then Coco laughed at herself as she looked at him across the table. “I guess I do too. I'm sorry. You didn't come here to listen to my sad stories about running away from a famous family in Hollywood to live in a shack at the beach. It's a pretty easy life.”
“Your stories don't sound so sad to me,” he said honestly “except for your Australian friend. That's sad for him, and for you. But you're young, you've got years and years and years ahead of you, to figure out what you want to do, and find the right person. And it sounds like you have a good time and a good life in the meantime. That's pretty enviable, if you ask me. I think you're doing better than you know. And they don't have to approve of what you do. My parents still worry about me. They think I missed the boat on marriage and kids, and they may be right. They love Chloe, but they'd love to see me married, with four kids, and back in England with all of them, where they think I belong. That's their assessment, not mine. This Hollywood thing comes at a high price. Sometimes you wind up giving up the wrong things. I've figured that much out myself.”
“It's not too late,” Coco reassured him. “You could still wind up married with ten kids, and probably will. There's no one to set the rules about when that has to happen.”
“It's a lot more complicated when you're famous,” he said thoughtfully. “The good ones are wary and figure you must be some kind of freak, or a player at best. And the ones that come like moths to a flame are the weirdos and groupies and some really bad people, like the one I'm running away from. Once you're famous, you stand out like a beacon in the darkness to them. And those are the ones that make me run like hell. Although this time, I didn't see this one coming. She hid her game pretty well at first, I thought she was a genuinely nice girl, and I thought maybe it would be easier because she's famous too. Big, big mistake. She turned out to be everything I don't want.”
“So you'll try again,” Coco said, smiling at him, and then got up to clear the table. She offered him some ice cream, and when he accepted with delight, she handed him a Dove bar from the freezer. She had bought half a dozen flavors for him that afternoon, since she didn't know what he liked. They were in effect strangers, and yet they were sharing their deepest secrets, regrets, and fears with each other, and they both felt comfortable about it.
“I get tired of trying again sometimes,” he admitted as the ice cream dribbled down his chin, and he looked like a kid himself.
“I felt that way when people were trying to set me up. That's why I stopped for a while. I figured if it's going to happen, it'll just happen by itself. And if it doesn't, I'm fine the way I am.” He laughed at that.
“Miss Barrington,” he said formally, “I can assure you that, at twenty-eight, it's not over, and you're not going to wind up alone. It may take you a while to find the one you want. But any man would be fortunate to have you. And I promise you, the right one will come along. Just give it time.”
She smiled at him then, “I am going to make you the same promise, Mr. Baxter. The right one will come along. I promise. Just give it time,” she repeated his own words back to him. “You're a terrific guy, and if you stay away from the psychos, a nice woman will find you. And that's a promise.” She stuck her graceful hand across the table, and he shook it. They both felt better for having talked to each other, and winding up in Jane's house at that time had turned out to be a blessing for them both. They each felt as though they had a new friend.
“What happens in this town on a Saturday night?” Leslie asked her with interest, and she laughed.
“Not much. People go out for dinner, and by ten o'clock everyone is off the streets. This is a small town, not like New York or L.A.”
“At your age, you should be out having fun on a Saturday night, not sitting around talking to an