FIC SUMMARY: A fresh start. A chance encounter. An unexpected friendship. When a grieving woman from Ohio crashes into actor Craig Parker on a California beach path, neither realizes the collision will change both of their lives forever.
Fic summary: A fresh start. A chance encounter. An unexpected friendship. When a grieving woman from Ohio crashes into actor Craig Parker on a California beach path, neither realizes the collision will change both of their lives forever.
Chapter summary: Crimson came to California looking for a fresh start, not new friends. After a day of sunshine, ocean views, and Hawaiian music, a nighttime bicycle accident brings her face-to-face with actor Craig Parker. Between apologies, laughter, and an unexpected job offer, both discover that chance encounters can sometimes feel a lot like fate.
Chapter warnings: Crimson begins this story in a difficult emotional place. This chapter contains themes of grief, loneliness, references to a deceased loved one, alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual pleasure and language, and a minor bicycle accident. Despite these themes, the chapter is largely hopeful and marks the beginning of a new chapter in her life.
Chapter 1: A Beautiful Disaster
Crimson hated flying. It wasn't the plane itself. It was the helplessness. The surrender. The knowledge that thirty thousand feet below her was a very long way down, yet there she sat, strapped into an aisle seat on a flight bound for California—the farthest she could get from Ohio without leaving the country altogether.
A new year. A new life. At least that was what she kept telling herself.
Ohio had become a graveyard. The people she loved were all gone. All her family had passed away, and friends disappeared, some for the better. Everyone eventually left. Everyone except him, her best friend in the entire world, and seven years ago...even he died.
January. She hated January. The month carried his memory like a curse. The month winter bit the hardest. The month she became completely alone. No husband or boyfriend. No children. No best friend. No one to notice if she vanished.
So she did. With a small inheritance, one suitcase, and a middle finger aimed squarely at her old life, she disappeared.
The flight itself was exactly the nightmare she'd expected. Turbulence rattled the cabin every twenty minutes. A crying baby three rows back had lungs powerful enough to summon the dead. Someone nearby smelled like they considered deodorant a government conspiracy.
Thankfully, Crimson had come prepared with earbuds, the Hobbit novel, and a Rum and diet Coke served right to her seat, which fortunately, the one beside her was empty.
Long red hair spilled over her shoulders as she leaned her head against the seat and stared at the ceiling, listening to David Bowie's Sorrow drift through her earbuds. Most people her age listened to whatever was popular, and she did too, but she preferred ghosts more, like old songs, old movies, and old books. Things from better times. Things that couldn't leave her.
Her emerald eyes drifted shut as Bowie sang, and for a few minutes she managed to forget where she was, until the plane shifted.
Her stomach dropped, then the captain's voice crackled overhead. "We've begun our descent into Los Angeles."
Wonderful.
The city itself looked endless as the plane lowered through the clouds. Lights stretched forever. Roads twisted in every direction. Buildings packed together like someone had emptied a giant box of Legos onto the coastline.
Crimson grimaced. Absolutely not. She wasn't living in Los Angeles. Not a chance. Somewhere nearby, maybe. Near the ocean. Near a beach. Someplace quieter. Someplace she could breathe, but first she needed a hotel, new clothes, then a job, then a plan. Fifty thousand dollars sounded like a lot until California got involved.
As for transportation...A taxi or bike would do. At least until she figured out where the hell she was going.
A few hours later she found herself in a modest hotel room somewhere outside the chaos of downtown. Nothing fancy. A king-sized bed all for her to sleep in the middle of. A small television, and a mini fridge. A bathroom with a sizeable tub for soaking the stress away, and most importantly, four walls and a lock. Good enough, and definitely expensive enough.
The California air smelled different through the cracked window. The salt, and the ocean felt like possibility, or maybe that was just exhaustion talking.
Crimson kicked off her boots and collapsed onto the cloud-like mattress, then popped her earbuds back in because the room felt much too quiet, too empty, and as she knew it would be, so unfamiliar. For a moment she wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake, but then she laughed. A terrible mistake was staying where she didn't belong.
Of course, a song played that reminded her of that.
She wants to go home, but nobody's home. It's where she lies, broken inside.
She felt the burn of tears, but wasn't having it.
"Not today Avril!" she snapped, and yanked the buds out.
She then powered the television on and it flickered to life, then she flipped through cable channels until something familiar, but not depressing appeared.
The Lord of the Rings. Perfect!
A small smile touched her lips for the first time all day.
Elves. Wizards. Kings. Hobbits. Battles between good and evil. A world where loss meant something. A world where heroes actually won. Fantasy had always made more sense than reality because reality had taken everything from her. Fantasy at least offered hope.
As the film played, the glow of the television painted soft shadows across the room.
Crimson curled beneath the blankets and watched the Fellowship begin their journey. Outside, waves crashed somewhere beyond the darkness, and inside, exhaustion soon won.
Her eyes slowly drifted shut. For the first time in years, she wasn't looking backward. She was somewhere new, and though she didn't know it yet, California was about to change everything.
The next morning arrived bright and beautiful. For once, January didn't look like January.
Sunlight poured through the hotel curtains, turning the room golden. No more gray skies. No ice. No snow piled against windows, just blue sky and warmth. Welcome to California.
The realization made Crimson smile before she was fully awake, then came the nervousness. A new city. A new beginning. No safety net. No familiar faces. Just her.
She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring out the window feeling scared, excited, rested, and alive all at once. It was a strange combination.
A hot bubble bath seemed like the perfect way to start the day.
Soon steam filled the small bathroom while music echoed from her phone. No sad songs. Not today. Today called for something brighter.
"Cheri Cheri Lady" filled the room as she sank into the water. The warmth instantly eased the tension from her shoulders.
For the first time in years, she allowed herself to simply enjoy a moment with no memories, no grief, no guilt. Just music, hot water, and a waterproof friend made of rippled latex to substitute the intimacy she lacked.
Vibration muffled from below the sudsy water. With her head resting against the tub, she closed her eyes and whimpered as the hot pink cock breached her entrance.
As she fully took the flexible length, a small extension above the shaft teased her budding clit ever so perfectly, though it could never compare to the soft flesh of a man's circulating thumb as he fucked her stupid.
In and out, nice and steady. Rolling hips created soft waves. Her free hand caressed her breasts as she focused on reaching release, which wouldn't be long with the curled head of the toy grazing her special spot, hiding high and deep within her walls.
Her body began to tremble as the grand finale neared, causing her breathing to turn into sharp and heavy panting. Her hand began thrusting. Her hips rocked and bucked. Faster and faster, sending water spilling over the tub's ledge. Almost...almost there...just a little more. Closer. So close....
Her core began to tighten, then here it came. An explosive, body jerking, euphoria of pulses ripping tickling pleasure through her walls.
Eyes wide, her head shot up and mouth sprung open, releasing sounds that would surely be mistaken as pain or torture, but thankfully the music absorbed it, and then after a few twitches of her hips, her body stilled, and the debilitating pleasure was over...just like that.
With a fulfilled smile on her face, Crimson finally emerged from the bath, wrapped in a towel and feeling more refreshed than she had in months.
She then wiped the steamy mirror that reflected the same face, the same freckles scattered across pale skin, and the same emerald-green eyes, yet somehow she looked different. Maybe it was hope, or maybe it was just California sunlight. Either way, she liked it.
After dressing, she stuck with what felt comfortable. Something practical, simple, and familiar. Jeans. Boots. A tank top, and a light brown jacket that she could always slip off if she got too warm.
Her long red hair dried into loose waves around her shoulders while she applied just enough makeup to feel put together. Nothing fancy, just enough for a little kiss of color upon her pale skin.
A touch of pistachio perfume completed the routine. The scent instantly reminded her of fresh air and summer days. Perfect for an outing.
Breakfast was ignored as usual. Instead, she filled a disposable cup with ice water and headed downstairs where the California sunshine greeted her the second she stepped outside.
Job hunting could wait. Crimson had survived a cross-country flight, uprooted her entire life, and landed in California less than twenty-four hours ago. She deserved one day. One day to breathe. One day to exist without worrying about resumes, applications, and whether fifty thousand dollars would vanish faster than her sanity. The sun was shining, the ocean was calling, and that seemed reason enough.
An hour later she found herself standing outside Hermosa Cyclery where rows of bikes lined the storefront with beach cruisers, mountain bikes, and electric bikes. The last option immediately caught her attention.
She pointed. "That one please."
The employee grinned. "Good choice."
Twenty minutes later she was cruising down The Strand, jacket tied around her waist, and wind whipping through her red hair.
The Pacific Ocean stretched endlessly beside her, sparkling beneath the afternoon sun. Palm trees and Seagulls swayed lazily overhead as people jogged, cyclists and rollerbladers passed, and dogs trotted alongside owners carrying iced coffees.
Nobody looked stressed. Nobody looked miserable. Nobody seemed to be in a hurry, and it felt unreal, like she'd accidentally ridden into a movie.
Back in Ohio, January meant gray skies, dirty snow, and seasonal depression. Here? People were wearing shorts and flipflops. It was absurd, and she loved it.
A laugh escaped her as she coasted downhill toward Redondo Beach. For the first time in years, there wasn't a destination, responsibility, or expectation. Just movement, and freedom.
By the time she spotted signs for the Redondo Beach Slack Key Festival, her cheeks hurt from smiling.
Music drifted through the air. The scent of food vendors mixed with salty ocean breeze. Families wandered between booths, and children danced. Local artists displayed paintings and handmade jewelry, and the sound of Hawaiian guitars floated above it all.
Crimson parked and locked up the bike, then looked around.
"Okay," she whispered. "This was a happy accident."
Maybe California wasn't home yet, but for the first time in a very long time, it felt like it could become one.
The festival turned out to be exactly what Crimson needed. For hours she wandered from booth to booth, taking her time.
There were colorful paintings of ocean sunsets. Handcrafted jewelry made from sea glass. Photography of surfers frozen against impossible waves. Wood carvings. Pottery. Music. Life. Actual life, not the gray, hollow existence she'd left behind in Ohio.
By midafternoon she'd found herself seated near the stage with a fruity drink in hand. A Mai Tai that was strong enough to be fun, but sweet enough to hide it.
The gentle sounds of Hawaiian slack-key guitar floated through the air while ocean breezes carried the scent of saltwater and food vendors over the crowd.
She leaned back on the bench and smiled. Maybe moving here wasn't a mistake. Maybe.
As evening approached, the crowds slowly drifted toward the shoreline, and Crimson followed.
The brown sugar sand felt cool beneath her leather boots, which she quickly removed to let the soft, fine powder squish between her toes. It was like walking on down-feathered pillows.
The Pacific stretched endlessly before her, painted gold, orange, and pink by the setting sun, and she stood there for a long time, just watching, and thinking, and breathing.
When the last sliver of sunlight finally disappeared beneath the horizon, she checked her phone. Time to head back.
The thought dampened her mood instantly. She didn't like being out after dark in unfamiliar places, especially alone.
The ride north wasn't nearly as relaxing as the ride down had been. The Strand had transformed with more people, noise, and congestion.
Groups of friends staggered between bars. Cyclists darted through gaps that didn't exist. Music blasted from portable speakers, and people laughed and shouted over one another.
Crimson gripped the handlebars tighter. Just get back to the hotel, she told herself. Jut a few more miles, that's all, then a hot shower and bed. Seemed easy enough.
She had almost escaped the worst of Redondo Beach when it happened. A group of cyclists suddenly came flying up behind her, too fast. Way too fast.
"Move!"
"On your left!"
"Outta the way!"
The voices exploded around her as the riders swarmed past in a blur. One cut so close she felt the rush of air against her shoulder. Another crossed directly in front of her wheel.
Panic seized her. Her heart jumped into her throat, and without thinking she jerked the handlebars, and the e-bike swerved sharply across the path, directly into oncoming pedestrians.
Time slowed upon two men, walking side by side. One was carrying a large plastic cup that he had just taken a drink from, then both turned toward her, and froze.
The last thing she saw were their stunned expressions, then impact.
Everything literally went sideways. The bike struck, someone shouted, and the world flipped.
Sand. Sky. Path. Sand again, then darkness. Not unconsciousness, just confusion. For several seconds she had no idea which way was up.
A sharp sting burned across her elbow, and another across her knee, and also one from sheer humiliation.
Groaning, she pushed herself upright, spitting sand from her mouth.
Her bicycle lay tangled nearby, and several feet away, one man knelt beside another sprawled on the ground.
"Oh God. Oh God no," she whispered in horror.
Crimson scrambled to her feet and ran toward them. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry!"
The words tumbled out before she even reached them. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? I didn't mean—those guys—they came out of nowhere—"
The kneeling man glanced up, and she cringed, waiting to be screamed at, but he wasn't angry. Instead he was surprisingly calm, and just concerned for his friend.
"I'm fine," he said. "Let's check on Craig first."
"Man down," he groaned, then his eyes fluttered open, revealing a stunning blue like the ocean.
He blinked several times before focusing on her face, and for a moment he simply stared, then smiled weakly. "What a ridiculously gorgeous creature."
Crimson froze.
His gaze remained fixed on her eyes. "So green."
She blinked. "What?"
"Your eyes."
His accent curled softly around the words. Not American. Not British either. Something else. Something she couldn't place.
"Cat eyes."
The kneeling man sighed. "Craig."
"What?"
"You've just been hit by a bicycle."
"I'm greatly aware," he said, then rubbed the back of his head. "But my eyes work just fine."
Despite herself, Crimson let out a nervous laugh.
The other man finally helped Craig sit upright.
He appeared taller than she first realized. Broad shoulders. Athletic build.
He had short, dark hair, slightly wavy on top, and touched with silver around his ears. A short, and neatly groomed beard. Above his lips, a mustache...and he wore a dark blue, button-down shirt covered in white flowers or leaves that made his eye color pop...and it was also absolutely soaked with the beverage he had been holding.
Her eyes glanced at the mangled plastic cup laying nearby.
"Oh no," Crimson sighed, then covered her mouth. "Oh no, no, no. I'm so sorry."
She was on the verge of tears now.
"I swear it wasn't intentional. Those guys scared me and cut me off and I panicked and—"
"We know," the other man said, nodding reassuringly. "I saw it happen."
"I sure as shit didn't," Craig muttered as he pried the wet material away from his stomach.
"You did?" she asked the other man.
"Unfortunately."
His accent was different from Craig's. Deeper. Heavier.
He rose smoothly to his feet, towering over Crimson. She stared nervously at the tall, dark, and handsome, and very muscular and confident man.
"Victor," he said, offering a hand.
She shook it, but her attention fixed right on Craig. "Are you hurt?"
Craig looked down at himself and mumbled, "A scraped elbow. A scraped knee. A wine-soaked shirt. Bruised pride. That seems to be the extent of it. I've had worse."
"Please don't joke."
"I'm not."
Victor chuckled. "He isn't."
Crimson looked ready to cry. Again.
Craig noticed it all. Her trembling hands, the wide eyes, the guilt, and the fear. She was genuinely terrified she'd hurt him.
He reached out his hand. "Help me up, love?"
Without hesitation, she grabbed it.
The moment their hands met, Craig looked up at her. "Hello pretty lady."
His smile appeared, sweetly warm, and dangerously charming. "I'm Craig."
Crimson completely forgot how language worked.
The accent. The eyes. The smile. The fact that he wasn't yelling, or angry, or threatening to sue her. All of it caused her brain to simply stop functioning.
Craig waited, amused. "And you are?"
Her mind was all space. Not a single thought was there.
Victor snorted.
Craig laughed. "I'll just call you Cat then."
That finally broke the spell.
Crimson barked out an embarrassed laugh. "Oh my God."
"There she is."
"I'm Crimson."
"Lovely name," he said, eyes twinkling. "Must be the even more lovely hair."
With a pull from both of her hands, he rose to his feet, one head taller than her, maybe more...and somehow even more handsome standing up, which felt deeply unfair, especially when he looked at her with those hypnotizing eyes and smiled.
She immediately started apologizing again, trying to air dry his shirt by fanning her hand over it.
Craig listened and watched patiently, and Victor looked entertained.
By the tenth apology and her eyes sweeping over his body to check for wounds, Craig finally held up a hand. "Crimson, love...I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Reasonably."
"You limped."
"Barely."
"You got hit by a bicycle!"
He grinned teasingly. "Technically I got hit by you."
She groaned, and Victor laughed openly.
Craig smiled, then his expression softened because the poor woman was still shaking. Actually shaking.
"Victor," he said. "Would you mind getting her some water?"
Crimson eyes slightly widened. "Me?"
"And another wine for me. A very large one."
Victor obliged, and headed toward the nearby vendors, leaving them alone.
Crimson stared after him, completely baffled. Craig was worried about her? After she'd launched him onto the ground?
Craig motioned toward a nearby bench overlooking the dark ocean. "Come sit with me love."
She hesitated, then followed.
His limp was slight but noticeable. Each step made her feel worse, yet somehow the only thing he seemed concerned about was her.
The waves rolled quietly onto the shore, and as they sat down beneath the evening lights, Craig crossed his legs, and glanced sideways at her once more.
"Now then," he said with those blue eyes studying her carefully. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Crimson stared at him, then laughed. Actually laughed. The sound surprised even her.
Craig had just been flattened by an e-bike, launched onto his back, drenched in wine, and scraped up on the pavement, and STILL, he was asking if she was okay.
"I'm fine," she said with a smile. "You're the one who got hit."
Craig studied her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether she was serious, then he glanced toward Victor. His friend was nowhere near returning.
Instead, Victor had somehow become trapped in a conversation with several festival-goers. No water, or wine in his hands. Nothing.
Craig groaned and sighed. "Can't take him anywhere."
Crimson followed his gaze. Victor was laughing with strangers like they'd known each other for years.
Craig shook his head. "Everybody knows him."
"Oh?"
"Mm."
Craig leaned back on the bench. "Glad it's not like that for me all the time."
Crimson frowned. There was something in the way he said it. A hint? A test?
She tilted her head. "Oh?"
Craig looked at her, then blinked. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"
She stared. The question felt loaded. "Should I?"
The grin that spread across his face curled. "No...And honestly, that's probably a good thing."
Now she was even more confused and began to look him over more closely.
The dark hair. The beard. The ocean-blue eyes. The tan skin. The easy smile. Nothing clicked. Absolutely nothing.
Craig chuckled during the observation.
"Okay...Who are you? A celebrity or something?"
His laugh deepened. "An actor."
That got her attention. "Oh?"
"I like play time and telling stories. Fantasy mostly."
"Well now I'm curious."
Craig nodded toward the festival lights. "Most people know me from the Tolkien films."
Crimson eyes popped. "...What?"
"The Tolkien films."
She shot to her feet. "Get the fuck out of here!"
Craig began standing. "All right then, I'll leave—"
"No!" she exclaimed, grabbing his arm and pulling him gently back onto the bench. "No, please don't go!"
Craig burst out laughing.
She was practically vibrating now. "You mean Lord of the Rings? or the Hobbit? or both?"
"Rings. That would be the one. The first two anywa—"
"Oh my God," she raved, hands flying to her face. "No."
Craig was already laughing harder.
"No way."
"Way."
"No."
"Yes."
She squinted at him. Hard. Really looked at him. Those blue eyes. That smile.
Suddenly her eyes widened. "Ohhhh."
Craig saw the exact second recognition hit. "Oh no."
"Holy shit."
"That's what I said when Peter decided to kill me off."
"Holy...shit!"
People nearby turned to look, but Crimson didn't care. "You're Haldir!"
Craig covered his face with one hand. "Ding ding ding. What do we have for her Johnny?"
"You're actually Haldir!...You're the elf! The Marchwarden of Lorien who undeservingly got an axe in the back!"
"The very same."
"I never would've guessed!"
Craig lowered his hand from his face. "Most people don't. Not right away."
"I can see why," she said, and finally sat back down. "You look...so different."
His eyebrow lifted. "Do I?"
"Yes!" she blurted, and gestured wildly around his head. "Without the blonde wig, or the elfy ears!"
Craig laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. "Elfy?"
"You know what I mean."
"I do...and of course I was much younger."
"You still look young, but...that too."
She shook her head, still staring, still trying to process it. "What are the odds?"
Craig smiled. That reaction he understood. No screaming. No demanding photos. No asking for autographs. It was just genuine disbelief. The kind that came from coincidence rather than obsession.
"My favorite movies," she said. "How crazy. I was actually watching the Fellowship last night."
Craig lifted a hand. "You don't need to explain."
"I really—"
His smile softened. "I get it."
And he did. There was a difference. A huge difference. She wasn't excited because he was famous. She was excited because she'd accidentally crashed into someone connected to stories she loved, and the stories came first, not the celebrity. Craig found himself liking that. Quite a lot.
"I've got a lovely fanbase," he said. "But nothing like some of the more established actors, so I'm fortunate."
"Fortunate?"
"I can still walk down the street."
Crimson laughed. "Good point."
"No paparazzi hiding in bushes."
"That's always a plus."
"No mobs of people chasing me through airports."
"Another plus."
"Generally."
She smiled. "Sounds peaceful."
"It is."
Craig stretched slightly and winced. The banged-up elbow reminded him he'd recently been hit by a bicycle.
"Speaking of which..." he said, and checked his watch. "Oh hell."
"What's wrong?"
"I've got a comic convention coming up in L.A. in a few days."
"Really?"
"Really...And I should probably be getting home."
His expression turned theatrical. "I have packing to do."
"Important business. Packing."
"Extremely."
She nodded seriously. "Very important."
"And my cats."
That earned a genuine smile. "You have kitties? I love cats."
"Two."
"Well then that's definitely important."
"Exactly. They know when I'm getting ready to leave. Breaks my heart."
Craig cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted across the festival. "Vicky!"
The other man glanced over, still chatting, still nowhere near possessing water or wine.
"We're parched over here!"
Victor pointed at his drink. "Working on it Craigy!"
Craig rolled his eyes. "He's hopeless."
Crimson laughed, and realized she wasn't thinking about Ohio anymore. Not at all.
Victor finally returned, one hand holding a large cup of wine, and in the other, a bottle of water.
"Sorry," he said. "I got intercepted."
"You got distracted."
"That too."
Craig and Crimson accepted their drinks with smiles and gratitude. Neither seemed particularly upset by the delay. In truth, Craig had appreciated it. The extra time had allowed him to get to know her a little better, and what he'd seen, he liked.
The concern hadn't been fake. The apologies hadn't been performative. She genuinely cared, and that was rare, especially in Los Angeles, and...it was all before she even knew who he was. Huge plus.
After a while, attention shifted toward the abandoned e-bike.
With a slight wince, Craig pushed himself up from the bench, and examined it. "A few scuffs. Nothing too serious. The frame seems intact, and...the wheels...are...straight."
Victor bounced it experimentally. "Seems good."
Craig nodded, then frowned.
"What?"
He looked at Crimson. "What hotel are you staying at love?"
"The Quality Inn in Hermosa Beach."
Craig exchanged a strange look with Victor. "Nope."
Crimson's brows furrowed. "No?"
"You're not riding back alone."
She opened her mouth, and he raised a finger. "Not after tonight with those punks."
"But—"
"No."
"Craig—"
"No."
Victor smirked. "Good luck arguing with him."
Craig ignored him. "We'll walk you back."
"What?"
"We'll walk."
"That's ridiculous. You must be hurting."
"I am fine love. You though, were almost plowed down by bicycles. Your safety is my concern."
"Uh...and you actually were plowed down."
Craig chuckled. "By accident, not carelessly like you were."
Crimson laughed despite herself. "You don't have to do walk me back."
"We do."
"No, you don't."
"We're doing it."
Victor nodded. "We're doing it."
She sighed. "Fine."
"Excellent."
Victor climbed onto the e-bike, wobbling from the start.
Craig looked concerned. "Perhaps not."
Victor nearly ran into a trash can.
"Definitely not."
The three of them began heading north along The Strand.
Victor zigzagged ahead like a drunk flamingo while Crimson and Craig followed behind at a safer pace.
The ocean glimmered beside them as the nightlife gradually faded the farther they walked.
"No. The random guy over there," she joked, eyes glancing at a man urinating in a trash can.
His eyes widened, then he laughed. "Beverly Hills vicinity."
Her eyebrows rose. "Fancy."
"It's just where I happen to live."
"And Victor?"
"Unfortunately he does too."
Victor yelled from ahead. "I heard that!"
Craig smiled. "Just west of Los Angeles."
"Nice."
"What about you?" he asked, voice soft and curious. "Where's home?"
She stared out toward the dark ocean. "Ohio."
Craig whistled softly. "That's a long way from here."
"It is."
"What made you leave?"
She hesitated. Home. The word felt wrong. Wrong enough to hurt. "It's not home anymore."
The sadness in her voice surprised even her, and Craig noticed it, but to his credit, he didn't pry, ask questions, or push. Instead he smiled lightly. "So why California?"
She shrugged. "I hate the cold."
That earned a laugh. "Fair."
"I needed warmth," she explained, and gestured toward the ocean. "The beach. It's been years since I've stepped on sand."
Craig nodded. "I understand that."
"You do?"
"The beach is my second home."
She looked over his deeply tanned skin, then back at him, then back at his skin. "I can tell."
Craig barked out a laugh. "Oi."
"I'd be burnt to a crisp."
"Oh I burn too. Sometimes I think people mistake me for a lobster."
She laughed, and the sound made him uncontrollably smile.
"That all sounds amazing."
"It is," he confirmed, then looked toward the waves. "Especially at sunrise."
She sighed dramatically. "You're making me jealous."
"Well," he said, then glanced sideways. "You'll have to join me sometime...If you're still around."
She looked at him, then he looked at her, and the teasing disappeared for the moment.
"I have no plans to leave." she said quietly.
Something warm passed between them in that moment.
Craig smiled. A real one, full of beautiful white teeth. "Good."
After that, he casually changed subjects. "So."
"So?"
"You love cats." he acknowledged from earlier.
"I adore cats." she confirmed.
"Mm."
"My favorite animals."
"Hmm."
She laughed. "What?"
"Hmm."
She giggled. "What does that mean?"
Craig rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Are you working?"
"Not yet."
"No?"
"I've been here less than two days."
"Fair point."
"I still need to find a job."
"Hmm."
There it was again, that annoying little sound.
"What are you hmm-ing about?"
Craig looked at her, then casually said, "Would you like to work for me?"
Crimson nearly tripped over her own feet. "What?"
Craig repeated it, smiling. "Would you like to work for me?"
She stared. Openly. "You're serious?"
"Very."
"Doing what?"
He looked offended. "What else?"
Her pace slowed. "I don't underst—"
A curled grin formed. "Cat sitting."
She laughed, but he didn't, then she lost all expression. "You are serious."
"I am."
"Really?"
"And house and plant sitting too." he added.
She stopped walking entirely. "Plants?"
Craig stopped too, skipping the plant explanation. "I have trusted people helping out but..."
"But?"
"They have busy lives like me."
Victor shouted from ahead. "He's needy."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
Craig ignored him. "I'd rather have somebody consistent, and who can truly commit."
Crimson still looked stunned. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
"No, you don't."
"I know you're kind."
"Craig—"
"I know you care."
She opened her mouth, but he continued. "I know that after we were both knocked flat on our backs, your first concern was for me and whether I was okay."
His smile softened. "People like that are hard to find."
"So yes," he said, then shrugged. "I'd trust you."
She stared, still trying to understand. "With your house?"
"Yes."
"Your pets?"
"Yes."
"The things you care about?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I honestly don't know," he said and laughed, then his voice grew quieter. "I just have a feeling."
After, he looked right into her eyes. "And I've learned to trust those."
It was silent for a moment, then Craig clasped his hands theatrically. "Pleeeeease?"
Crimson burst out laughing. "That's your sales pitch?"
"It's a very good sales pitch."
"It really isn't."
A child-like grin grew. "Please?"
She shook her head, still smiling. "Alright, alright. I give. I'd love to."
Craig threw both hands into the air. "Marvelous!"
Victor raised a fist from thirty feet ahead. "She said yes!"
People turned to stare. Crimson groaned, then blushed while Craig looked absolutely delighted.
By the time they reached the hotel, she was laughing more than she'd laughed in years. The man was just naturally funny and easy to talk to.
The Quality Inn appeared ahead, lights glowing warmly against the California night.
Craig and Crimson walked up to the entrance while Victor cruised around the parking lot testing the no hands trick, not so gracefully.
Craig shook his head, then pulled out his phone. "What's your number love?"
Right after she gave it to him, he quickly sent her a text.
Her phone chimed from her back pocket, but she didn't look at it.
"There."
"Efficient."
"Now we're officially friends."
The word lingered. Friends. She actually liked the sound of it.
"You'll come meet my fur children soon."
"I'd love to."
"Fair warning though," he said, expression turning serious. "Girl Girl is feisty. Daddy's girl only."
Crimson stared. "Girl Girl? That's her name?"
He grinned. "It is."
She laughed. "Oh lord. Dare I ask about the other one?"
Craig looked proud. "Boy Boy."
The silence was thick, then both of them exploded into laughter.
"You're kidding."
"I'm so not kidding."
"Those are terrible names."
"They're magnificent names."
"They are not."
"They absolutely are."
The laughter slowly faded, but the warmth remained. That strange feeling. The click. The connection. The beginning of something. Something simpler. Something kinder. Something safe. All the things Crimson had never experienced.
The sound of an engine interrupted the shared moment.
As a car neared, Crimson was taken aback.
A Monte Carlo, red as a Cardinal flew right up to her.
Her breath caught. For a moment she wasn't in California anymore. She was somewhere else. Somewhere years ago in a similar car with his laughter, his smile, and his voice. The best friend she'd lost.
Craig noticed her reaction, and the smile vanished. His voice was gentle, and concerned as he stepped closer.
"Hey," he said as a warm hand brushed her cheek. "Are you okay, love?"
Crimson looked at him, then at the car, then back at him. The ache remained, but she still smiled. "Yeah."
For once it wasn't entirely a lie.
She looked around at the beach, the hotel, and the new friend she'd literally crashed into. "Everything is perfect."
Craig smiled, not fully convinced, but accepting the answer.
Victor locked up the bike as the male driver waved impatiently. "Come on, princesses."
"We're coming." Victor shouted, jogging across the lot.
Craig looked back one last time as he opened the passenger door.
Crimson pointed at him. "Heat."
"What?"
"Or ice."
"For what?"
"Your entire body."
Craig laughed.
"You're going to feel much worse tomorrow."
"Probably."
"Definitely."
He smiled. "How could I?"
Her brows pinched. "How could you what?"
"Feel terrible," he answered, then his smile softened. "When I have you as my new friend?"
For a moment neither spoke, while Victor climbed into the backseat, then Craig climbed in the front and the door shut.
As the Monte Carlo pulled away, Craig rolled down the window and grinned. "See you later Cat."
Crimson smiled as she stood watching the taillights disappear into the California night, and when she finally turned toward the hotel entrance, she took out her phone and read the text he sent.
"The elfy guy's number."
She then realized something. Her stomach was swarming with butterflies, and she couldn't stop smiling.
Craig had found himself still looking at Crimson's image grow smaller in the side mirror until she finally disappeared from view, and the driver friend noticed. "So."
Craig quickly stared forward. "No."
The man laughed, and Victor was already grinning from the back seat.
The radio crackled as the friend flipped through stations of the older radio. Static. Country. Commercial. Static again, then music.
A familiar guitar riff soon filled the car, but the guy reached for the dial.
Craig suddenly sat upright. "No. Leave it."
Victor cheered. "Daughtry!!"
The man shrugged and returned his attention to the road, letting the song continue.
Craig slowly settled back into his seat, then his blue eyes drifted toward the window.
Streetlights passed. Palm trees blurred by. The ocean vanished behind buildings, and the lyrics quietly filled the silence.
And then I crashed into you...
Craig smiled despite himself.
And I went up in flames...
His mind swiftly betrayed him.
Green cat eyes. Fiery hair. A bicycle flying toward him at alarming speed.
Could've been the death of me...
His smile widened.
But then you breathed your breath in me...
Crimson. The glorious woman from Ohio who had nearly killed him. The woman who didn't know who he was. The woman who cared more about his wellbeing than her own. The woman who looked at him like a person, not a celebrity, or an actor. Just...Craig.
The thought settled warmly in his chest. Frightfully warm, then...a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
Craig nearly launched through the windshield. "Holy shit!"
Victor and the friend bellowed in laughter as Craig clutched his chest, and glared. "So not funny."
Victor remained innocent. "What?"
"You can't just appear like that!"
"I was sitting here the whole time."
Craig glared again.
Victor's expression turned serious. "Where did you just go during that song?"
Craig frowned. "What?"
"You disappeared."
"I did not. I was sitting here the whole time," he snarked.
"You absolutely did."
Craig folded his arms. "I'm just winding down Vic. I'm tired."
Victor stared. "Liar."
The other man snorted.
Craig rolled his eyes. "Oh, for Pete's sake."
Victor leaned forward between the seats with a curling grin. "It's her, isn't it?"
Craig nearly choked on his own saliva. "What?"
"It's her."
"No."
"Craig."
"No."
"Craigy."
"Nooooo!"
Victor burst out laughing. He loved getting his best friend all riled up.
Craig pointed a warning finger. "Stop it, Vicky."
The nickname earned him an instant glare.
"I don't like it when you shrink me Vic."
Victor's grin only grew. "Oh, it's definitely her."
"It is not."
"You like her."
Craig looked horrified. "I met her two hours ago."
"And?"
"And nothing."
Victor and the driver laughed again, and eventually, Craig laughed too because it sounded ridiculous when said aloud.
A complete stranger. An accident. One conversation. One walk. One evening. That was all, Craig told himself, then another thought came to sum it all up...A beautiful disaster.
Victor's smile slowly faded, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a little more weight of caution and concern. "Well."
Craig leered at him. "What now?"
Victor met his eyes. "I don't think your boyfriend is going to like any of this."
All became quiet. The joke vanished. The warmth vanished. Even the song seemed farther away.
Craig looked back out the window. The passing lights reflected in the glass, and his smile disappeared as reality returned, hard, fast, and uninvited.
Victor regretted saying it, but neither of them spoke.
The song continued quietly through the speakers, and the Monte Carlo rolled up the California coast as Craig was now wondering why meeting Crimson already felt so important.
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