Текст книги "Love Unscripted"

Автор книги: Tina Reber

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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

my hand back on his chest. “I look so I can understand it all; so I can be connected and in love with all of you.”

Ryan rubbed his face and sighed. “I didn’t see it that way. I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he whispered, staring solemnly into my eyes.

I sniffed back my tears and acknowledged his apology with a nod.

“I don’t want your mind to get clouded with the lies, Taryn. That’s all.” He picked up my hand, wrapping it in his. “It’s so easy for fabricated

stories to appear believable. They even merge pictures and try to pass them off as real.”

“Regardless Ryan, all those real pictures of you, all those poses, stills, and magazine spreads, those are all little bits and pieces of you – of who

you are, of things you’ve been through, things you’ve experienced. All of that is a side of you that I don’t know. In a way it helps me understand you.”

He breathed out another sigh and tapped our gathered hands into his forehead. He looked up into my eyes.

“I think this is the part where I apologize and we kiss and make up,” he suggested softly.

I fidgeted a bit, still wiping the remnants of tears from my cheeks.

“I think this is the part where we realize that we still have a lot to learn about each other. That it takes a lot more than physical love to keep

people together.”

He stood up in front of me, pulling me up off the bed by my hands.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I’m so sorry for blowing up at you.”

“I’m sorry for giving you a reason to do so, but I hope you see the reasons why I look and don’t get upset with me if I do it again.”

He shook his head, exhaling harshly. “You’re going to see stuff and think it’s true. I really wish you wouldn’t.”

I spent the next few hours trying to look happy in front of our guests, careful not to let on that I was still mulling over the heated discussion he and I

had.S uzanne and Francesca showed up later in the evening; tonight was their last night in Seaport. Both of them had flights to catch the next day.

Scott was trying to pump Suzanne full with shots – I suppose to loosen her up again – however she continued to watch every move that Ryan made.

She would flirt with Scott and then check to see if Ryan saw it. Unfortunately for her, Ryan had other things on his mind that he was worrying about -

fans.

It didn’t take long for word to get out that Ryan Christensen was in Mitchell’s Pub again. Girls started to arrive in droves. Cory’s friend Trevor

was working the door for me and after a while I had him stop allowing people in; we were crowded enough with obsessive females.

Ryan was doing his best to just deal with it all. I could see he was trying to have fun and blend in and not worry about the extra attention he was

getting, but he had to work at it.

Suzanne did not like it at all when Scott left her side to become Ryan’s wingman. Just standing in close proximity to Ryan provided Scott with a

hearty selection of new women to talk to. It didn’t take her long to slip her way in between Ryan and Scott.

“Taryn?”

I heard my name called out. It was a female voice – French accent. Francesca waved her fingers at me.

“Yes, Francesca?” I asked, trying to be polite.

“Can I speak to you privately?” Her eyes scanned tentatively for my reaction.

Ryan, of course, noticed us walking towards the kitchen door. I gestured my confusion, silently answering his questioning stare.

“I just want to apologize to you,” she said. “I have treated you badly and unfairly and I’m very sorry.” She sounded sincere.

“It’s all right,” I responded, trying to sound just as sincere. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You probably know that I have liked Ryan for a long time, but I know that he does not feel the same way about me as I do him.” Her admission

made her stare at the floor.

“He deserves to be happy and I can see he is in love with you.” Her lips curled into a brief smile. “I can only hope that I too will have that

happiness one day.”

“You will,” I assured her.

“I was wondering… has Cory said anything to you about me?”

Her question perplexed me for a moment. I felt like we were young teenagers talking about our boy crushes and she was searching for insider

information.

“I think it’s safe to say that he likes you,” I told her, feeling suddenly like an older sister.

“I like him too, very much. He is so nice and sweet and handsome, but…” She stopped to ponder.

“But what?” I asked.

She twitched, almost afraid to continue. She didn’t need to.

“You’re afraid of what the public will think,” I stated, pointing out the obvious.

She looked at me and nodded.

“How does he make you feel?” I questioned, knowing there was more.

Francesca smiled gloriously and pressed her hands to her heart.

“You deserve to be happy too. And the choice is really yours. Cory is very ambitious, but he will still put your needs ahead of his own and treat

you like gold. He’s just beginning to find his career direction. And he will be successful at it. But then there’s always the alternative choice… you

could get involved with some young, rich guy who constantly thinks that the next girl he hooks up with is going to be even better than you.” I waited

until she looked at me again.

“Francesca, I’m terrified about what the public thinks of me too,” I admitted. “I know people all around the world feel that he could do better than

me, but better how? Someone with more money… more fame? Are those the things that truly matter when it comes to loving someone completely

and knowing that good, bad, or otherwise, they will love you just as much in return?”

“No,” she agreed.

“Then go be happy!”

I let Cory leave early that night.

Ryan was busy attempting to cook dinner when I joined him in the kitchen late Sunday night. His friends had left earlier in morning for their flight

back to Pittsburgh and after five days with house guests we were finally alone. Even though Ryan was sad to see his friends go, he knew he would

be seeing them in a few days when we traveled to his parents’ home for Thanksgiving.

“Smells good!” I complimented. “Need help?”

“Nope!” He grinned at me. “I got it all under control.”

I laughed under my breath on my way to the bedroom. He was only making hamburgers and boxed macaroni and cheese, but the kitchen

counter was a total mess. I grabbed the stack of scripts from his nightstand and carried them back to the kitchen.

“Did you finish reading this one?” I glanced at the title on the front cover. “Behind the Words?”

He looked over his shoulder and sneered. “No. I couldn’t finish it. It was stupid. I’m not going to portray a homophobic writer who wants a sex

change.”

“I still think you should pursue this one… The Isletin Solution. This one has Oscar potential.”

“I was going to read that one next. Was it good?” he asked, licking his thumb. “You’re finished with it, right?”

“Yeah, I finished it last night after you fell asleep. It was excellent!”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s the story of two Canadian doctors who discovered insulin and forged the way for the treatment of Diabetes. You would be perfect for the

lead role of Charles Herbert Best. He was a physiologist and chemist,” I said, flipping through the script. “It’s based on a true story. It’s written from

Best’s point of view, even though he wasn’t the lead scientist in the discovery.”

“Great! Another Charles character,” he groaned.

“Ah, so what. You’re already used to people calling you Charles,” I teased.

“How do you know all of that stuff about the characters? Is it written in the script?”

“No. I researched some of it on the net. I was curious.”

“So you think it’s a good role for me?” he asked, wiping his wet hands on the dishtowel that hung over his shoulder.

“I think it’s a perfect role for you. You’d be able to show a wider range of emotions with this character. There are a lot of heart-wrenching

scenes. They did their research on dogs, and one of the dogs that he was really attached to dies.”

“Sounds sad. You really think it has Oscar potential?” He narrowed his eyes on the script.

“Yeah, I do. The story is very compelling and you’d play a hero instead of an action star,” I stated. “I visualized you in the role the whole time I

read it. It’s a tear-jerker. This is the type of role that wins awards.”

“Since when did you get so knowledgeable about films and awards?” he asked in a teasing fashion.

“Since I started dating this hot movie star who’s getting cast into all these romantic popcorn films. I’ve just been doing research on acting and

stuff,” I admitted.

“Well then, move that one to the top of the stack. I’ll talk to Aaron and David… see what they think.”

“You don’t want to read it first?” I was surprised that he was just going to take my word for it.

“I trust you.” He smiled.

“Did you read this one… Gordon’s Way?” I asked, peering at it inquisitively. “I haven’t seen this script before.”

“Yeah, I read through it last week. It was couriered to the set. I really liked that one, but Aaron told me that they already signed Chase

Westwood, so that one is out.”

“And what are your thoughts about Bottle of Red?” I removed the script from the stack. It was the first one that I had read.

“Lame,” he answered dryly.

“I agree. O – U – T out.”

“Sacred Mountain?” I continued, panning through the pile.

“What was that one about again?” he asked in between taste-testing dinner on the stove.

“Secret UFO base in the mountains.”

“Oh, yeah. That one was heavy sci-fi. What did you think of it?” he asked, almost sounding hopeful.

I pursed my lips and sneered.

“What’s that reaction about?” he countered.

“Aliens?” I think I rolled my eyes. “That would be a huge diversion from the roles you have been taking. Is that something that interests you?”

He shrugged. He seemed unsure of his direction.

“Ryan, what’s your goal here? I mean when you dreamt of being an actor, what kind of actor did you want to be?”

“Brando!” he stated with admiration. “I wanted to be Marlon Brando. The Godfather, you know! I can’t tell you how many times I looked at myself

in the mirror while trying to imitate him. He was the reason I wanted to get up on stage and act.”

Ryan sat down at the table with me. “When I did the first Seaside, I was thinking about Gary Cooper – how he would have delivered it. I can only

hope to be in that league as an actor one day. That would be the ultimate!”

“Well then, there’s your direction. If that’s the perception you want people to have when they think of you as an actor, then you need to position

yourself correctly in the right roles. Isn’t that something your agent and manager should be helping you with? I mean some of these scripts… well,

they aren’t going to get you there.”

“They’re just trying to get me jobs so I make a name for myself. It’s tough. You’ve got to take what you can get sometimes,” he responded.

“I don’t know about that. By the looks of it I think you could afford to be a little more choosey.” I patted the nine scripts under my hand. “Perhaps if

you needed a paycheck you could consider some of these, but I think that if you want your dreams to come true then you need to point yourself in

their direction.” I held up the script for The Isletin Solution.

He smirked. “Yeah, you’re right. Hey, after dinner we need to run lines for Slipknot again.”

I smiled from the thought. I really enjoyed helping and watching him get into character.

I tried to “act” when I read the lines instead of just reading from the script, to the point that Ryan started coaching me when we rehearsed

together. We rehearsed so often that I was starting to memorize the lines of dialogue of the other characters and the feelings they were intending to

portray in each scene.

Ryan did have a cool job. It was oddly liberating “pretending” and feeling permitted to have different emotions and reactions from your own. I

could see why he loves what he does for a living.

The lead female role had a lot of dialogue. She was a medical student and avid rock climber who rescues Ryan’s character out on a mountain.

What I liked most about her was that she didn’t take a lot of crap from anyone.

It was very eye opening, making me acutely aware of my own personality.

Chapter 25 – Thanks

“You two wait in here. Give me a minute. Let me get your bags out first, then I’ll get you into the terminal,” Mike said, leaning over the front seat

to speak to us.

There must have been almost fifty photographers, fans, and people gawking out on the sidewalk by the doors for departing flights.

“This is fucking crazy,” Ryan muttered. He had his back turned to the car door but the photographers ran to the other side of the car trying to get

shots of him. It was hard to see in through the dark tinted windows.

“I hate airports,” he whispered. “Are you ready for this?”

I nodded, despite the fact that I was feeling like a nervous wreck.

Airport security was waiting outside now; they were trying to move people away from the doors to the terminal. Mike opened the car door and

Ryan slipped out. His foot wasn’t even on the ground yet when the frenzy began.

“Ryan! Ryan! Can you sign this?” People were yelling at him repeatedly.

“Ryan, over here.” The cameras flashed non-stop.

“Can I take my picture with you?” some young girl asked sweetly.

My poor Ryan didn’t know which way to turn. Mike and our driver flanked Ryan on both sides while he signed a few autographs. Some of these

people had glossy photos of his movie character in hand and it amazed me that they were so prepared for our arrival.

Ryan scribbled his signature quickly with a borrowed pen while Mike used his arm and hands to block people from getting too close. I noticed

he avoided the men with professional prints and signed his autograph for the fans instead. He posed and smiled for almost twenty photos.

I removed my backpack from the trunk of the car, slung it over my shoulder, and readied my small carry-on suitcase. The paparazzi swarmed

like angry bees, fighting amongst themselves for better position to take pictures. Mike finally handed Ryan his messenger bag and duffel bag and

then asked the crowd to back up.

I felt so helpless. These ‘people’ for lack of a better term had us surrounded. I grabbed the back of Ryan’s jacket, fearing I might get left behind

in the mayhem.

Ryan felt his jacket tug and glanced back at me to confirm I was the one doing the tugging. I tried not to look at the photographers, even though I

knew my picture was being taken over and over again.

Ryan grabbed my hand and we hurried into the terminal. Mike was by his side; Ryan had me in tow. Airport security had us surrounded now.

Never in my life had such a simple task like getting on a plane been so frightening!

“Ryan! So is it official? Are you and Ms. Mitchell an exclusive item?” some paparazzo asked. Ryan didn’t answer.

“Is it true that you and Taryn are living together?” another photographer asked while running along side of us.

Ryan still didn’t answer. He had that familiar look on his face; the one he wore when he was sick of all this shit but tried to look indifferent.

“Come on guys. That’s enough,” Mike said to the paparazzi who were walking backwards, taking our picture and filming us.

“Mr. Christensen, this way,” an airport security officer called out. We followed him through a separate opening in the barriers so we could get in

line to go through the airport security scanners. We were ushered to a small counter where Ryan showed our boarding passes to the waiting TSA

agent who verified that we had seats on an outbound flight.

“Go first, Honey,” Ryan whispered and nudged me ahead. He was looking down at the ground most of the time. I glanced briefly over his

shoulder and noticed that the paparazzi were filming us removing our coats and shoes. Fortunately Mike was blocking them from getting too much

footage of Ryan.

I grabbed a gray plastic tray and tossed my coat and shoes into the bin. I pushed my backpack and small suitcase down the rollers until it met

the rubber belt that fed into the scanner. Ryan was still checking his pockets for loose change. I smiled at him; he always had random amounts of

money stuffed in his pockets.

I waited for Ryan and Mike to clear through the metal detector. Airport security escorted us, and instead of leading us towards the gate, we were

ushered through a plain white security door.

“Where are we going?” I whispered to Ryan.

“We’re early. We’re going to the VIP lounge.”

I had never been in a VIP lounge before. It was beautiful! The large room had a high ceiling and was segregated into smaller sections, divided

by walls and full length semi-sheer curtains. The walls were tiled in dark gray slate with stainless steel accents. Each wall had four flat screen TVs

mounted across it, all broadcasting a different news channel.

In front of every TV was a cozy decorative chair and table for travelers to sit and relax. There was even a side room with free beverages and a

small food buffet.

Ryan pulled out his phone and turned it on, scanning through his messages and calendar. I, however, was still in a slight daze from getting into

the airport. This chaos was obviously old-hat for Ryan.

I can’t tell you how many times I flew in and out of this airport and never knew that such a room existed. I stood by the large glass window,

watching the planes take off and land, trying to get my heart rate to stabilize.

Ryan came over and stood behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “How are you doing?” he whispered.

I looked up at him and nodded. “I’m doing fine.” I tried to sound convincing, but deep down I was still rattled.

“Ten more minutes and we’ll head out for our flight,” Ryan said, opening his bag to retrieve my Mitchell’s Pub baseball hat. It made me smile

when he winked and put the cap on his head.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been avoiding those Autographers lately,” I said, questioning him.

Ryan nodded. “They make money off of my signature. I’m sick of it.”

A man in a suit, wearing a TSA security ID badge, came into the lounge for us. We were escorted down a long hallway and through another

plain white door that dumped us near our gate.

All the other passengers on our flight to Newark were already boarded onto the plane. Ryan, Mike, and I took our seats up in first class. I made

Ryan sit in the window seat. People were already stretching their necks to see.

The flight to Newark airport was quick and after we landed the airline staff assisted us in exiting the plane.

Airport security had us surrounded as we walked to our next gate. Mike escorted us to our gate, then turned to say goodbye. He was headed to

South Carolina to see family.

“Have a good holiday, Mike!” Ryan patted him on the arm and shook his hand.

“You too, Ryan. Taryn.” Mike gave me a hug.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mike! Thank you for everything!” I hugged him warmly.

“I’ll see you in a week.” Mike tapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Don’t eat too much turkey!”

TSA agents and airport security walked us to our departing flight bound for Pittsburgh. Three young girls ran after us begging for Ryan’s

attention. Ryan graciously stopped to take a picture with them... forever smiling… forever pleasing his fans.

When we landed, we were again escorted by airport security who walked us towards the exit. As we hurried through the terminal, people were

pulling out cameras and cell phones to capture the sight of Ryan Christensen walking through the airport.

I felt Ryan’s hand squeeze mine tighter when we caught sight of his mom and dad standing there waiting for us. All four of us were smiling,

happy to see each other again. Sure enough, a few paparazzi were waiting outside the airport doors.

The afternoon sun was starting to dip in the sky as we approached Ryan’s hometown. He pointed out 12th Street, showing me the infamous hill

where he took the maiden voyage in the laundry basket.

Ryan edged closer to the car door; his hand was reaching for the door handle. I could see the excitement in his eyes and the overwhelming

anticipation he was feeling for being home.

I tried to visualize the neighborhood Ryan grew up in when he talked about it, but no verbal description could compare to seeing it with my own

eyes. The tree-lined street was beautifully tinted with autumn’s different colored leaves, many of which were already in piles on the ground.

The houses on his parents’ street were situated fairly far apart. Each home was set back from the street and had large front yards with plenty of

grass to mow.

We turned onto a long driveway which was lined with trees and simple but tasteful landscaping. Ryan let out a sigh.

His childhood home was beautiful; a two story brick and vinyl home with a large flagstone porch leading up to the front door. The porch eaves

had decorative wooden accents formed to look like archways, and from the center of each arch hung a basket with the remains of green ferns

wilted from the cold.

We parked in front of the two car garage that entered into the side of the house. His father pressed the garage door opener that hung from his

visor. It was apparent that they were used to entering their house through the garage.

Ryan didn’t even make it to the kitchen door – he had to pull the gray car cover up off the front end of his Shelby. The car was a beautiful shade

of sapphire blue with two silver racing stripes from bumper to bumper. It surely was impressive.

“I’ve been running it every once and a while. She should start right up,” his father informed.

Ryan pulled the entire cover off of his car and bunched it up in a pile in the corner of the garage.

“Don’t just leave it lay there! Fold it up!” Bill reprimanded him.

“I will, Dad. Just give me a minute to say hello.” Ryan beamed at his car. “Hello, baby!” He touched the car fender lovingly. “Did you miss me?”

I couldn’t help but smile at Ryan. Boys and their toys! He reached into a cabinet mounted on the wall and pulled out the car keys, unlocking the

doors to his precious car.

He was already hopping in the driver’s seat when his father yelled at him again. “Aren’t you even going to invite Taryn into the house first?”

“I just want to make sure she starts,” Ryan defended.

I held up my hand to his father and tried to dismiss his anger. “It’s all right. Let him start his car. He won’t be able to think of anything else.” I set

my backpack down on the ground next to my suitcase.

A turn of the ignition and his car roared to life. The smile on his face was so huge it was like he died and went to heaven.

“Hop in. Let’s go for a ride,” he yelled over to me.

I ran for the passenger door.

I slipped down into the black leather bucket seat and snapped on my seatbelt. Ryan revved the engine and the car vibrated and purred beneath

us. His long fingers wrapped around the gear shifter with white-knuckled anticipation.

He, of course, had to squeal the tires when he pulled out onto his street, causing the rear end to fishtail a bit. Look out neighbors, the crazy

Christensen kid is back in town!

He drove out on some long back roads lined with farms and cornfields, driving too fast most of the time. He made a left turn and mashed his foot

down on the gas, shifting forcefully through all the gears. At one point we were slightly airborne over a little knoll in the road. His driving was

dangerous and exciting. I knew he’d been looking forward to this adrenaline rush more than anything.

Ryan from Pittsburgh was home.

“Did you have fun?” Ellen asked when we came through the kitchen door with our bags. She was busy making dinner. “Ryan, take your bags

upstairs,” she ordered.

Bill was sitting in a dark brown recliner chair in the family room that was off of the kitchen. He was reading the newspaper and peeking over the

top of it to occasionally watch television. It made me smile, fondly remembering my own father sitting in his favorite chair reading the newspaper.

I followed Ryan up the tan carpeted stairs to his room. He smirked at me as he pushed the last door on the right open with his shoulder. His old

room had one four-paned window centered on the wall that overlooked the front yard. He flipped on the bedroom light, illuminating the lamp that sat

on the single nightstand next to the bed. The light cast a shadow on the plain beige walls and new tan carpeting.

He had a dark oak desk with an old computer and printer sitting on it. On top of his tall wooden dresser were two baseball trophies and a small

decorative lamp. And in the corner of his room stood a wooden coat rack, long empty of coats and clothing.

A tinge of sadness flowed into my chest. His room, the room he spent all of his life growing up in, was obviously cleansed of most of his things.

He didn’t have an apartment, a house, or even an old bedroom that was his anymore. All the fragments of his existence were boxed up and put

aside or forgotten.

I understood why he was dying to get in his car the moment we arrived. That car was the only thing that was his… truly his. More importantly, I

now knew why he moved in with me so quickly and was rushing the thoughts of building a house by a lake. My love was desperately craving a

home… a connection… a safe haven to call his own – for he had nothing in this world but a suitcase and another lonely destination.

I dropped my bag off my shoulder and grabbed the front of his jacket with both of my hands. I wanted him to feel the depth of my love for him

through my lips. I was desperate for him to realize that he was no longer alone in this world; that as long as I had a breath still left in my lungs I would

provide him shelter and be his safe haven in all this uncertainty.

He slipped his fingers underneath my jacket and pushed it back over my shoulders. His coat came off next. He walked backwards to the bed,

pulling me down with him. We kicked our shoes off and twined our clothed bodies together, passionately kissing each other.

“I love you,” I murmured on his lips, staring directly into his open eyes when I said it.

“I love you too,” he breathed back.

I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat while he softly stroked my hair. He kissed my head several times and wrapped his arms

around me tighter, conveying his own message of love back to me.

All too soon our unspoken conversation was interrupted by his mother’s voice. She was yelling up the stairs that Nick and Janelle were here.

“Hey, Brother!” Ryan greeted Nick with a hug. I stayed off to the side, smiling and waiting to be introduced.

Ryan and his brother had similar features, but Nick took after their father more than Ryan did. Nick had darker brown hair and was just an inch or

two shorter than Ryan in stature, but close your eyes and you couldn’t tell which one was speaking. The similarity of their voices was uncanny.

Ryan hugged Janelle next, kissing her on her cheek.

“Hey movie star!” she kidded him. “How are you doing?”

Janelle was just a little shorter than I was, but she was adorable. She had highlighted light brown hair, which was straight and cut blunt at her

shoulders. She wore trendy black framed glasses and had a captivating smile.

“Nick, Janelle, this is Taryn.” Ryan beamed.

Nick pulled me in instantly for a big hug. “It’s so nice to meet you! Welcome to the family!” he whispered in my ear.

“Thank you! It’s nice to meet you too!” I uttered back.

Janelle and I hugged next. She too welcomed me to the family. Ryan had already captured their daughter, Sarah, in his arms. The baby started

to cry.

“She hasn’t seen you in six months, Ryan,” Janelle said, taking the baby from him. Poor Sarah was still crying.

“How old is she?” I asked.

“Ten months,” Janelle answered.

“She’s beautiful!” I tugged gently on her lacy outfit. “Look at the pretty flowers on your dress.”

The baby stopped crying and looked at me.

“Hi Sarah! It’s so nice to meet you! You look so pretty in your little dress!”

The baby smiled at me. Janelle looked at the baby then looked at me, smiling too.

“Can I hold you so mommy can take her coat off?”

Janelle leaned the baby towards me and I lifted her into my arms.

“Hi there! Do you want to go for a walk?” I paced around the living room with Sarah. She started to babble at me, telling me a big story and I

answered her with sweet comments of my own.

I took her little coat off while she cooed at me.

“Say hi Uncle Ryan!” I waved her little hand at him. Ryan was forever smiling at me.

“Where’s my little peanut?” Bill asked for his granddaughter. “Come to grandpa!” He took the little girl out of my arms.

Sarah didn’t like it; she started to cry again.

We all moved into the family room, and Janelle set up a little play area on a blanket on the floor for her daughter.

Sarah was still crying while being passed around from person to person. Ryan tried holding her again but she didn’t want any of it. Her little face

was turning red. I sat next to him on the couch and started talking to Sarah. I was glad she stopped crying so Ryan could enjoy holding her.

“What is it with you and kids?” Ryan asked me. “You’re like a freaking drug to them.”

His comment was absurd. I rolled my eyes and dismissed his question.

“See? Watch.” He held the baby away from me and she started to cry. He moved the baby next to me and she stopped. He repeated his little

test and she cried when he held her away. The third time he did it, Sarah cried in both places.

“There goes that theory,” I kidded him.

“What are you doing to my poor child?” Janelle yelled.

“Experimenting,” Ryan replied. “Every time we’re around kids, they’re drawn to Taryn like a freaking magnet. Watch!”

I thought he was making a big deal out of nothing.

He held Sarah away from me; she was still crying. Then he put Sarah on my lap. I stood her up on my legs and held her to my chest. Sarah

grasped my heart necklace in her tiny fingers.

Ryan grinned at me smugly when Sarah stopped crying. He held his hands out. “See what I mean?”

“It’s not me, it’s this necklace,” I defended. “Maybe it has special powers.”

“No, I think it’s you!” Ryan chimed back.

Sarah was busy playing with my necklace. Her little face puckered up with frustration when she couldn’t get my pendant in her mouth. I made a

funny face back at her which caused my nose to tickle. That’s when I caught the scent of something else. I held her little bottom closer to my nose to