“What are you doing on my family’s land?” she snapped, and I could tell nowthatwas what she’d wanted to know all along. She’d determined that I wasn’t dying or in need of medical attention before she brought it back around to what she’d intended to ask in the first place.
I wondered if she thought she’d actually pulled off the caring, concerned routine.
She hadn’t. Nothing about this woman screamed warm or nurturing, not even when she’d asked after my health or offered to call someone for me.
That made me want to smile again, but I resisted. I had a feeling grumpy-pants wouldn’t like it.
“Right.” I nodded. “Your land. You must be one of the Judds.”
I’d seen the sign by the road advertising wholesome family fun—apple orchards, pumpkin patches, farm stand, concessions, the whole small-town shtick for tourists. And I was sure there were production notes in an email somewhere telling me exactly whose property I was trespassing on.
“I am,” she agreed, but didn’t offer a first name.
Unbothered, I slowly gained my feet and held out a hand. “I’m Ian Wells. I’m with the film.”
She hesitated just a beat before giving me a surprisingly firm shake. Her hand was a little rough. I could feel callouses sliding across my palm that made me even more curious about her.
Despite the handshake, she still didn’t offer her name. “So you’re with the production crew?”
“Yep.” That was technically true. I’d had my agent negotiate for a producer credit—my first one.
“Then you should know that all the trailers and equipment aren’t coming for another week.”
I nodded again. I did know that. I’d come to town early to get settled with Georgie and my staff. Plus, I’d wanted a break before we hit the ground running. There was no easing into film production. Once we started, it would be full throttle until the holiday break, and then we’d be back at it again until early spring, when we’d return to LA to film a few scenes in the studio. The timeline took place over several months, and we’d need to shoot in various settings, but most of them centered on the mountains of Western North Carolina.
“I was just out for a little stroll to check things out.” I busted out the “megawatt panty-dropper.” Again,People’s words, not mine. “Sorry if I overstepped. I just love it out here, and I was eager to see your home.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I played back my words.
“Notyourhome specifically. I just meant the land—Kirby Falls—in general.” I laughed good-naturedly. She did not partake. “I wasn’t planning on peeking in any windows or anything,” I joked.
She stared at me like I was a lunatic. This wasn’t going how I’d hoped. I hadn’t met many locals yet, but I’d been looking forward to charming them.
This woman did not look particularly charmed. What happened to Southern hospitality? Her face looked like where it went to die.
Better to get out before she pulled her Swiss Army knife on me. “Welp, I’ll let you get back to your run. Thanks for checking on me. I’ll head back across the road now. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other arou?—”
“Back across the road?” she interrupted. “You’re not staying in town?”
I smiled again, pleased that she was finally curious about something. “Nope. I’m over at the Clarks’.”
The woman put her hands on her hips and grumbled something under her breath. I only caught “Maggie,” and “meddling,” and “dammit.”
Huh. I guess she knew Maggie, too.
I’d run into Maggie Clark, the head baker for Grandpappy’s—the tourist farm across the highway from Judd’s—on my second day in town. We’d struck up a friendly conversation, like normal people, after she’d asked for a selfie. Then, she’d ended up offering me a place to stay long-term for the shoot.
Initially, she’d mentioned a tiny house—a rental they had available—but with Georgie and the rest of my team, I’d needed a bigger space. So we’d worked it out that I’d rent her mother- and father-in-law’s home. They were apparently snowbirds who lived in Florida and traveled in their RV the majority of the year.
After nearly a week in the big house by the pond, I was extremely grateful for that charming grocery store run-in with Ms. Maggie. It had been the perfect solution. My little entourage had plenty of space to spread out, andit had gotten us away from that bed-and-breakfast downtown with the nosy and handsy owner.
Serendipitous, if I did say so myself.
But judging by the muttered curse words from the woman in front of me, maybe it wasn’t such good news.
“Is there a problem?” I asked politely.
“Nothing we didn’t ask for,” she grumbled.
