The Journalist and Her Actor

Chapter 22

Moments are fleeting. The more painful ones seem to last for a lifetime. While the more precious ones are gone in a flash, in a breath, in a single look, vanishing like an ember cracking over a fire. 

I wasn't sure what moment I had just experienced. My near kiss with Luke seemed to be both. A fleeting near perfect thing that was just a flash of a moment, bright and beautiful and then gone. But my reaction to it, stumbling backwards like the idea repulsed me was a whole other type of moment. One that threatened to burn into my brain, being replayed in the hours before dawn over and over for all eternity. Not to mention the paparazzo on the shore that saw the whole thing, adding fire to the terrible type of forever moment. 

In short, it was a good and bad moment. Jumbled together into a ball of feeling that left me unsure of how to label it. 

Luke looked from the shore, back to me, raking fingers through his wet hair, frustration, and guilt warring across his face. "I'm sorry. They're here for me." His eyes snapped back to the shore, trying to decide what to do about the paparazzo with the camera.

"They do that a lot, don't they." 

He nodded, eyes still on the figure. "A constant problem. Makes doing anything normal a challenge." He looked like he wanted to sink into the water and hide. And I was suddenly struck with a new piece of information about him. Something that was so obvious that I almost laughed at how oblivious I was.

"You're shy!" I blurted in surprise. Luke blinked, looking back at me as if coming out of a trance, his fingers taking up a nervous tick and adjusting his soaked white shirt at the collar. 

It all began to click. Luke didn't like the attention from the paparazzi, he didn't like large group settings. He was quiet around new people unless forced to interact. He enjoyed his space. His family had been in the spotlight since he was born, and Luke had been thrown into the chaos ever since. 

He didn't deny my realization, which only proved my point. My mind continued to connect the pieces.

When Luke's brother Andrew found the love of his life in Delle, who turned out to be an undercover detective on the show he was on, Luke became paranoid of new people. Not easy to trust because life had proven that anyone who got close had an ulterior motive. 

Just like me... 

It was no wonder he had hated me so much at the beginning. He had been right, and now he was testing the waters— no pun intended— when he should have been listening to his own instincts, running away, screaming instead. 

And now we were trapped in the ocean, being stared at by some random person with a camera, who would no doubt post any picture they took and invent stories to go along with it. 

I could already imagine the headlines. 

"Co-Stars Get Cuddly." "Hotness in Hawaii." "Smooches in the Sea..." 

Okay, that last one needed work, but the titles didn't matter. The longer I was with Luke, the more famous I would become, and the harder it would be for Carter, and the harder it would be if Luke ever found out what my side job was.

What a mess... 

"What kind of range do you think that camera has?" I asked, an idea forming. "Can the person see who we are? Or is there room for a prank?"

Luke laughed. "Prank? No. Even if the picture is blurry that won't stop them from making stuff up."

"Then let's help decide what story they write," I said, ducking further into the water and smiling mischievously. 

A curious, small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "What crazy idea are you going to drag me into, Bermuda?"

I wiggled my eyebrows at him, my smile widening. "It's a game called, 'Go get help.'"