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Hiding from all of this seems like the easiest solution, but, for reasons beyond me, I don’t want easy right now.
“Will you let me read it? The script?”
“Of course,” he answers so fast I don’t have time to back out.
“Now? Will you let me read it now?”
“Now?” he asks, casting a quick glance my way then back at the road ahead. We’re on the I-5, and in a few miles, he’ll take the ramp off the highway to take me home. But I don’t want him to. I nod.
I didn’t know it was possible to get to Brentwood so fast, but in too short a time, we’re driving by The Getty and getting off on the next exit. Winter drives through the winding, uphill roads with the familiarity of someone who’s lived here for a long time.
When he finally pulls up to a stone driveway, I don’t know how far up we are, but I notice that the houses have become more private and spaced out.
Winter’s one of the few houses not hidden by tall walls or hedges. Instead, the front yard is wide and open, displaying a clear view of his gorgeous single-level stone house. The building looks straight out of a fairy tale.
“This is your house?” It’s a ridiculous question, but I need to make sure.
“Can’t take credit for choosing it. If it were up to me, I’d be in the apartment I first lived when I moved to LA, but I like it.”
He opens the door and my jaw drops. The open-concept area stretches so long, I think my entire apartment fits here. On the far corner, a fireplace sitting in front of the white L-shaped couch gives the room a cozy feeling, balancing out the high vaulted ceilings.
“This place is gorgeous.”
“Again, I can’t take credit for it.” He places a hand on the small of my back beckoning me inside and sending my skin on fire. “Most of the decorations were either Ali or my mom who chose.”
“Ali?” I’ve heard the name before, but I can’t remember who she is.
“Ali Hoang,” he explains. “She’s like a sister to me. She played my adoptive sister in School Hallway.”
A memory flashes on my mind of Matthew asking him if he’d hooked up with her. Winter had been angry at the suggestion, and I understand why. If she’s like a sister to him, he must be very protective of her. Like I am with mine.
“She has really good taste.”
He smiles, satisfied with my approval of his place. He leaves me by the couch and makes his way to the connected kitchen on the opposite side of the room.
“Do you wanna anything to drink? Water? Wine? Beer?”
We’ve already drank some at The Reel, but I could use some wine now.
“Wine’s good.”
“Red or white?” he asks. What kind of guy has so many options to offer?
“White,” I answer, knowing I can’t trust myself with red wine on a couch so luxurious and white.
Winter brings two glasses of cold wine, hands me one, and rests the other on the reclaimed-wood coffee table in front of the couch.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back,” he says, disappearing into a hall next to the couch.
Taking in the place, I start to realize there’s likely so much I don’t know about Winter. This is the house of someone who has the type of money I’m not familiar with. And it’s not like my family wasn’t well-off. Both my parents are doctors, and they have their own practice. Money was never a problem growing up, or they wouldn’t have been able to send us to study here. But this… this is a different level of money.
Winter returns before I can start spiraling. Before my mind decides to convince me that I shouldn’t be here. That we’re too different. That he’ll never really want anything to do with me.
That I’m not enough for him.
He sits on the couch next to me and hands me a pile of paper bound together by a rubber band. His script. I take it with caution, as if it’s a prized possession. As if it’s a museum artifact that should be handled gently.
I feel like I’m holding a piece of Winter in my hands.
