Ryan turns back to me, completely unfazed by their sarcasm.
— Jane, listen to me. You don’t have to stay here. I talked to Spielberg about you last week, and he’s interested. Really interested. But you need to come back to L.A.—now.
— Spielberg? I repeat, incredulous. You did not talk to Spielberg.
— His assistant, then, he corrects with an impatient wave. The point is, you still have a shot, Jane. A real shot. Not… this.
He gestures vaguely at the picturesque street around us.
I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to stomp on his foot with my boot—freshly purchased and perfectly suited for the job.
— Ryan, I’m married now, and I?—
— Come on, he cuts in with that condescending smile I’ve always hated. We both know this “marriage” is just a temporary solution to your little image problem. I’m not judging you! It’s smart, really. But now that I have a more permanent solution?—
— I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand, Keira cuts in, her voice suddenly icy. My sister-in-law just told you she’s happy here. With my brother. In this “middle-of-nowhere dump,” as you so elegantly put it.
— Look, uh… Leila?
— Keira, we correct in unison.
— Whatever, he continues dismissively. I’ve known Jane for years. We have history. She’s not meant to live here, among the… (he sniffs the air disdainfully) sheep and rain. She’s meant for Hollywood, for the spotlight, for fame.
Suddenly, shouts and commotion rise further down the street.
— What now? I sigh.
Ryan glances around, confused.
And then, as if fate has a flair for dramatic timing—and a particularly twisted sense of humor—a familiar ball of wool comes barreling around the corner, charging straight toward us.
— That’s Hamish, Keira says, a wicked smile tugging at her lips.
Ryan watches in growing horror as the sheep makes a beeline for our group.
Hamish stops in front of me, bleating happily like he’s just found his long-lost best friend. I can’t help but smile as I scratch his head.
— Hi to you too, Hamish.
Ryan takes a few steps back, visibly disgusted.
— We need to go, Jane.
Hamish turns his head toward him, and I swear there’s indignation in those sheep eyes.
Ryan shakes his head, clearly determined to “save” me. He steps forward and grips my shoulders.
— Jane, please. Listen to me. I made a mistake leaving you. I see that now. We were perfect together—two rising stars in Hollywood?—
— Until your career started tanking and you dumped her for that fitness influencer, Savannah cuts in.
— That was a lapse in judgment! he protests. Her follower count was artificially inflated—I realized too late.
I step away from him, disgust curling in my stomach.
— Touching. Your sincerity is overwhelming.
— I’m serious, Jane, he insists, his expression aiming for sincere but landing somewhere near constipated. We can start over. Together, we’d be unstoppable. I landed a supporting role in the next Marvel, you know? I play “Guy at the Bar #3,” but my character has an actual line!
