Eversea A Love Story

played.
    “Yeah. Wait ’til you see the inside. Completely different.” I followed him up the stairs and waited while he unlocked the door.
    He stood aside to let me into the cool interior, a relief from the hot day.
    “Wow!” It was like walking into a photographer’s lightbox with a postcard of the ocean at one end. Squinting against the glare, my eyes were immediately drawn to the view outside the glass windows and doors that perfectly framed the bright blue sea beyond. Inside was an exercise in Zen minimalism gone awry. It was all was bright white, sparse and modern with light from outside bouncing off every available surface. Although not my style, it was arresting and beautiful in it’s own way. I liked things more comfy and distressed so I could imagine a whole history by just looking at them.
    “You can see why I woke up at the crack of dawn, despite being on Pacific Time, right?”
    I nodded. The sun rose on this side of the island. It must have been bright.
    “I hope you have some blinds in your room.”
    “I do, but I stupidly didn’t close them last night. You get sunsets, not sunrises in L.A.—it didn’t occur to me. But it was pretty awesome to wake up to the sunrise and the beach and go running.”
    “It’s low tide in the mornings this week so you must have had some good hard packed sand to run on. Awesome.” I made a mental note to pick him up a tide chart next time I was out.
    “You run?”
    “A couple of times a week. I do some kayaking and paddleboarding in the marshes too, that’s pretty big down here.”
    “Never tried it.” Jack made his way over to the sleek modern kitchen with its stainless steel and miles of white marble surfaces.
    “You should. When in Rome.” I turned back to the living area and took in the white tiled floor and low slung couches.
    “You come running with me one morning, and I’ll go kayaking with you. You can give me an eco tourism lesson on sea turtles.”
    His suggestion surprised me. I didn’t imagine him choosing to spend more time with me than was necessary. I turned to look at him as he unpacked the grocery bags. There was nothing behind the tone of that suggestion at all. It was so bland and innocuous, like just one of those things people say. Maybe it was his version of the Hollywood classic “let’s do lunch”.
    “Sure.” What else did one say? Ask me again when you’re serious?
    “So you’re working tonight again?” he asked, unpacking the groceries. He held up the salmon. “I think I accidentally got some of your stuff.”
    “No, that’s for you. It’s easy, just salt and pepper and bake at three-fifty for seventeen minutes. Simple, but delicious. And yeah, I start at five, so I need to get home and get showered.”
    I was starting to get uncomfortable again. Being in Jack’s space just did weird things to me.
    “Easy for you to say. You lost me at salt.” He smiled at my raised eyebrows. “I’m kidding.” He paused a moment looking at me. “You want a quick tour before you go?”
    “Uh. Sure.”
    He came around the counter, and I followed as he pointed out the various rooms and headed for the staircase.
    “You know Devon Brown and Monica Black?” he asked. Did I know them? They were only a Hollywood power couple who’d been together since I was a kid. I nodded. I’d heard a rumor they were buying a place here, but thought nothing ever came of it.
    “This is theirs. Their production company owns a piece of the Erath franchise, so I got to know them pretty well. Devon’s a good guy and a good friend, he called me up after the Audrey stuff broke and offered me a place to get away. Thank God.”
    I nodded again, like we were just talking about regular people and he was a regular guy.
    It was like walking around in a magazine spread, nothing out of place and not a knick knack or personal picture to be found. But it was beautifully built, I could see that.
    “Why didn’t you go home? Like to wherever your family is?” As I asked, I realized I knew absolutely nothing about where Jack was from. I wished I had Jazz’s fan-based insight, so I wouldn’t put my foot in my mouth or ask the wrong thing.
    “Well, I don’t have family here really. It was just my mother and me, anyway. I grew up in the UK until I was nine. Then moved to New York until I was done with school and moved out to L.A. to try my hand at movies. My mother moved back to England. She would kill me if I brought a trail of paparazzi to her