This Is What Happy Looks Like(15)
Author: Jennifer E. Smith

But from where he was standing, he could see her perfectly: the wavy red hair and the oversize T-shirt with a smiling lobster on the front, the way her legs were tucked up beneath her on the swing, and the freckles across her nose. He could see her, and it was just like he’d thought. It was just like being punched in the stomach.

From: [email protected]

Sent: Sunday, June 9, 2013 6:08 PM

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: what happy looks like

Welcome surprises.

Chapter 5

At first, there was nothing beyond the edge of the porch but darkness. If not for the crunch of gravel, Ellie would never have known someone was there at all. She listened more intently. But there was only the chirping of crickets and the rush of the waves down the street, and behind her, the sound of the dog skittering madly around the wooden floors of the house. She squinted out, but beyond the pool of light where she sat, there was nothing; she could only sense someone out there the way you can feel someone watching you across a crowded room—that prickle of awareness, that shiver up your spine.

“Hello?” she called out, laying her book down on her lap. Her voice sounded strange even to her, wavery and thin. She heard the person take another step forward, and though she was blinking hard, her eyes still hadn’t adjusted enough to see who it was. “Quinn?”

This time, there was the sound of a throat being cleared, and Ellie realized it wasn’t Quinn at all. She rose from the porch swing, a little bead of worry starting to work its way through her. Henley was as safe as any small town—probably even safer—but the feel of the place changed in the summertime, its very molecules seeming to shift as it made room for an influx of strangers, and any of her friends or neighbors would have called out by now, rather than lurk in the shadows.

“Sorry, I didn’t meant to scare you,” the person said, a deep male voice that carried across the lawn as the blurry figure approached. “It’s just… me.”

He took a few steps closer, and like someone emerging from the water, he seemed to appear in pieces; first his eyes, then his mouth, then finally the rest of his features, coming into focus all at once as the light fell across him to reveal the familiar face of Graham Larkin.

He’d been in only two movies so far—the highly anticipated final installment of the Top Hat series wouldn’t be out until later in the summer—and though Ellie hadn’t seen either one of them, she was still aware of his usual range of expressions from the many times she’d seen him on talk shows and red carpets. There was always something brooding about him, an edge of impatience. But now, standing here on the bottom step of her front porch, he looked nothing if not sheepish, and it was all so unexpected, so entirely unlikely, that her first instinct was to laugh.

He said nothing, but his mouth turned down at the corners, and he reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck. He was wearing a blue-and-white-checked shirt with a pair of sunglasses dangling from the pocket, looking oddly uncertain, and it almost felt to Ellie like the whole thing was staged, like she’d fallen into a scene from a movie.

“Sorry, I’m—”

“I know who you are,” she said. “Where’s Quinn?”

He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then his eyes seemed to snap into focus. “Oh,” he said. “She told me where you lived.”

Ellie tilted her head at him. “Why? And if it didn’t go well, how come you’re here and not her?”

“There was kind of a mix-up, actually,” he said, coming up to the middle step. He smelled of mint and something else, something soapy. It was intoxicating, in a way, being this close to him. He looked like he was waiting for her to ask what he was talking about, but she remained silent, pressing her back against the screen door, and after a moment, he cleared his throat. “She was wearing your shirt.”

Ellie frowned. “What?”

“Earlier today,” he said. “At the ice-cream place.”

“Okay…” she said, unsure where he was going with this.

“So I thought she was you.”

“Why?” she asked. “You don’t know me.”

“That’s why I thought she might be you.”

Ellie gave him a hard look, then turned to scan the darkness behind him. “Are you filming a reality show or something? Is this some kind of joke?”

Graham jerked his head from side to side. “No, why?”

“Because I’m really confused,” she said. Behind her, the dog—a little beagle with floppy ears—had appeared at the door, his black nose pressed against the screen, his tail wagging. Ellie ignored him, her eyes trained on Graham, who seemed equally thrown off; he was either a really good actor or he was just as confused as she was. “Did Quinn put you up to this?”

“No,” he said as the dog began to whine. “I swear.”

“Then what?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

He looked slightly taken aback by this, and Ellie suspected it wasn’t often that people spoke to him that way. But it had been a long day, and she was tired, and having a movie star on her front porch was feeling less like some kind of sweepstakes prize and more like an unclassifiable problem.

“You’re E. O’Neill,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a simple fact, and Ellie eyed him suspiciously.

“Aren’t movie stars supposed to have stalkers?”

For the first time, his face slipped into a smile. “Yeah, I guess this must seem pretty weird,” he said. “I’m just excited to finally meet you.”

She let out a short laugh. “Again, isn’t that something I should be saying?”

The dog began to paw at the screen door, his whimpers turning into full-fledged howls, and Ellie knew that it wouldn’t be long before Mom emerged to let him out.

“Shush,” she muttered, and he sat back on his haunches and fell abruptly quiet.

Graham leaned to look past her. “Hey, Bagel.”

Ellie had been half turned to face the dog, but now she whirled back around again. “How do you know his name?”

“You told me,” he said, and then paused before continuing, as if this were a matter of no real importance. “It’s a great name for a beagle. Really clever. I was a lot less creative with Wilbur.”

Her heart was beating fast now, her thoughts tripping over themselves, but when she spoke, her words were measured. “You have a dog named Wilbur?”