Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)(22)

She looks concerned. I said too much. I want to bare my soul to a girl I’ve liked for years. But for her, she’s having an oddly serious conversation with a stranger she’s just met.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to get too deep. I understand how lucky I am.” I throw her my devil-may-care smile, trying to lighten the mood.

The door jingles as it opens. I adjust my hood. She turns to the new customers, and her expression brightens.

“Morning, Joe,” Olivia says with a broad smile that causes my breath to catch. She hops up from her chair and makes her way back behind the counter. “What are you in the mood for today?”

“One large coffee, and do you have any blueberry muffins?”

“We always have blueberry muffins for you.”

Olivia’s warm reply does something to my heart. The man is homeless. I saw him on my run over here earlier, huddled in the corner of a stoop with his dog. But Olivia treats him as a valued customer. People like her are rare, I know firsthand. But they make all the difference.

She pours a large, steaming cup of coffee and shoots me a look from under her lashes. She seems nervous to find me watching.

Joe grins. “Always flattering this old man.”

He pats his pockets, as if looking for money.

Olivia leans over the counter, staying his hand. “Joe,” she admonishes, “it’s on the house.”

The man puffs up with pride. “I can pay today, thanks to this guy.” He points at me.

I sit up straighter.

Olivia shoots me a curious glance.

“Handed me a nice, crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. Complimented Lady and gave me this jacket.” He gestures to the designer leisure-wear jacket I was given for free. It costs more than most people make in a month, and it makes me grin to see it on Joe.

“It made my day.”

When I passed him on the street, he asked for change with polite cheer, a sweet lab mix sitting by his side. Though the man wore an incongruous bow tie, his clothes were threadbare. But his dog was clean, with a makeshift coat draped over her. When you’re homeless, rain and cold are your nemeses. June in San Francisco is surprisingly cool, with a fierce wind. He needed my coat more than I did. I try to donate to as many charities as I can, usually focusing on at-risk youth and the homeless. I might not be able to save all those kids I met years ago in foster homes and the streets, but I can do some small part to help now. But even with my huge movie paychecks, it never seems to be enough.

The smile Olivia bestows on me is a gift.

I tip my head to Joe in greeting. Olivia adds two large muffins bursting with blueberries in a carrier bag.

“I also threw in some treats for Lady and some water,” she says as she hands the bag to the homeless man. “We missed you last week. We worry when you don’t come in for a while.”

“Lady thanks you, and so do I.” The man gives a courtly bow before leaving the shop, the door jingling behind him.

“That was nice of you,” Olivia comments as she wanders back toward the table. “Joe and Lady have been fixtures on this block for as long as I can remember. We try to watch out for him, and he watches out for us. I wish I could help him more. I’ve tried over the years to get him into shelters, but he says he prefers the streets, and I think he fears they’ll separate him from his dog. She’s his only family now.”

Olivia stands next to her recently vacated seat, as if she can’t decide whether to sit back down with me.

I want nothing more than to drink coffee all morning, watching her kind, expressive face as she tells me all the things I already know about her, and all the things left to learn. But the light is glowing in the windows. It’s only a matter of minutes before customers fill the shop.

Besides, there’s the whole stalker thing—and me not wanting to be more of one than I already am. It’s ironic how the tables have turned since I’m usually the one being stalked.

I stand, pulling a pair of shades out of my pocket.

“Your disguise?”

I flash my smile that breaks hearts. I don’t want her to remember me as the star who complained about being famous. I’d rather leave her thinking I’m a cocky asshole than some whiny, overprivileged celebrity.

“I’m a ninja. A ghost. I could be a spy.”

“You’re a real badass, superstar,” she says dryly.

“Thanks for the coffee and the, um, conversation.” I shift my weight from one leg to the other. Real smooth, James.

“So, this is goodbye.” It’s neither a question nor a statement; it just is. She offers her hand.

I wrap my large one around hers, engulfing her warm fingers. I don’t shake her hand. Instead, I just hold it, reveling in her soft skin and the electricity that flows between us. I lightly brush the inside of her palm with my fingers and take in the heat of her, the hitch of her breath.

It makes it that much harder to walk away, but I need to do it. It’s the right thing. This is goodbye.

Laughter sounds outside the café, breaking the connection between us.

I lean into her and tell myself I’m doing this for her, for this unexpectedly shy girl to understand beyond any doubt that she’s desirable. Remington may have rejected her, but Chase James is going to give her the kiss she deserves. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

But the truth is, it’s selfish. I’ve dreamed about this moment for years of sleepless nights. I want her lips on mine more than my last breath. She’s my best friend. My everything.