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By the time noon rolled around, I was standing outside a modest suburban home that looked like it had been plucked from a movie set. The yard was neatly trimmed, the porch adorned with potted plants. It was the kind of place where people baked cookies and celebrated holidays together. Normal. Comfortable.
Alien.
Walker greeted me at the door, his easy smile disarming. He was dressed in a plain T-shirt and jeans, his hair tousled in that effortlessly.
"You made it," he said, stepping aside to let me in. "Nice sneakers."
I glanced down at my black and white adidas sambas, a deliberate choice to blend in. "Thanks. You're lucky I didn't show up in heels."
His laugh was genuine, and I hated how much I liked the sound of it.
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Inside, the house smelled like melted cheese and something sweet, maybe cinnamon. The walls were lined with family photos: Walker as a kid, grinning with missing teeth; Walker holding a trophy, his parents beaming beside him. It was a stark contrast to my home, where the only framed photos were professionally staged headshots or magazine covers.
"This way," Walker said, leading me to the kitchen.
His mom was at the stove, flipping sandwiches in a pan. She turned and gave me a warm smile. "You must be Ava. Walker talks about you all the time."
I raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged, clearly unbothered.
"Only good things," he added, his tone teasing.
"It's nice to meet you," I said, trying to match her friendliness.
"Lunch will be ready soon. Make yourself comfortable," she said, gesturing to the table.
Walker's younger brother, a boy who was probably 13, was already seated, playing a game on his phone. He looked up, his eyes widening. "You're Ava Monroe!"
I smiled politely. "That's me."
"You're way hotter in real life," he said.
Walker groaned. "Tanner, don't say that."
"What? It's true!" Tanner said, grinning.
I sat down, unsure how to respond. Compliments from strangers were part of the job.
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Lunch was simple: grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup. It was the kind of meal I hadn't had since I was a kid, back when my mom still cooked before our lives became a whirlwind of auditions and photo shoots.
"So, Ava," Walker's dad began, his voice warm and curious. "What do you do for fun when you're not working?"
The question caught me off guard. Fun? I glanced at Walker, who was watching me with an amused expression. I can not say smoking weed and getting high of my trots or drinking till i pas out with my friends.
"Uh, I guess I like reading," I said. The last book I'd read was a script.
"She's lying," Walker interjected. "She spends all her free time working."
I shot him a glare. "And you don't?"
He shrugged. "I know how to take breaks."
His mom smiled knowingly. "Walker's always been good at that. Balancing work and play."
The conversation shifted, and I let myself fade into the background, observing the way his family interacted. They teased each other, laughed over inside jokes, and genuinely seemed to enjoy one another's company. It was so far removed from my own familyâMom, ever the manager; Dad, absent more often than notâthat it felt like stepping into another world.
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After lunch, Walker convinced me to join them outside. The backyard was spacious, with a small garden and a basketball hoop. Tanner challenged me to a game of basketball, and despite my initial reluctance, I found myself laughing as he easily outplayed me.
"You're terrible at this," he declared, sinking another shot with ease.
"I'm wearing the wrong shoes," I said, pretending to be offended.
Walker, lounging on a patio chair, smirked. "Excuses, excuses."
I stuck my tongue out at him, and for a moment, I forgot about cameras, scripts, and expectations. I was just a girl in a backyard, playing basketball with a kid.
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As the afternoon stretched on, Walker's mom brought out homemade lemonade, and we all sat on the porch, the sun warming our faces. The conversation drifted from movies to favorite childhood memories. Walker shared a story about the time he got his head stuck in a fence, and everyone laughed, even me.
"What about you, Ava?" his mom asked. "Do you have any stories like that?"
I hesitated, my mind blank. My childhood had been filled with auditions and rehearsals, not antics and adventures. "Not really," I admitted. "I started acting when I was six, so most of my memories are from sets."
Walker's mom gave me a thoughtful look but didn't press further. Instead, she changed the subject, and I felt a pang of gratitude.
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When it was time to leave, Walker walked me to my mums car. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the neighborhood.
"Thanks for coming," he said. "I know this isn't really your thing."
I shrugged, unsure how to express what I was feeling. The day had been... nice. Comfortable in a way I hadn't experienced in years. It made me question everything: my career, my priorities, my life.
"Your family's great," I said finally. "You're lucky."
He studied me, his expression unreadable. "You could have this, too, you know."
I laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Not with my life."
"Maybe it's time to figure out what you really want," he said, his voice gentle.
I didn't respond. I couldn't. Because for the first time, I wasn't sure I knew the answer.
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As mum drove me away, the warmth of the day lingered, but so did Walker's words. What do you really want?
For years, the answer had been simple: success, fame, validation. But now, I wasn't so sure. Maybe there was more to life than awards and accolades. Maybe I'd been chasing the wrong things all along.
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