Julia was taken aback by the thought of him watching her nightly insomnia ritual. "I'm good at cheating," she said, growing defensive. "Cheating is what I do."
He grinned. "You should write a book."
"Maybe I'll do that," she said and smiled despite her best efforts otherwise. She thought that might put an end to the conversation, but instead he crossed his arms and asked softly, "Are you okay, Julia? You had me scared for a minute there."
Suddenly, Julia wasn't sitting on her bed playing solitaire;
she was standing on a busy street, feeling the rain in the wind as Lance Collins stood behind her; she was in a taxi, rolling down the window, offering him a ride. Seeds planted that day at Stella's were growing wild, out of control, and far beyond her normal borders. She stared back down at the cards, searching for her next move. But instead of finding a way to change the cards to suit her situation, Julia found herself saying, "If I can't stop Richard Stone, I'll lose everything." It was something that until then, she hadn't even admitted to herself.
"No you won't," Lance said simply. "But we'll stop it anyway." As he turned to leave, he looked back at her and said, "You should try milk and honey."
"Excuse me?"
"To help you sleep." He stepped closer. "My mom's an insomniac, too, but when she's up, she doesn't like to be alone, so I'd keep her company. I was the only kid in the fourth grade who operated on less than three hours of sleep a night. But I was also the only ten-year-old who knew all the Shakespearean soliloquies, so it was probably a pretty fair trade. Plus"—he cocked his head—"I could build stuff. Anyway, she always drank milk and honey. It helped."
As she watched Lance, she realized that part of him was still that little boy, acting his way through the night to entertain his tired mother.
"You should call her," Julia said finally. "If she's like me, she's up. You should let her know what's going on."
He nodded, then slipped his hand under his T-shirt to
scratch his chest. "I'll go do that," he said. Then he reached down and massaged the base of Julia's neck with one hand while he leaned over her, studying her cards. It felt too darn wonderful to make him stop. "You're under too much stress," he said and headed for the door. At the threshold, he stopped and turned toward her. "I'll bring you some warm milk, if you want."
"Whole milk?" she questioned.
"What other kind is there?"
Chapter Seventeen
WAY #90: Don't hide from your past.
Embrace your personal history. It has made you what you are. P —from 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire
ey," Caroline said early the next morning when she called Julia on her cell phone. "Why don't you guys come over?"
"It's Ro-Ro, isn't it?" Julia asked. "You finally snapped, and now you need my brains and Lance's muscles to help you dispose of the body."
"Very funny," Caroline quipped. "No, actually, I. . . why don't you come over?"
"Caroline, there are reporters staking out my property. I can't exactly go cruising around the countryside with a hot man."
"So you admit he's hot?" Caroline exclaimed.
"No. I mean hot as in stolen, as in I'm not supposed to have him. One more picture of us together and my career is over, or have you forgotten?"
"I thought you'd say that, so I called Nina," Caroline stated. "She's got a plan."
***
Lance looked out the back window at Nina's VW and said, "You've got to be kidding me." Then he looked at Nina in her tightly belted trench coat, floppy hat, and dark glasses, and realized just how serious she probably was.
"It won't be for long," Nina said. "We can let you out as soon as we ditch them."
"Ditch them?" Lance exclaimed. "These are professional paparazzi! They're not exactly easy to ditch."
"My father was a used-car dealer in Oklahoma," Nina said, ripping off her Jackie O shades as if her virtue had been questioned. "I've been driving since I was twelve years old. I assure you, I can ditch anyone."
"Nina," Julia said, looking at the tiny trunk that her best friend had just suggested Lance crawl into. "Don't all interior decorators own vans?"