Swinging On A Star Read online

  Now, I knew Mama well enough to know that “going to town” meant going to Houston, about an hour north of the island. I listened in as my mother started her usual conversation about how the two of them were going to travel to Italy together someday. Earline, praise God, got swept up with the idea and linked arms with my mother, content to be heading to town. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, knowing a near-catastrophe had been averted. We’d somehow kept her from noticing Brock. His secret was safe with the Rossi clan.

  Or so I thought.

  Life has a funny way of playing tricks on you. Mama and Earline had just taken their first step through the front door when Brock’s voice rang out. “Unhand her, you infidel, or I will take your head off!”

  Earline turned—in slow motion, no less—her mouth hanging open.

  Oblivious to us all, Brock continued, his voice ringing out from the balcony above the foyer. “What say ye to this, my man? Will you stand there, mouth agape, or free her to the one who loves her, body and soul?”

  “F-free me … body and soul!” Earline whispered. She looked at me, her eyes scary-wide. “I … I know that voice. That’s—”

  Just then Brock came bounding down the stairs. Well, most of the way. He got to about the two-thirds point and stopped cold, staring at Earline. Her cheeks turned strawberry-sherbet pink, and she reached inside her purse for the fan she usually reserved for church. “Oh my stars! That’s Jean Luc Dumont! I mean, B-B-Brock Benson!”

  “Oops.” Brock clamped a hand over his mouth, turned on his heels, and bounded back up the stairs.

  Earline looked as if she might faint at any moment.

  Mama took Earline by the arm and ushered her out to the veranda. “You know, honey, sometimes our eyes—and ears—deceive us. Happens to me all the time.”

  “But that was … I’m sure it was—”

  “I have it on good authority that was Vinny DiMarco,” Mama said, linking her arm through Earline’s. “A friend from out of town who’s come for a wedding. He’s very convincing, isn’t he? I daresay he could be in the movies.”

  “Yes, he could!” I could hear Earline singing his praises all the way to the car. As they pulled away, I sat on the front porch steps. Minutes later, Brock joined me.

  “Sorry.” He sighed. “I blew it, huh?”

  “Close. But I can’t blame you. I can say this is harder than I thought it would be.”

  “Who was that, anyway?” he asked.

  “Earline Neeley. D.J.’s mom.”

  “No way.”

  “Yeah. I know they don’t really resemble each other. And she’s quite a character. But I love her.”

  “Well, it’s a shame I couldn’t just come downstairs and meet her. Maybe that would’ve been for the best.”

  “No, I really think we’re better off not letting too many people know.” I shook my head as I pondered all of the things that could go wrong. “Frankly, I don’t know how you live in seclusion, hiding away from people. It would be impossible for me. I’m just too social.” I offered up a sympathetic smile.

  “Oh, I’m pretty social too.” He laughed. “And it’s not as hard as you think. In Hollywood, the movie stars are seen out in public a lot. It’s not such a big news story there. But I’m afraid if the reporters caught wind of the fact that I’m here, it would ruin the wedding. I don’t want anything to ruin my best friend’s big day.”

  “That’s sweet.” I sighed. “And I’ll do my best to protect you from the masses. But I make no promises where my family is concerned.”

  “I love your family, Bella. I really do.”

  “Thanks. I’m assuming that’s why you felt comfortable enough in my house to holler out all that stuff just now?”

  “Oh, that.” He shrugged, suddenly looking a little embarrassed. “Sometimes I challenge myself to remember lines from shows I was in years ago. My memorization skills aren’t what they used to be, but I figure if I keep working on them, I’ll get better with time. I like to try, anyway.”

  “I think it’s pretty amazing that you can remember something from years gone by.” I sighed again, thinking about it. “I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast.”

  “Scrambled eggs with prosciutto and cheese,” he said. “Tasty stuff. One of the best breakfasts I’ve had in quite a while, as a matter of fact.”

  “Yeah, Rosa’s quite a cook.”

  “I watched her as she cooked. Looks like a hard worker.”

  “She’s always been like that. I think it’s a Rossi tradition. We just go, go, go—around the clock.”

  “I appreciate a good, strong work ethic. Someone who isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty,” Brock said. He held out his manicured nails, and I laughed. “Hey, I work hard.” He gave me a pouting face.

  “Oh, I believe you. And I do too. I come by it honestly. After all, I was raised by people who own their own businesses.”

  I paused to reflect on that. I’d watched for years as Mama and Pop ran the wedding facility, paying particular attention to the hours they kept and the efforts they went to for drawing in customers. I listened to the way they spoke to people. Watched how they worked tirelessly behind the scenes when no one was looking.

  “I think it’s good to work. Keeps you busy … and honest.” Brock looked my way with a nod. “People might not think acting is hard work, but it is. And our hours are grueling sometimes.”

  “If anyone understands grueling hours, I do. I’ve witnessed it firsthand for years. I wish you could’ve seen Uncle Laz when we first moved to the island back in the ’80s.”

  “Oh?”

  “Money was tight back then. But that didn’t stop him from building his dream. He leased the space that would eventually become Parma John’s, struggling every month to make the rent. I still remember the hours he worked slaving over that restaurant, getting every detail right. He did it all on a dime and turned it into a thriving business.”

  “Wow. I’d really like to see it someday.”

  “Sure.” I nodded, then thought about what he’d said about my aunt. “I think it’s funny that you mentioned Rosa working so hard—funny coincidental, not funny ha-ha. She’s probably my best example of what it means to work hard. From the minute I get out of bed in the morning until I drop into bed at night, she’s on her feet. She doesn’t just love to cook, she lives to cook.”

  “That much is obvious. And she’s definitely the best.”

  “Oh yes. And nothing from a box. No way. She’d have a fit if someone in the family showed up with a package of store-bought pasta. I’m pretty sure it would give her nightmares. She creates pretty much everything from scratch.”

  “Since you brought up Rosa’s cooking, I should tell you something.”

  “Oh?” I responded to the sound of excitement in his voice. “What’s up?”

  “I didn’t mention this last night, but I have a friend at the Food Network. She owned the catering company we used while filming The Pirate’s Lady in Savannah years ago.”

  “Really? Wow. You’ve got friends in all sorts of places.”

  “Yes, I do.” He flashed a grin. “And sometimes I call in favors. This particular chef happens to owe me one.”

  “Yeah? How come?”

  “When I saw how good her cooking skills were, I made a couple of calls. Before she could say, ‘Butter makes it better, y’all,’ they were flying her to New York to audition for the Food Network. She started out as an unknown, but now she’s got her own show. More than one, actually. Her recipe books are sold all over the world. Maybe you’ve heard of her.” Brock whispered the name in my ear, and I almost choked on my gum.

  “Y-you’re kidding! She got her start because of you?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Brock leaned back, looking a little too content with himself. “She always said to call if I ever needed anything food related. And I thought maybe …”

  “Well, I really don’t know if that’s ethical,” I said. “See, Rosa is just one of many people being featured o
n this show. And it’s just a onetime deal. When they’re done, they’re done.”

  “Not if I have my way.” He gave me a pensive look. “That chicken parmesan was the best I’ve ever had. And I’ve had a lot of chicken, trust me.” Brock laughed and rolled his eyes. “Chicken Kiev, chicken cacciatore, chicken cordon bleu, chicken à la king …” On and on he went, naming the various chicken dishes he’d had to endure through the years.

  He lost me somewhere around chicken à la king. At that moment, something caught my eye. I glanced across the street to see Dakota, the neighbor kid, with binoculars in his hand. He appeared to be watching us.

  “Yikes!” I jumped to my feet and grabbed Brock’s hand, pulling him inside and closing the door behind us.

  “What’s happening?”

  Peering out of the window, I groaned. “That’s Dakota Burton from across the street. Great kid, but a little nosy. I’m pretty sure he had binoculars in his hand.”

  “Hmm. Guess we’ll have to be more careful.” He rested his hand on my shoulder—perhaps a bit longer than necessary. “Bella?”

  “Y-yes?” I turned to face him, finding myself within inches of his broad shoulders.

  “I’ve been thinking of asking you something but didn’t know if it would be an imposition.”

  “W-what?” My response was a little shaky now that I could feel the warmth of his breath in my hair.

  He looked into my eyes, then paused briefly, as if trying to think of something to say. “This is my first time to Galveston, and I’ve only seen a tiny portion of the island.

  I’m getting a little bored just sitting around, and I was wondering …”

  “If I’d take you on a tour?”

  “Yes.” He gave me a boyish grin, and butterflies started fluttering in my stomach. “I saw all of the reports on the news after the hurricane hit,” he said. “But I had no reference point because I’ve never been to any of those places.”

  “Do you think Rob would like to go with us?” I asked. I wasn’t sure how I’d respond if he said no. I only knew I could not, under any circumstances, get in the car alone with Brock. It wouldn’t be right, even if he wasn’t so shockingly handsome and didn’t have eyes the color of espresso.

  “He’s upstairs on his laptop checking emails. I’ll go find him and ask.”

  Brock headed up the stairs. As I peered through the window, I caught another glimpse of Dakota, this time watching me from his front porch. I could imagine the wheels turning in the kid’s head now. Hopefully his speculations wouldn’t give us away. All the more reason to leave for a while.

  But not without calling D.J. first. I knew he wasn’t crazy about the idea of Brock and Rob staying here, after all. He’d said as much after the crowd thinned last night. The last thing I wanted to do was upset him, but what could I do, really?

  I reached for my cell phone and punched in D.J.’s number, but he didn’t answer. Nothing unusual there. Whenever he was on a construction job, calls were usually overlooked. I quickly sent him a text message. Gone with the guys on an island tour. That ought to do it. If he had any qualms about it, he’d write back.

  Seconds later, Brock and Rob met me in the foyer.

  “I guess we’re taking your car, since Marian took mine back to town.” Rob shrugged. “Is that okay?”

  “Of course. I know where I’m going anyway.”

  I turned, coming eye to eye with Brock, who gave me a wink. He flashed a smile warm enough to melt a chocolate bar.

  Hmm. Maybe I didn’t know where I was going after all.

  9

  My Kind of Town

  I led the way to my SUV with Brock and Rob on my heels. We went out the back door—the one in the kitchen—to avoid Dakota’s snooping. I still shuddered when I thought of what he might be up to. This was, after all, the kid who’d threatened my family with a lawsuit and held my father’s Hakeem Olajuwon autographed basketball hostage over a mix-up involving a lousy skateboard.

  When we reached the car, Rob opened the back door and climbed in. Great. That left Brock in front with me. Why this worried me was a mystery. I had a fella of my own, and besides, I wasn’t really attracted to the guy.

  Okay, yes I was. No point in denying it. But I already had the world’s greatest man. Being with Brock shouldn’t be a big deal.

  Deep breath, Bella. Deep breath.

  I climbed in the car and buckled my seat belt. Then I heard Precious yapping. With a sigh, I looked out of the car to see Aunt Rosa holding my ornery pup.

  “Better take this thing with you.” She passed her through the open window. “The little monster’s not going to stop whining until you do. I’ve got my Savvy Seniors group at the church, and your mom’s gone to town. Remember what happened the last time we left the dog alone in the house.”

  “Ugh.” I remembered all right. She’d chewed the leg on Mama’s antique rice bed. The repair had cost several hundred dollars.

  As I held on to the squirming pup, I tried to figure out what to do next.

  Brock looked at me with a shrug. “Want me to hold her?”

  I’m sure that made perfect sense to him, but he didn’t know Precious. She wouldn’t stop whining until I took her back in my arms—not an easy task behind the wheel. Besides, she’d tried to bite his hand off last time he touched her.

  “I …” Shaking my head, I tried to explain. “That won’t work.”

  “Need me to drive then?”

  “Oh, I don’t know …”

  He unbuckled his seat belt and came around to my side, opening my door.

  I looked up at him through the open window, a little unnerved. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I haven’t driven in over a week, and I’m losing my touch.”

  “That doesn’t sound hopeful.” I scooted out of the car, pup in hand.

  “Just don’t get too heavy on the accelerator,” Rob said. “Remember what happened that summer in Laguna?”

  “Yep.” Brock chuckled as he took the driver’s seat.

  I thought about their words as I made my way to the passenger side. Whatever had happened in Laguna could stay in Laguna. I didn’t need to know. As long as we arrived home in one piece.

  Brock barreled backwards out of the driveway. I held on to Precious, who growled at him under her breath. When we paused at the end of the driveway to wait on traffic, Brock looked my way. “Just one question. What are Savvy Seniors?”

  I smiled at the funny look on his face. “It’s a seniors group at St. Patrick’s. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Rosa is Catholic.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t know there were that many saints, but I think I’ve heard her calling on at least a dozen since I got here.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, that’s Aunt Rosa. She and Uncle Laz attend St. Patrick’s. The rest of us are Methodist, except D.J. and his family. They’re Full Gospel.”

  “Full Gospel? As opposed to half-full?” Brock had a good laugh at that one. “Seriously,” he said when the laughter stopped, “I don’t have a clue what that means.”

  “Sure you do,” Rob interjected from the backseat. “I took you to church with me as a kid. Don’t you remember?”

  “Ooohhh.” Brock nodded. “Got it. Lots of ‘amens’ and even a few gymnastics, if memory serves me correctly. Never could figure out what they were all so excited about.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. They’re in love with Jesus.” I closed my eyes after he backed out onto Broadway and barely missed an oncoming car.

  “In love with Jesus.” Brock shifted into drive, then looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Not sure how that’s possible. Last thing I heard, he wasn’t around anymore. Right?”

  “Oh, he’s around. Trust me.” I stopped right there, finding it a nice stopping point. Might give the boy something to chew on. In the meantime, we had an island to see.

  Pointing to the left, I directed Brock south on Broadway, Galveston’s main thoroughfare. I happened to glance across the street at the Burton plac
e and saw Dakota on the roof. What would the kid be doing on the roof? For that matter, why wasn’t he in school like the other kids? Something was definitely fishy here.

  Hmm. Better not mention any of this to my guests. Didn’t want to borrow trouble, as Aunt Rosa was prone to say.

  As we headed down Broadway, I turned up my radio station. Though I’d never really listened to country music before meeting D.J.—the Christian station being my music of choice—I’d taken to occasionally listening to a local country station just for fun. Turned out country-western music had more themes than just the usual “Let’s get drunk and cheat on each other.” In fact, I’d discovered some heartrending songs filled with truth and emotion.

  However, as the music began to play, I couldn’t help but notice the look on Brock’s face.

  “What?” I asked. “Don’t you like country music?”

  He shook his head. “We don’t get a lot of this out in L.A.”

  “Humph.” I thought about it a moment before responding. “You don’t know what you’re missing!” I turned up the volume, singing along with a great Taylor Swift song.

  Brock leaned back against his seat and rolled his eyes. “So, tell me about your island,” he said, his voice rising above the radio.

  “Oh, sure.” I turned down the music, doing my best to focus. “Our street was hit pretty hard during the storm, but not as bad as the Strand.”

  “The Strand? What’s that?”

  “Oh, the best street in town, next to the seawall. Turn left at the next light and I’ll show you.”

  He did as instructed. We passed downtown, finally reaching the quaint, historic cobblestone street I loved so much. How many hours had I spent here as a teen? Hundreds? Thousands? “Oh, wow.” Brock pulled the car off to the side of the road and took it in. “These old buildings are great. They remind me of the storefronts at Universal Studios, where we filmed Once in Manhattan. Very authentic.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s because they’re real. They’ve been here more than a century. They’ve taken a lot of damage, both in the storm of 1900 and from storms since, but they’re a testament to the strength of the island, still standing strong.” I pointed to the Confectionery, my favorite hangout next to Parma John’s. “They’ve got the best taffy on the island, if you’re interested in that sort of thing. And their ice cream is to die for.”