“See you,” I managed to breathe out.

I walked him to the gray steel door in the kitchen and watched him intently as he made it to the opposing door across the alleyway, completely unnoticed. Ryan paused in the open doorway and smiled at me one last time before disappearing into the bakery.

Chapter 3 - Encounters

“Did I miss something?” Marie asked, her eyes looked me up and down like I had the word ‘guilty’ written all over my body.

“What do you mean?” I tried to sound oblivious to her accusation. I was not going to volunteer anything – I promised him.

She tilted her head over towards the window where two photographers stood on guard outside. I wanted so badly to run upstairs and dump a few buckets of water out of my second story window to shoo them away.

“I have no idea. Maybe some of the famous wandered off the reservation,” I replied flatly. “Did you cut up any limes yet?” I was searching for a new topic while keeping my fluttering heart in check; there was no way I was going to discuss the past few hours.

“Yeah, but we’re almost out,” she grumbled.

Eventually the paparazzi disappeared, obviously disappointed that they were not going to get the million dollar shot of Ryan Christensen in my pub. The rest of the night my mind lingered over the memories of the day. Ryan had been so charming, so kind, and funny. I felt such remorse for saying out loud that he was full of himself. I could not have been more wrong about a person.

His speckled blue eyes were so mesmerizing when he looked at me while kissing my hand. How strange I felt from this chance meeting. I allowed myself a brief smile before forcing my mind back on running my pub. I knew I’d never see him again; we came from two different worlds that weren’t meant to exist together.

The next day I had some errands to run; I had put off grocery shopping long enough. I also had bands booked for Friday and Saturday nights and that definitely meant that we would have much bigger crowds than normal. I completed my personal food shopping and then packed my cart with fresh lemons, limes, and oranges for the bar before heading to the checkout.

I picked the lane with the fewest people standing in line, thinking that would get me out of the store quicker. How foolish of me to assume that would be the case. The elderly lady in front of me began arguing with the cashier, and you know things are only going to get worse when the cashier calls someone for a price check. Just my luck.

I let my eyes glance over the front covers of the magazines that filled the end racks, trying to kill time. Most of the covers had delicious pictures of baked items surrounded by words like ‘low fat’ and ‘diet’ or photos of Hollywood actresses airbrushed to perfection. The absurdity of it all made me chuckle.

I studied the pictures of the Hollywood superstars that filled the front covers of the rest of the magazines until my eyes focused on a familiar face with piercing blue eyes. There he was – Ryan Christensen – a side note or feature on the cover of every gossip magazine on the rack.

I glanced over some of the titles around his pictures:

Seaside Star: Ryan - The Whole Truth Ryan Christensen - Hottest Actor on the planet!

SEASIDE’S Ryan Christensen and his Messy Love Triangle As much as I despised those rag magazines, morbid curiosity got the better of me. I grabbed the first one with ‘The Whole Truth’ advertised and thumbed through it until I came across Ryan’s featured article. The pages were filled with glossy pictures of him trying to look inconspicuous in some club, pictures from the movie set, and photos of him posing.

There was no ‘truth’ as the headline promised. All the words that surrounded his pictures were nothing more than speculated hints of scandal and allegations of his indiscretions.

As I scanned over the print, it appeared that I knew more ‘truth’ and facts about this man than this pathetic magazine did. During our time together Ryan had revealed a lot about himself – indirectly just through my observations – and directly through his stories.

I noticed Ryan rubbed his forehead a lot when he was stressed, how he cracked his knuckles out of habit, and how he chewed on the inside of his lip when he would ponder something.

My mind drifted over the four amazing hours we spent together yesterday. Those memories of Ryan were different from the visions plastered in the magazine. He was nice, down-to-earth, just like a regular guy.

For as kind and friendly as he was, I noticed other character traits that most people probably didn’t see. Many people deem actors to be outspoken and gregarious, but Ryan was anything but that. He was shy but very playful, lousy at flirting, and a bit of an introvert… just like me.

But through his career decision, some good luck, and perhaps some incredible timing, Ryan’s status was raised from normal guy to almost God-like overnight. Any chance he had at being a normal person was now destroyed by fame. That realization made me sad. I pitied him.

My lips pursed together as I read the caption under one of the pictures: “Ryan and Suzanne – making out on and off set.” The words cast visions into my mind of him kissing every girl that presented an opportunity. He was desired by so many that he could have his pick.

My internal monologue started again. He probably has a different girl in his bed every night just like my ex-fiancé, Thomas. The thought completely disgusted me. I shut the magazine and slapped it back on the rack.

By Friday night, I had replaced thoughts of Ryan Christensen with about thirty different mixed drink recipes. I was happy to see a decent sized crowd enjoying the guitar player I hired. He was engaging the crowd with a good mix of popular tunes, and I couldn’t stop myself from dancing behind the bar. I’ll have to book him again, I thought to myself as I mixed two jack and cokes for a customer.

I caught sight of Pete, my weekend bouncer and long-time friend, as I scanned the crowd. He was six foot three, built like a linebacker with a real thick neck and a close-shaved goatee, and was partially blond but mostly bald. He wasn’t hard to miss. I wondered what was wrong to make him leave his post at the front door. I noticed he was escorting a young man with short brown hair and ripped jeans over to where I stood. The boy looked like he was an older teenager, but definitely not old enough to be in a bar.

“Taryn,” Pete yelled over the music. “This kid says he has a delivery for you.”

“Are you Taryn Mitchell?” the boy asked.

“Yes – that’s me.”

“I have a message for you,” he said loudly as he handed a white envelope to me.