CHAPTER 112
I have officially become a homeowner. Well… not just me. A big lug of man meat named Cole Masten… oh, you’ve heard of him? Yeah, I think he did a Doublemint gum ad or something. Anyway, Cole Masten and I now own a four-bedroom home over in Newberry. It’s on twenty acres with a barn, paddocks and enough room for Cocky to hunt peas on till his legs fall off. It’s also two hours from LA, which Cole likes to gripe about but I’m getting him a helicopter for his birthday, so shhh he can find something else to complain about. I’m also getting us lessons, so hopefully, one of us will be able to use the thing. I have no doubt that I will master it first, despite Cole being intimidatingly talented at everything he attempts. Okay, I’ll confess. I already know how to fly it. Justin’s been sneaking me over to Van Nuys when Cole’s been working. But he’s sworn to keep the secret, and I’m sure as sugar not going to say anything so there. Instead, I will look like a natural and will finally beat my future husband at something.
Oh, right. We’re getting married. That’s another secret. Not the engagement—that was plastered on every news channel in town before Cole even got off his knee. But the wedding date and location is still a secret. It’s in six weeks, at the ranch in Montana. I swear, Heaven is hidden at that ranch. I understand why Cole bought it. It’s perfection, wrapped in dewy sunrises and the huff of horses and the smell of wildflowers. Heaven. Until winter strikes, then it’s brutal. Miserable, freezing… I kissed goodbye to any thoughts of living there full-time that first December visit. Turns out that I become a bit of a tenderfoot when temperatures drop below freezing. But it doesn’t seem to bother Mama. She claimed one of the cabins and settled in, happy as could be. She wanted a job so Cole put her in charge of the grounds. She rides a four-wheeler around and makes sure that the plantings are as they should be, and spends the warmer months on her knees, in the dirt, planting. I think—now I may be wrong—but I think that she and Robert, one of the workers there, have a flirtation kicking. Mama and flirtation. Two things I never thought I’d see in the same sentence. Cole and I are laying bets on their behavior at the wedding. I’ll win of course. Nobody knows that woman better than me.
So Mama’s happy in Montana and we’ve settled in the Newberry house full-time. The property was a teensy bit out of my original price range but since the rest of my Departure From Quincy plan went to hell, so did my budget. And apparently I’m going to be rich the rest of my life on The Fortune Bottle money so I can afford to splurge a little. Did you know that Cole was surprised when he gave me half the movie and I accepted? Surprised. Shocked is actually a better descriptor. He kind of cringed a little when he delivered the news, his posture stiff, leaning away from me, as if he expected me to hit him. I accepted the gift, of course. Very graciously, I might add. Who wouldn’t? Granted… I didn’t realize exactly how much half of a movie was worth. Now that I know, it was a little greedy, me just accepting the gift without at least a half-hearted attempt to refuse the kindness. But the man was right; our chemistry is what made the movie a success. And it has been successful. A hundred million dollar opening weekend. Five hundred million so far worldwide. I don’t know exactly what that means to the bottom line but it made Cole whoop and holler and spin me around until I got dizzy and forced him to take me to bed.
Before Cole, I had never been half of a whole, a pair of two joined so closely that it was hard to see where one personality ended and the other began. With Scott, I was always just there, occasionally stuck to his side, trying to chime into his conversations, waiting for the wedding that would put everything in its proper place. Now, I am half of us, Cole and I so in tune, so connected, that I don’t know how I ever functioned alone.
America has also merged us, our two names too cumbersome so we are simply Sole. They call us Solemates, and I roll my eyes whenever it is said but secretly, I love it.
They say that love is finding your soul’s match in another. I found my match. I found him, let him wrestle me to the ground, and then turned around and made him mine. I’m so glad that I didn’t scare him off, I’m so glad that he didn’t stop chasing. I’m so glad that Bobbie Jo screwed Scott and I found out about it. I’m so glad that Hollywood and dirt roads met in the uniqueness of Quincy. And I’m so glad that I was there, in that faded one-piece, when that damaged, beautiful man landed in our town.
EPILOGUE
Cole looked over at her, her long legs stretched into the floorboard of his Maserati, her short red shorts ones that he couldn’t wait to rip off. Before them, in all of its grandeur, Walmart, the parking lot full, busy Californians rushing forward with personalized shopping bags, cell phones to their ears, importance thick in the smog of the city.
“You ready for this?” Cole asked, a grin on his face.
She reached up, pulling with both hands on the edges of her brown paper bag, her hands adjusting until her eyes were on his, gleaming out from a face with a teardrop tattoo, a blood-red pout, and a nose ring. “Do you even have to ask?”
Cole laughed, tugging down on his own bag, Summer working on it all morning, his dramatic mustache one that twisted and curled, bushy eyebrows on top that would cause his stylist to fall over dead.
“Can someone please, for the love of God, remind me again why we are doing this?” they turned at the muffled voice, twin faces staring at them from the backseat. There had been long deliberation last night, their brains fueled by Summer’s fruit pizza and margaritas, over Ben and Justin’s bag people identities. Cole turned to the shorter head of the two, Justin’s Elvis face slumping back in his seat while Ben, who had wanted, for once in his flamboyant life, to be a girl, clapped his hands excitedly. He was supposed to be Marilyn Monroe, had spent over four hours on a brown paper masterpiece that would have a life of less than twenty minutes.