Title & Copyright Page

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Neighbourly
     © 2022 Nat Cuddington

    All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any mentions of real celebrities are absolutely products of the author’s imagination; they are not genuine representations of them. She doesn’t know what they’re actually like in real life. She made it all up.

 

You can visit Nat’s website at natcuddington.ca

     Find Laura Kulson, the cover artist at etsy.com/shop/SirenBayStudio

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This one’s for me.
I hope that’s okay.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

 

“So, that’s a yes?” he asks, his eyes piercing into mine. They’re soft, a quiet brown that reminds me of homemade chocolate, or melting icing on a warm cake. I shake my head, trying to stop making these stupid analogies that I always make when I’m around him.

“No,” I reply with a smile. “It’s still a no. A hundred times no.” I can hear the playfulness in my voice as I say it, and he probably can too. 

“Why not?” he whines. He steps in closer to me and I don’t step back. 

“I don’t want a boyfriend,” I say.

“That’s exactly why you should say yes!” Oh, he’s definitely excited now. “No one will even try to date you if they think you’re dating me. It’s perfect for both of us!”

I bite my bottom lip and look up at him, into his eyes, at his mischievous smirk that’s familiar from interviews and blooper reels I’ve seen. The smirk that’s even familiar from times since I’ve known him as my friend instead of just a celebrity. I let out a deep breath and his smile changes to something more hopeful, full of something deeper. 

“Fine,” I say.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s okay, I need more than a fine. I mean, I want you to do this with me, but I need you to actually want to.” He shrugs and starts to turn away.

“I don’t know what I want,” I reply quickly. “But what’s the worst that can happen?”

His mischievous grin is back. “Surely nothing that bad. This is an excellent idea. I have excellent ideas.”

He holds out his hand to shake, and I grab hold of it, not entirely sure how I just agreed to pretend to date one of the most well-known sitcom stars of the decade. Of course this isn’t a good idea. 

 

Okay. Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself; we’re too late into the story. Let’s rewind. 

 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Claire says. “Someone just asked me if the mushrooms on the pizza are cooked. Like, no, we just cook the pizza and then throw some raw mushrooms on top after it comes out of the oven!”

I smirk at her and shrug. “At least they didn’t throw their salad at you because there wasn’t enough dressing on it.”

“When did that happen?” Claire’s mouth drops open as she follows me to the back of the restaurant, away from all the customers. 

“Last night. I can’t handle this place anymore, either. Why am I still a server, Claire? I’m 27 years old.”

“You’re 29,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Shit, I forgot you knew that. But see, this is my point! I’m lying about my age to feel better about myself because I’m still a server. I’m almost 30, Claire! Thirty! And I work in a pizza restaurant.”

“To be fair, it’s a fancy pizza restaurant. We have cloth napkins and fancy cocktails.”

“And fancy pizza,” I add, rolling my eyes.

“Yes! Fancy pizza! It’s better than working in a fast food pizza restaurant.”

“True. But still. This is not where I wanted to be when I was thirty.”

“Twenty-nine.”

I smile at her and head back out into the restaurant. “This is why I like you, Claire.”

 

Okay, sorry, we’re going to go back a little farther. I keep thinking I’m starting this story at the right place, but I feel like I keep leaving out important information.

 

My eyelids are actually swollen. I didn’t know that was a thing. I’ve read books that mention swollen eyelids from people crying so much and I always thought it was an exaggeration, but I guess not. Because I’m staring at myself in the mirror and my eyelids… are definitely swollen. I look terrible. I’m not sure if I’ve ever actually cried this much before. I guess that’s why I didn’t know about the swollen eyelid thing.

 

I keep not going back far enough. I really don’t want to relive it, to be honest. I mean, it’s not like it was the worst thing in the world, but to me, it was kind of the worst thing in the world. I’m not some drama queen, I promise you, and I’m not one of those people who just absolutely needs a man in her life, but if we’re continuing to be honest, I guess I’ll just say that I thought I was going to have this particular man in my life. Like, for the rest of my life. Okay, okay, we’re going back a bit further so I can tell you about it. This won’t be fun for me, but I guess it’s needed to set the story. Ugh, here we go.

 

Tyler comes home quiet. I try to ask him about his day but he just shrugs like he did the last three days and heads into the living room. What’s his problem? Seriously, if anyone should be in a bad mood, it should be me, since he hasn’t so much as kissed me in the last two weeks. 

“Tyler, what’s up?” I ask. 

“Nothing.”

“It can’t be nothing,” I say. “Did something happen at work?”

And this is when I feel it happening. I’ve felt it coming for a while. It’s weird, knowing someone is about to break up with you, even before they say it. It’s weird, knowing that someone has fallen out of love with you, but not wanting it to be true. Pretending it’s not happening. Letting the question burn in the back of your head for months because you know if you say it out loud, they’ll tell you that you’re right. That the last eight years of your life are over as you know it, just like that. I know this is what’s happening before he opens his mouth. Because the look he gives me, the sigh he makes, the way his shoulders slump, I can just feel it. 

“I don’t want us to be together anymore.”

There it is. The one sentence that will continue to haunt me throughout most of this story. It keeps coming back to this one sentence. It keeps replaying in my head when I’ve got nothing better to do, which let’s face it, is most of the time. All the damn time, actually. I don’t want us to be together anymore. Done. Just like that.

I nod my head and sit down on the couch. The couch that we picked out together. Because we were going to be together forever. Now that it’s out in the open I guess I can ask the question that I’ve been too afraid to ask. Too afraid to ask because I knew the answer anyway. 

“Do you not love me anymore?” I manage to squeak out.

He runs his hand over his face and looks at me with the same pain I feel in my chest. There are tears in his eyes. “I think I’ll always love you, Isla. But am I in love with you?” He shakes his head and lets out a long breath. “No. I don’t think I have been for a while.”

 

Okay. That’s all you need to know. I was with Tyler for eight, almost nine years, and we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, and then he didn’t love me anymore. Fast forward to me crying so much that I discover the swollen eyelid thing, and I guess we’ll just skip over me moving out and finding a new apartment, and not keeping the couches we picked out, because they’re so massive they surely won’t fit in any apartment I can afford, and we’ll skip a few months into the future where I appear to be okay on the outside, but on the inside, I still die a little. Because on the inside, I have thoughts. And my thoughts keep repeating to me that one sentence that started the end of my life. I don’t want us to be together anymore. 

Yes, let’s keep going. Seven months into the future.

 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Claire says. “Someone just asked me if the mushrooms on the pizza are cooked. Like, no, we just cook the pizza and then throw some raw mushrooms on top after it comes out of the oven!”

 

Whoops, we covered this already. Okay, sorry, I’m not good at this. 

 

I smile at her and head back out into the restaurant. “This is why I like you, Claire.”

“Isla,” Tom, my boss says, catching my attention. “How many tables are you covering right now?”

“Just one,” I say. It is 2:30 in the afternoon, after all. Not many people come in for fancy pizza in the middle of the day. 

“Okay great, I have a job for you. Claire can finish your table, right?”

I shrug and follow him to the back where the chefs are making pizzas, and wave at Claire to come with us so I can let her know what’s happening.

“What’s happening?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, “But apparently you’re covering my table.”

“Oh. Alright, well I guess I’ll go make sure everything’s okay with them.” She smiles and leaves.

“The people who are catering that big movie had to back out for the next two days,” my boss says to me.  “There was a family emergency or something, so the movie people asked us to cater! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Yeah! Is the restaurant going to be in the credits?” I ask.

“I never even thought of that! I hope so! Anyway, can you bring everything over for me?”

“You want me to deliver pizza?”

“To a movie set, Isla.”

“Yeah. Right. Okay. But like, isn’t the main guy from that show going to be there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh, Logan Jackson,” I say, trying to sound like I don’t care who it is, or that maybe I’m not even sure that’s what his name is. But I know. Oh, I know. When he doesn’t respond with a look of recognition, I add, “From Neighbourly.” He still looks at me like a deer caught in the headlights. “The TV show? It’s on cable and Netflix, and it’s super popular, there’s no way you haven’t heard of it.”

“All I know is they chose our small town to film a big, fancy movie, and they’re going to eat my pizza, and you are going to bring it to them. I also got the guys to prepare salads and baked brie with baguette.”

“Wow, you’re going all out,” I say. 

“Well I want them to enjoy it. Anyway, you can take everything over, I’ve got them in these warming dishes and all you have to do is light the dish burners under them to keep everything warm, and then bring all the dishes back. You can leave the leftovers they said.”

“What do I do while they’re eating?”

“I don’t know. Hang out? I’m sure you can eat a little. You need a break too.”

And before I know it, he’s helping me load my hatchback with big black cases which hold the food that I’m going to bring to a movie set. I toss the warming cans on the passenger seat and start to drive over to the set. My fingers shake against the steering wheel as I follow the instructions Tom gave me, and I slowly drive through the alley behind the restaurant and other businesses that line the main street. I pull up to the back door of the community centre, where the movie people have set up their offices and resting rooms. Holding, they apparently call it. I hope I’m okay to just leave my car in front of the door while I unload everything because that’s what I’m doing. I have to take three trips down the stairs and into the room they’re using to eat, and once I’ve got everything unloaded and on the counter, I go move my car. I hope the director doesn’t walk in while I’m gone and think I’m just going to leave everything like that. I drive around the parking lot a couple times trying to find a spot and finally back into a space and then run inside. There are already a few people flowing in when I get back, and I can feel my nerves shooting up my arms and down into my fingertips. There are going to be famous people in here soon.

“You must be from Carter’s,” a woman says from behind me.

I’m in the middle of pulling a catering tray out of the big container thing and I startle, almost dropping it. “Yes, I’m Isla. I’m just a server at Carter’s. Tom Carter, he’s the owner. But he’s not here. It’s just me.”

The woman smiles at me and holds out her hand. She’s tall, taller than me, and her dark hair is pulled back into a messy bun. “Awesome to meet you, Isla, I’m Zoey, the director.”

I shake her hand and try not to choke on my words. “Cool. I’m just bringing the pizza.”

She laughs a little. “I really appreciate you guys putting this together for us on such short notice. But the other place that was catering for us, Chives, had a family emergency and is closing for a few days. Their food is awesome, and they recommended you guys when they told us. I’ll let you finish setting up, but feel free to stay and eat with us if you don’t have to get back right away.”

“Thanks,” I say, feeling a little intimidated. She doesn’t look that much older than me. And she’s directing a movie? A movie starring Logan Jackson? I can’t. 

My hair is bothering me while trying to set everything up so I throw it up into a quick bun and then grab the lighter Tom gave me. I light the food warmer cans under the catering trays, and almost place one under the salads, but blow it out and set it aside after I realize that I’m an idiot. It looks good. And more people are coming in. Is Logan Jackson going to be in here? Eating? In the same room as me? 

I grab a slice of Garlic Bacon pizza, my favourite, and dunk a few pieces of bread into the brie before placing them on my paper plate, and head over to a table in the middle of the room, away from any of the people already sitting and eating. The director, Zoey, smiles and nods at me from across the room, and I smile back and shove as much pizza into my mouth as I can because I don’t know what else to do.

“Oh wow, this pizza looks fancy,” I hear a familiar voice say. My heart starts to pound and I swallow my current bite of bread and melty cheese, afraid to turn around to see the person I know is standing almost directly behind me.

“It’s awesome,” someone from Zoey’s table says. “Try the garlic and bacon one, it’s amazing!”

“Oh I’m taking a slice of each one,” Logan Jackson replies. 

I still haven’t turned around, but I know it’s him. Logan Jackson is about to eat the pizza that I drove over in my car. Logan Jackson. Logan. Jackson. The star of Neighbourly, the show critics say is the best sitcom since Friends. I mean, the humour is a little different, and it’s obviously more modern, but it’s got a lot of hard core fans the way Friends did, or even Seinfeld did.

“Hey, you’re the one who brought the pizza!” And I don’t even have to turn my head to see him, because Logan Jackson sits right next to me at the table. It’s like time stands still for a few seconds and I watch him in slow motion as he takes a bite of pizza and then puts it back on his plate. He’s wearing a golden-yellow hoodie and a backwards baseball hat, the kind with the plastic snap, so some of his hair pokes through the hole above it. I wonder if it’s part of his costume or if he changed to eat lunch. Surely he wouldn’t wear a hat in between shooting scenes, it would mess his hair up. Right? Did I mention that Logan Jackson is sitting next to me?

“Um, how do you know?” I finally ask.

“Well you’re wearing a fancy shirt that says Carter’s, and those catering containers have a logo on them that say Carters, and I’m pretty smart, so I put the two together.” He winks at me and I die a little inside.

“Then, yes, that’s me.” He smiles at me and I just stare at him, with my mouth gaping open, I’m sure. I want to add something else, something cool, so I say, “I brought food.” Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me?

“Well this pizza’s awesome.”

I smile and give him a thumbs up, because I’m just so smooth, and then he gets up and moves to another table, bringing his pizza with him.

 

Okay, let’s pause here. I’m sure you’re wondering how I went from being a bumbling idiot to Logan Fucking Jackson asking me to be his pretend girlfriend. And I’ll tell you. We’ll get there. But it’s going to take a little time. I had to tell you about my breakup first because I’m not gonna lie to you, it will come up again. It’ll come up a lot, actually, and I want to say that I’m sorry about it, but you know I don’t think I am. Also because from the sadness comes something good. Like Logan Fucking Jackson wanting me to be his pretend girlfriend. And we’ll get there, I promise. We’ll get there and keep going, my friend. I just started the story with that conversation because I wanted to get your attention. 

Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

Yes, I’m that person. I’m that person who’s going to do this to you. You might hate me for telling you the pivotal plot point before it shows up, but would you even want to hear my story if you didn’t know it had me pretending to date Logan Jackson? I had to tell you ahead of time or you would just think I was a boring twenty-nine-year-old who worked at a fancy pizza restaurant and cried at home alone when she thought about her ex and the fact that no one will ever love her again. So yeah, I think I made a smart move telling you about the exciting thing first. Now you get to wait in suspense for it to get here.

 

“Thanks for bringing the fancy pizza,” Logan Jackson says, knocking on my table a little as he passes me. I’m all done eating and just waiting to pack up the stuff, but I somehow still manage to make food fall out of my mouth when I answer.

“You’re problem,” I say, watching the piece of bread fall onto my shirt. “I mean no problem,” I try again, wiping away the embarrassing piece of gross, soggy bread. But when I turn my head around to catch his gaze I notice that he’s gone. I’m just correcting my stupid sentence to no one. Except the guy sitting at the next table. He definitely saw all that go down. I notice him smirking at me so I look away and get up. “Nothing,” I say quickly, and too loudly to come across as in fact nothing. I cringe and also want to die.

“Okay,” he laughs, grabbing his plate and bringing it to the compost bin. 

I’m not sure if he’s an actor in the movie or someone who works behind the scenes, but I’m still mortified. It doesn’t matter who he is. He saw me spill food THAT I WASN’T EVEN CHEWING out of my mouth, mix up two possible responses, and then correct myself to no one. It doesn’t matter if he’s the co-star, the lighting guy, a camera guy, or a set designer, he saw it all happen and for personal reasons, I will now be passing away. 

He looks back at me with a smirk before leaving the room and then I’m alone. I let out a deep breath and bang my forehead on the table in front of me. It’s all I can do. I bang it lightly a few more times before finally getting up and putting the leftovers in the fridge. 

 

 

“So?” Tom asks when he meets me outside to help unload my car. His eyebrows are raised and his eyes practically bulge out of his head. 

I can tell he’s eager to know what they thought of the food, but I bug him a little and say, “So, what?”

“Did everyone like it?”

“Yes, everyone loved it.”

Tom beams at me and I just smile and roll my eyes. The restaurant is busy now so I grab my apron right away and ask Claire which tables she wants me to cover. The dinner rush goes by really quickly and luckily without any trouble, but at about 8pm Tom comes over to me and breaks the news that I have to bring pizza to the movie people again.

“Again?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah, they get a meal when they’re done shooting for the day as well, but you have to bring it to the hotel.”

“Why do I have to do it?” I ask.

“Because you’ll get to see Logan Johnson again!”

“Jackson.”

“Sorry, Jackson Johnson. That’s a weird name.”

“No, Logan Jackson. His name is Logan Jackson. And I can’t see him again; I’ll make a fool of myself and die of embarrassment.”

“Why? You’re adorable. Plus isn’t it about time for you to get back in the dating game?” He smirks and motions for me to follow him toward the back. I try to let his comment slide but it eats me up from the inside out. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.

“I just thought it might be good practice, you know, for when you’re ready.”

“I don’t need practice! That man is famous, Tom! And as gorgeous as-” I cut myself off and shake my head. “I don’t have to date anyone if I don’t want,” I say firmly. “Ever.”

“Of course you don’t.” Except he says it with a tone that clearly tells me I’m wrong. Or that I’m just lying to myself about not wanting to date. That I actually do want to; that this is just what I tell myself to make myself feel better. 

“I’m not helping clean up when I get back,” I say, eyeing the dishwashing room and all the guests out in the restaurant. “I’ve been here since 10:00 this morning. And I’m eating more pizza at the hotel. Or… what else did you pack? Are there ribs in there?”

“No ribs today. Meatballs.”

“Meatballs are good. I’m eating all the meatballs.”

 

 

Logan Jackson isn’t here yet. I’ve set up the late dinner at the hotel lobby where the girl behind the desk told me to, and I’ve been sitting here eating my meatballs alone like a loser. How long is this going to take? I have to bring everything back to the restaurant when they’re all done eating and I’m tired. I look at my watch and then startle when the main doors slide open.

“Hey! It’s the fancy pizza girl!” Logan Jackson says with his arms up in the air. 

I feel my face heat up and I look down at my plate of meatballs, afraid to even respond.

“Aw, it’s also Jasmine,” I hear Logan Jackson say. “Hey, Jasmine.”

I look out the corner of my eye to see the girl behind the front desk blushing. That’s nice of him to remember her name. But then to my horror, he sits right next to me before even getting food for himself.

“So do you like being a pizza girl?” he asks.

“Um, I’m not a pizza girl.”

“What do you do then?”

“I’m a server…. At a pizza restaurant.”

“So, you’re a pizza girl.”

“I prefer to just be called Isla.” Where is this confidence coming from all of a sudden? Damn girl!

“My apologies. Isla.” He smiles and I try not to look at him, but it’s hard. Logan Jackson is smiling at me. And he’s sitting right next to me. And he just said my name. “I’m Logan,” he finally adds after I don’t answer him. Oh and look, he’s holding his hand out to me. Like, to shake. Logan Jackson wants to shake my hand.

“I know,” I say quietly, and grab his hand. It’s warm. And much bigger than mine. And strong. And sexy. Fuck. No. No, it’s not sexy. I don’t think people are sexy.

“I just thought it would be nice to introduce myself like an actual person, instead of like a celebrity.” He lets go of my hand and I stare into his brown eyes, suddenly back to the Isla who can’t function.

“I’m not a celebrity,” I say.

He laughs and puts his head on the table in between his arms. 

“Ha. You’re a celebrity. I know. I’m not stupid.”

“No, but you are cute,” he says as he stands up. I will myself to disappear but it doesn’t work. And get this. After he gets his food, he comes back to my table and sits next to me again. There are so many other free seats around for him to sit at, why is he sitting next to me? But that’s when I realize that there aren’t any free seats anywhere else, except for at my table. Everyone else from the movie is here and they’re all eating. When did they get here? Did Logan Jackson really just put some sort of magical bubble around us where all I noticed was the two of us together like we were the only two in the entire universe? 

“I have to bring all the stuff back to the restaurant when everyone’s done eating,” I tell him for some reason.

“That makes sense,” he replies through a mouth full of pizza. “I have to have a shower and sleep when I’m done eating.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, showering and sleeping is nice after a long day.”

“Yeah.” And then we’re quiet. Logan Jackson eats his pizza and I stare at my plate with three meatballs left on it, and I try not to puke up what I’ve already eaten. This is unreal. He looks at me and smiles every now and then as he eats, which makes me super self-conscious. The only makeup I’m wearing is mascara because I have a pretty big cluster of freckles over my nose and cheeks, which I like. If I wear foundation, they’re less noticeable, and I’ve always thought they were pretty. I’m not good at makeup and stuff anyway, so in my mind, that’s how I’ve always felt less plain. Not that I think I’m ugly or anything, just, next to Logan Jackson I’m basically a walking pile of, um, well, something bland. 

Logan Jackson has a perfect nose with just a little bump that makes it look distinguished, and his hair is short, but long enough to have texture, and he’s not wearing his hat anymore so it’s flat in some spots and sticking up in others. But he still looks gorgeous! He has hat hair and he still somehow manages to look perfect. His whole being is so welcoming and attractive and confident, and here I am with my plain, dark brown hair that I just wear loose or in a messy bun.  Plus I’m a wreck right now. I’ve been working all day, my hair is coming out of its tie and falling around my face, and I’m tired. I’ll bet you I even have a bit of raccoon eyes going on from my end-of-the-night mascara. My pretty freckles are not keeping me up to par on his attractiveness level. 

“So do you like working at Carter’s?” Logan Jackson asks after a few minutes.

I shrug. “It’s okay. I like the people I work with.”

“That’s important.”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

“Well Isla, I hate to cut this short, but I’m beat, and I’m done my food, so I’m going to head up to my room.”

“Okay,” I say. “Have a good night.”

He grabs his plate and stops to look at me, like he really looks at me, and he smiles. “You too.”

How is this real life?

 

 

How is it possible to be this tired? I have never been this tired. I worked a total of 13 hours yesterday, and okay sure, that included an hour of sitting down and eating food, twice, but it also included lugging big heavy containers of food to my car and into a building and onto counters, and into my car and back into the restaurant… twice. But having to wait for everyone to finish their dinner so I could clean up made for a very late night. Why do they eat their meals at such weird times? And that was all on top of my regular job of being on my feet all day and carrying heavy trays and dealing with annoying people. So yeah, I’m back here at 10am again to get ready for opening and I’m exhausted as all hell.

“Oh my god, you have to tell me about the movie set!” Claire practically screams when she meets me at the back door. She’s actually jumping up and down.

“It was really cool,” I answer, unlocking the door. “But I’m way too tired today.”

“You have to tell me more than that! Was Logan Jackson there? Did you talk to him? You know some people have seen him around town, eh!? Oh I wish I could meet him and also not be a total freak, because I have a feeling I would be. I can’t believe he’s filming a movie here, can you?”

“Well I can believe it because I’ve been to the… well, it wasn’t the set. It was just the community centre. But yeah, I met the director… and Logan Jackson.”

“NO WAY! Oh I’m so jealous! Imagine if you guys fell in love…” she trails off and looks up at the ceiling as if she’s watching our wedding.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not falling in love with anyone, let alone Logan Jackson. He was just nice probably because he feels like he has to be.”

“He was nice? Oh that’s amazing! I’m so glad he was nice!”

“You wanted me to fall in love with him before you knew he was nice? Some friend you are.”

 

 

I have been voluntold to bring the pizza, garlic bread, and salads over to the community centre again, but this time Logan Jackson doesn’t sit with me. Because get this, Carly Bowman is sitting with him. Carly Bowman! She must be his co-star. I sit at the farthest table from them and eat my food slowly and carefully, just in case someone famous tries to talk to me again. I don’t want another spilly situation like last time. But as everyone is slowly starting to clear away and leave the room empty, I notice Logan Jackson lingering. Even Carly Bowman has left. Everyone else has left, I now realize. I don’t know what else to do, or what to say, so I stand up and immediately start cleaning everything and getting it all ready to bring back to the restaurant. 

“Thanks for bringing us the food,” Logan Jackson says.

“Oh. I mean it’s my job. But no problem. Any time. It’s nice to get a break from the restaurant.”

He smiles and pushes his chair in. “I heard your restaurant was just filling in for a couple days.”

“Yeah,” I say. “After tonight it’s back to Chives for you guys.”

“Maybe I’ll still see you around. After all, I know where you work.” He smirks at me and my entire body blushes. I can feel the back of my neck heating up. This is ridiculous. But then his face sort of scrunches a little. “Actually, I don’t know where you work. Like, I know where you work, but I don’t know where it is.”

“Oh. It’s just down the road.” I continue to pack everything up while I talk because otherwise I would just fidget and then probably do something weird. 

“Cool.”

“Logan, come on,” someone says, poking their head in the room. “We’re waiting for you.”

“Sorry, I’m coming.” He looks at me and smiles before following the guy into the hall.

Ohmygod.

 

 

“Jasmine’s working again!” Logan Jackson says as he enters the hotel for dinner. He throws his hands up in the air as if he’s excited to see the girl working behind the counter. Maybe he is excited to see her. Either way, she likes the attention, but I can see her trying to hide her reddening cheeks. “You don’t have to work all night, do you?” he asks, stopping to rest his arm on the counter.

“Just till eleven,” she replies quietly. 

“Just till eleven,” he repeats in a mocking tone. “That’s basically all night, you know that, right?”

“Well I don’t have to work past midnight, so that’s good.”

“I like your positivity.” He knocks on the counter and smiles as he turns towards the dining area. But then he sees me and his smile grows. I can feel everything inside of me exploding with uncertainty as he makes his way towards me. Not even towards the food. He’s coming right towards me. “Hey, Isla,” he says as he sits next to me.

“Hi,” I reply.

“How’s it going?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

I shrug. “I’m tired.”

“Are you having anything to eat?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I turn to look at the spread I set up about twenty minutes ago but he puts a hand out to stop me and then rises from his chair. 

“You stay put,” he says. “You’re tired.”

I narrow my eyes at him but stay seated as he gets up and fills two plates with pizza and ribs. He brings them to our empty table and looks at me when he sits.

“Am I freaking you out or something?” he asks when I don’t start eating.

“What? No. No, of course not. Why would you freak me out? You’re only just bringing me food that I brought from a restaurant. We’re just bringing each other food.”

He chuckles and tears some meat off the rib bone with his fingers. “I’m sorry I’m freaking you out.”

“I just said you weren’t.”

“Okay.” He smiles and everything inside of me falls apart. How is he so beautiful? How is he doing this to me? He takes another bite of his ribs. “This barbeque sauce is amazing.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “It always makes my mouth water when I bring it to tables.”

“I can imagine.” I stare at him as he picks up his pizza and takes a bite, and I stare at him as he chews. And the weird thing is, he’s staring at me too. He’s just looking at me as he eats, and I’m looking back at him, and I have no idea what I’m even thinking. I’m just staring at him and his somehow good looking hat hair. I’m staring at Logan Jackson eating pizza, while he stares at me. How is this even real life? What is happening?

He finally stops chewing and swallows. “Eat your fancy pizza, Isla.” And then he smiles, stands up, grabs his plate, and takes it to another table. The crew members shuffle a bit to make room for him and he starts talking to them right away, making them laugh. He looks back at me once and raises his eyebrows at me, but I have no idea what message he’s trying to convey with it. But I just raise my eyebrows back at him and eat my food.

That whole thing was weird, right?

 

Chapter 3

 

 

 

Okay, we’re going to fast forward a little here, because otherwise you would be bored to tears. I stop bringing food to the movie because we were only filling in for two days, and literally nothing happens for the next two weeks. I work, go home and eat Kraft Dinner, cry a little, and work some more. Nothing interesting happens. I don’t even know why I thought any of this would be good. Well, I know why it’s good, it’s because it’s going to get good.  Trust me.

 

I come out of the back room after dropping off some empty plates with the dishwasher and almost stop dead in my tracks when I see him. Logan Jackson is standing at the front of the restaurant with his hands in the kangaroo pocket of the same golden-yellow hoodie he was wearing the first day I brought pizza to the set. He’s just standing there; his tall, muscularly lean frame is standing at the front of the restaurant that I work at, and now I have to hide.

“Oh my god,” Claire says, grabbing my sleeve and pulling me back into the room I just came out of.

“What?” I ask.

“Logan Jackson is out there!”

“I know, I saw him too.”

“Do you think he’s here to talk to you?” she squeals.

“Absolutely not.”

“I can’t seat him. I can’t talk to him. I’ll mess up his whole order and spill drinks everywhere and make a fool of myself!”

“And you think I can do it?” I ask. “I embarrassed myself so much while I was catering for the movie! I’m a nervous wreck around him; he makes me forget how to… be a human being.”

“I know, right? He’s so gorgeous.”

“Well someone has to greet him.” 

We both lean out of the back room just enough for our heads and shoulders to cross the doorway, and peek out at him standing there. The whole restaurant is pretty open, so we have a clear view past the cutlery station and the pizza oven. He’s standing there with an innocent smile on his face and he’s looking around the restaurant as if he’s interested in the décor and not at all wondering where the employees are. Tom is behind the bar chatting up a regular and pouring him some beer, and the two chefs are laughing as they make pizzas almost directly across from us. And Logan Jackson is standing at the front of the restaurant, and nobody knows but me and Claire!

“Uh, guys,” Charlie, one of the chefs says, “There’s a guest waiting at the front, if you haven’t noticed.” He tips his head in Logan Jackson’s general direction.

“Yes, we know, Charlie, thank you,” Claire says.

“Well what are you doing?” He looks over at Logan Jackson and back at us, still hiding as best as we can from the rest of the people in the restaurant.

“Trying to figure out how we’re going to talk to him without barfing,” Clarie spits out rather aggressively. Charlie puts his hands up in surrender and turns around, back to the pizza.

“Well one of us has to go over to him before Tom notices that we’re ignoring someone,” I say.

“We’re not ignoring him, Isla. We’re staring at him.”

“Well what are we supposed to do?”

“Do you want me to seat him?” Charlie asks.

“No!” Claire and I both yell at the same time. 

Tom and his regular hear and turn towards us and I’m about to smile at them when I realize that Logan Jackson heard us too. Oh, and the two other tables currently in the restaurant. Fantastic. Literally everybody in the restaurant is now looking at us, confused expressions all over their faces. I wave briefly at Tom and the bar guest, and pull Claire into the back room with me, the both of us almost crashing into Lance.

“Sorry,” we both say. He shrugs and goes back to washing dishes.

“Okay,” I say to Claire, “one of us has to go out and seat him.”

“Not it,” Claire practically shouts, putting her index finger on the tip of her nose.

“I don’t understand why you don’t want to talk to a famous man who is also incredibly attractive,” I say with a huff. 

“Probably the same reason you don’t want to.” 

“Ugh.” I spin around and march back into the restaurant, trying not to think about it. Thinking about it will make me nervous and I’ll just become a blabbing mess of embarrassment. I make eye contact with him as I walk past the bar and he smiles, tilting his head up in a sort of hello.

“Hi, thanks for waiting,” I say to him, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice.

“No worries.”

“Are you dining alone?” I ask, grabbing a menu.

“Uh, yeah, just me.”

“Okay. Would you prefer a table, or would you like to sit at the bar?”

He looks around and shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you recommend, I guess.”

“Um.” I try to think of something smart to say in response, but really I have nothing. I want to sit him at the bar so Tom can take care of him and I don’t have to force myself not to barf everywhere, but I would honestly recommend the table in the corner window because you can sort of see the waterfront from it, and when the breeze comes in, it’s really nice. “This way,” I finally say, not sure if I was even loud enough for him to hear me. But he follows me to the newly wiped table in the corner and I give him a menu. 

“I’ll be right back,” I say, stepping away as quickly as I can. I practically run to the back and collapse into Claire, who has clearly been watching from the doorway the whole time.

“Oh my god, Isla, you did amazing. I’m so jealous!”

“You have to come back with me. Please bring him his cutlery and stuff while I get his water. I can’t. I can’t do this, I’m shaking, look!” I hold my hands out to her so she can see my fingers tremble.

“Okay fine, I’ll bring his cutlery for you, but I can’t say anything. I’ll probably just scream his name over and over if I try to say words to him.”

“Thank you.”

Claire follows me back to his table, where she sets it up for him, and I pour him a glass of water. “Anything to drink besides water today?” I ask.

“No, water’s great, thanks.” He smiles up at me and I put the pitcher on the table and follow Claire away. 

“Isla, the water,” she says to me.

“Yeah, he said he wanted water.”  

“No, you left the pitcher of water on his table.”

“Shit.” I let out a deep breath and close my eyes. I take a few more slow breaths and then head back to his table to see him eyeing the menu. I try to grab the water pitcher without him noticing, but obviously that’s impossible. He looks up at me as soon as I pick it up. “Just… forgot this,” I say, doing a weird curtsy thing. What’s wrong with me?

“Okay. I think I’m ready to order too.”

“Oh. Right. Okay. No problem. What would you like?” I put the water back on the table and grab my notepad. There’s no way I’m going to remember what he says to me with the way my brain is working right now.

“I’ve been thinking about that garlic bacon pizza ever since you brought it to the movie set so I definitely need that again. And also some of those meatballs too.”

“Awesome, I’ll put that in for you.” I put my pen behind my ear and make my way to the computer, leaving the water pitcher on his table. Again. 

The rest of his meal goes fairly smoothly, but the water pitcher stays on his table the entire time. Another table actually asks me why they don’t have a pitcher at their table and I just chuckle at them and tell them they’re hilarious because again, brain, not working, and I’m surprised when they actually leave me a good tip. By the time Logan Jackson is ready to pay and I’ve brought him a takeout container for his two uneaten slices, the restaurant is really busy. It’s helping me to focus a little better because I have less time to think about Logan Jackson and how I’m going to be normal around him. I bring him the machine to pay and he smiles up at me as I stand there waiting for him to put in his PIN. Why didn’t he just tap his card? I’m getting all flustered again.

“Oh sorry, wrong PIN, I have to do it again,” he says. Seriously?

“That’s okay.” I take the machine from him and put the total in again, hand it back to him. 

“It was nice seeing you again,” he says as he puts his PIN in again.

“Oh yeah, likewise.”

“Dammit, I did it again.” He hands the machine to me and I put the total in again.

“You should just tap it then,” I say. “Or stop talking while you’re pressing buttons.”

“I had tap disabled on my card because it got stolen a while back. But you’re right, I’m distracting myself.”

“Actually,” I say, “I’ll leave that with you, I’m just going to take another table’s order. Also I was trying to be funny when I said you shouldn’t talk while you’re pressing buttons. I wasn’t trying to be rude. Just in case that didn’t come through. Okay, give me a minute.”

I notice him smirking as I back away and then notice my other table staring at him as I approach. Then they stare at me with giant smiles that are actually kind of creepy.

“Is that Logan Jackson?” one of them asks.

“Yes,” I reply, getting my notepad out. “But I’m not sure if he wants people to know. I mean he didn’t tell me not to tell people or anything, and I guess it’s pretty obvious, I mean it’s Logan Jackson, right here in the restaurant, eating pizza. Right there.”

“Yeah. Anyway, we’re not ready to order,” someone else from the table says. “We’ve just been staring at him the whole time and haven’t even looked at the menus.”

I smile at them. “Take your time.”

I reluctantly go back to Logan Jackson’s table and pick up the machine. I rip his copy of the receipt and hand it to him, and notice on it that he gave me a $200 tip.

“Oh, I think you made a mistake here,” I say, about to point to his receipt.

He smiles and holds a hand up. “Isla, shh, I didn’t make a mistake.” He remembers my name? But then I remember that I have a nametag on. Right. “I always do that. Is that okay?”

“Um, I mean, yes, yes that’s great, I’m very grateful, it’s just, it’s like five times the cost of your meal and that’s –”

“Isla,” he says, cutting me off.

“Logan.” 

My saying his name sort of makes him pause and he smiles, his eyes widening in surprise for a split second. It surprises me too, first of all because I didn’t say his last name, which I never thought I would be able to do, and because, well, I don’t actually know him, and so saying his name seems weird. I don’t know why I did it, or how I even did it, but it might somehow be the most normal thing that’s come out of my mouth since meeting him. Except for my very professional server words at the beginning there, I’m quite proud of that to be honest.  But saying his name, his first name without his last name, is that even something that’s allowed? Will he be offended? Honestly I’m a little offended. He’s Logan Jackson. I can’t just call him Logan like we’re fucking besties.

“If it makes you feel better, you can share the tip with your coworkers,” he says quietly. 

“Fuck that,” I reply with a smile, which in turn makes him grin. “Um, I mean, thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed your meal.”

 I turn away and make my way to the cash register to take out two beautiful brown bills that I’m not stealing but that totally feels like I am. I fold them and stick them in my apron with my other tips, and try to go about my day as if I didn’t just call Logan Jackson by his first name and he didn’t give me two hundred dollars. 

Logan Jackson says goodbye to me as he leaves and I call out my usual “See you next time,” as if he’s going to come back to our little restaurant. I can’t help it though, it’s a habit.  

   

 

Chapter 4

 

 

 

Logan Jackson comes for an in-between-the-rush meal again the next day and Claire and I both almost faint again.

“I can’t,” Claire says, shaking her head. “You did so well yesterday.”

“But he’s so beautiful, Claire, I was a nervous wreck and he makes me feel like a slob!”

She gasps. “When did he say that?”

“He didn’t, I said he makes me feel like that.”

“Why? Did he give you a dirty look or something?”

“No. He’s just… He’s so gorgeous and I’m just… Me.”

“Oh my goodness, Isla, shut up, you’re so pretty. And you pull off that messy bun like you’re hot shit; I’m so jealous.”

“What? But I’m jealous of your messy bun,” I say.

She pauses and then smiles. “Really?” 

I just nod.

“Okay, you know what? We’re both hot enough to pull off a sexy messy bun, but you don’t even wear makeup and you’re still beautiful. You know what I would look like without contouring?”

“Gorgeous,” I say to her.

She shakes her head. “A girl with no makeup.”

I tilt my head to the side. “A gorgeous girl with no makeup.”

“Fine,” she says with a huff. “I guess we’re both pretty. What do you think of that, Isla Reid?”

“I think that’s a fair observation, Claire Kishimoto.”

She smiles. “Okay. But you’re still serving Logan Jackson.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

I clench and unclench my fists as I make my way to the front to greet him and he smiles at me.

“Hey Isla,” he says when I’m closer.

“Hi.” I can’t say his name again, it’s just weird. I can’t say ‘Hi, Logan,’ because it just slipped out the last time I did it, and like I said, we’re not friends, and he’s famous, and he’s Logan Jackson to me, and so I can’t just call him Logan to his face. I also can’t call him Logan Jackson, because who actually refers to someone by their first and last name to that person? No one. Not me. That’s why I just go with “hi” and nothing else. I bring him to the same table as the day before and this time he orders a beer to go with his water.

“Wow, that’s some good head, Isla,” he says as I set his glass on the table.

I notice myself cringing, but I’m not sure if he’s trying to be funny or if he’s serious. If he’s trying to be funny, then he’s not funny, and I hate him a little bit, but if he’s serious, then I’m honoured, because yes, I gave that beer beautiful fucking head. I recover quickly enough I think, and give him a weak smile and leave him to look at the menu. And by leave, I of course mean run away.

“Um, Isla?” he asks after a few minutes. I look up at him from the podium at the front with the computer and register at it, and give him a smile. He beckons me closer with his fingers so I walk towards him. “I’m a little embarrassed.”

“About what?” I ask.

“I realized after you left how that must have sounded when I complimented your beer pouring skills. I was honestly confused by your reaction, because you didn’t seem thrilled, and I always thought it was hard to pour a good beer from the tap, especially creamy beer, and I thought it would be nice to let you know, and then I realized how it probably sounded in your head and I promise that’s not what I was doing.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling the corner of my lips curl. “Well thank you. I take pride in my beer pouring skills. Especially the creamy beers.”

“I’m not a creep, I promise,” he adds.

“Okay.  I believe you. Um, are you ready to order?”

“Yes.”

When I take his food to him a bit later, I work up the courage to ask him a question. “How come you’re eating here?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Um, well, the movie people provide food for you for free.”

“Yeah, but I really missed this pizza. It’s seriously the best pizza I’ve ever had. I’ve asked some of the other people to join me but they’re not bothered. I think they all sort of hate me.”

“Hate you?” I ask, surprised. “Why would they hate you?”

“I dunno,” he says with a shrug. “I think a lot of people think I’m annoying.”

“Really?”

“It’s probably just my anxiety talking, but yeah.”

Logan Jackson has anxiety and thinks that people think he’s annoying? But he’s always so confident and funny. Also he’s famous. Is his confidence just an act? I feel like I need to say something to him that doesn’t make him feel any more self conscious than he apparently already feels. No one likes to hear that the person they’re spilling their feelings to thinks that their feelings aren’t valid.

“Well I don’t think you’re annoying,” I try, giving him a smile.

He chuckles a little. “Good to know.”

When he’s done his meal, he tips me $200 again, and this time I feel bad and give half of it to Claire. She squeals and hugs me, trying hard not to jump up and down, but obviously, she fails. We all walk out together when we close up, but my car is parked way farther up the road than everyone else’s and around a corner, so I venture into the dimly lit downtown on my own. 

I’m just coming up to my car when I notice a man with his hood up, walking towards me. Then he starts to jog and I pull back, not sure what he’s doing. Not sure what I’m going to do. The way he’s jogging doesn’t seem threatening, but I’m still nervous. I look around at the empty road and street lights illuminating the few unoccupied vehicles, and unlock my car. I start to run towards it, hoping I’ll make it inside before he reaches me. But then he calls out my name. Do I know him?

“Who is that?” I ask, squinting.

“It’s Logan!”

“Logan who? I don’t know a Logan.” I pull on my door handle but then he’s close enough for me to recognize him. “Oh Logan,” I say, a little embarrassed.

“Yeah. Logan.” He stops in front of me and smiles. And I melt into a puddle and practically slide under the car.

“Um, what’s up?” I manage to ask.

“I was just taking a walk. It’s really pretty out here at night

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: Nat Cuddington
Cover: Laura Kulson
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 24.05.2022
ISBN: 978-3-7554-1453-7

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