I placed the vegetables in my cart and then went to the opposite end of the aisle before emerging dramatically in front of a large, stoic-faced man.
“Darren, what are you doing here?” I asked in exasperation.
The big man sighed. “Ian was worried about the media attention.”
“I don’t need protection,” I argued. “They’re mostly gone now.” And they were. Once Ian had shown up for the London premiere ofInferno Man 3, the world had taken notice, and any interest in Kirby Falls had waned.
“They realized he isn’t here,” I added.
Darren looked very uncomfortable, but he said softly, “He’s giving you space.”
I felt my cheeks heat. “I know.”
“But he was worried about you.”
Swallowing, I admitted, “I know that, too. You should be with him for the press tour.”
“The studio hired security for the cast. I’m supposed to stick to you and Georgie. Keep you both safe.”
Darren and I watched each other silently for a moment.
Then I sighed and nodded. “Then you’ll want to come to the farmhouse for dinner. Sophia is taking the night off, and George is coming with me.”
Ian’s giant bodyguard smiled. “Good. I’ve missed your mama’s cooking.”
Three hours later, George was inside with my parents, while I walked over to the orchard to feed and water the goat.
Jolly Adams had been over to visit earlier. She came every few days to check on Ralph (originally Emmett), but knowing her vindictive asshole of an ex-husband, she thought it best that the goat stayed where he was for the time being. She could still claim ignorance if Buck figured out where the goat had ended up. But hopefully in the future, we could make the transition and take Ralph/Emmett back home to be with Jolly.
When I returned to the farmhouse, I walked in on George video chatting with Ian at the kitchen table. My parents were gathered on either side of the kid while he held up his phone, yapping happily about whatever he and my mother had been baking in my absence.
My heart attempted to beat out of my chest while I washed my hands in the kitchen sink, the sound of Ian’s deep voice through the inadequatephone speaker so damn welcome, I had to lean against the countertop for balance.
“Oh, there’s Joanie!” George called. “Say hi to Joanie, Uncle Ian.”
Then the kid flipped the phone to face me. I froze, holding up a hand in an awkward approximation of a wave. But I barely got to see Ian because George immediately pivoted back and returned the phone to his own face.
The urge was there to hurry across the room and snatch the device out of George’s hand, but that would be extreme and unhinged and might let on how much I was missing Ian.
Was he still in London? Was he at a hotel, or in between events? Had he been sleeping alright? Did he have my hat with him? Had that been stubble on his jaw or just a shadow?
The last time we’d spoken, he’d told me he loved me. He’d thrown it at me like a life preserver, a last-ditch effort to keep me from leaving. And I’d said nothing, too raw and vulnerable at the time to think of anything beyond simple self-preservation.
My hand tightened on the dish towel I was holding.
Then, out of nowhere, George hopped up and said he was going to set the table. He quickly told Ian bye and then thrust the phone in my hand as he ran toward the dining room. I nearly fumbled it as my heart rate spiked once more.
“Hi. Hey. Hello. How are you?” I said, when I finally managed to right the device and bring it up to my face.
I was aware of my parents sharing a look, and knew I must have sounded ridiculous.
So I cleared my throat and brought my attention back to the screen. “Hey,” I tried again.
And there he was, already smiling at me, but it was soft and sweet, only one dimple shadowing his cheek. “Hey,” he replied quietly.
I stared at the screen, taking in every little detail, anxious for all I’d missed in the two weeks since I’d last laid eyes on him. He wasn’t in a tux orcamera-ready. Ian appeared relaxed and comfortable. He was in a sweatshirt—the same gray hoodie I’d slept in while we were in LA. That had me biting down on the inside of my cheek, hard.
There was no stubble, after all. It had been a trick of the hotel room lighting. Ian was just as clean-shaven as always. His dark hair had grown out a little, though. He looked tired, maybe, but good.
