Collision by Stefne Miller Page B

all. I would’ve eventually told you if we kept hanging out.”
    “Would you have told me because you wanted to or because I would have found out once Oliver informed me?”
    “I wanna think I would’ve told you because I wanted to and because I would’ve come to find out that I could trust you enough to be honest.”
    “Trust?”
    “Most people would sell me out, get information, or tell the paparazzi where I’m hiding out.” Her face began to soften, so I knew I was making progress. I went right on trying to justify my failure in being honest with her. “I can’t trust very many people. Actually, now that I think about it, I can’t trust anyone but my family, and even some of them are questionable.”
    “Your own family would sell you out?”
    “Some of my own family already have sold me out. My family’s far from perfect.”
    “I understand.” She finally turned and looked at me. Her eyes were sympathetic and showed concern. “You’re forgiven. Truth be told, if I were in your situation, I’d do the same thing. Sometimes people not knowing who you are is the only chance you’ve got at a good life.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.” She reached up and started to touch my cheek but stopped herself. “And now I feel bad,” she said, lowering her hand and covering her eyes.
    “Why?”
    “Because I feel like I should be really impressed or something as such.” She looked back up at me and grimaced. “What am I to do, ask for your autograph?”
    “Please don’t.”
    Reaching over, she picked a magazine up off the table and held it up in front of my face. “Does it hurt your feelings or damage your ego that I don’t know who this person is?”
    “Not in the least.”
    She dropped the magazine, sat back in her chair, and stared at me while she drummed her fingers on the table.
    “Why are you sad?” I asked as I sat back down.
    “How do you know I’m sad?”
    I’m an actor. I study facial expressions for a living. “Your face is wearing a pout.”
    “Oh.”
    “Why are you sad?” I repeated.
    “Because I’ve been walking around thinking I’d made a new pal.”
    “Why does that have to change because I’m on a few magazines?”
    Her left eyebrow cocked.
    “A lot of magazines,” I corrected.
    “I’m not certain.”
    “Can’t we just be friends and forget the other part of my life exists, for a while anyway?”
    “This is huge, Cabot. How can you ignore it? Why on earth would you want to?”
    “It’s like you said when we first met. You get tired of having to put on the show for everyone all the time. I want to be normal just like everyone else. Here, in this little space, I can do that if you’ll let me.”
    She leaned forward in her seat, and I did the same. We stared at each other for a long time. The more I stared at her, the more time I wanted to spend sitting right there, doing nothing more than just that, looking at her, memorizing her face and searching her eyes for more of who she was.
    She was perfection.
    Eventually, she broke the trance and spoke. “I’m not going to fetch your water or such. As long as we’re here we’re on equal footing.”
    “Good.”
    “And I’m not going to stroke your ego or tell you what you want to hear. I’m not that kind of person.”
    “It took me less than twenty-four hours to figure that out.”
    She sat back again. “I’m probably morally against a lot of what you promote in your films.”
    “If I had any morals, I probably would be too.”
    “And I may never see one of them,” she threatened.
    “They aren’t that good anyway.” I could feel the table vibrate as she shook her foot in agitation. “Have you not noticed that we can barely see each other through the smoke?” I asked.
    “What?”
    “The bacon’s burning.”
    “Bollocks!” She jumped up out of her chair, grabbed the pan off the stove, opened the back door, and threw the entire thing into the backyard. “It’s all gone to pot. Cooking is not