’ll remember, I’m the one who made the first move.”

“True,” Adeline said slowly, returning his smile. “But I’m the one who ramped things up from zero to sixty in 4.3 seconds.”

“Actually, I think it was more like 2.5,” he said, his eyes holding a mischievous glint. It faltered, and he released a sigh. “But I…” He bowed his head. “I wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. And if Christopher knows I’ve gone and injured myself while I was here…”

Adeline’s lips parted in surprise. “He forbid you from coming?”

“Not exactly. But he did warn me against it.”

Typical. Actors always pretended they were in charge of the show, but she knew who was really pulling all the strings. Anything for a part.

“It’s going to be a lot more obvious that you’ve hurt your hand if you try to patch it up yourself,” Adeline said while pulling out her phone. She paused and typed out a quick message, but just before pushing send, she lifted her gaze to meet Eli’s. He hesitated, then nodded, giving her the go-ahead to ask for Patty’s assistance. He didn’t seem to like it, but at least he’d agreed to it.

“You don’t have to be perfect all the time, you know. And escaping into whatever world your character lives in doesn’t allow you to escape the realities of your own. Being human is something we all just learn to live with. Whether it’s hurting your hand, or dyslexia or…”

She stopped there. Adeline really didn’t want to dive into her own realities she’d learned to live with.

“Or what?” Eli asked, his gaze curious.

Adeline smiled. “Or having pictures of you as a chicken splashed all over the internet.”

She’d get into her own issues another day.

For now, she’d ignore the blood on her carpet and focus on the lingering feeling of Eli’s lips on hers.

Because there was no way that could ever happen again.

Eli wouldn’t allow it.