But perhaps this wasn’t the time or the place for my curiosity.
“Thank you,” Ian finally said. “For keeping this secret. For protecting Georgie. I’ll make sure he stays away from the orchard. We’ll make new rules and Sophia can?—”
“You don’t need to do that,” I interrupted. “Now that you know where he’s sneaking off to, you don’t have to be worried. And I don’t mind having him around. He’s quiet and smart. He’s not any trouble.”
Ian’s face did something funny. He was an actor and could probably pluck out any reaction and emote the hell out of it. But whatever he was feeling right now, I didn’t have a name for.
I watched his bright blue eyes move between mine. Then, after another hard swallow, he nodded. “Maybe he can visit you a couple of afternoons a week. After he finishes his schoolwork.”
“That’s fine. I’m always at the farm on Wednesdays and Thursdays. I can meet him after lunch at the gate, walk him across the highway, so you don’t have to worry. Probably be better if he avoids the weekends while we’re open. Too many people—strangers who might talk to him.”
“You’re sure this is okay?” Ian looked conflicted.
I didn’t understand it myself. This man was a glorified stranger, and so was George, but I liked the kid. And now I knew he was more alone than I ever could have imagined. His little voice calling himself an inconvenience flitted through my head and tightened my chest.
He’d sought me out—the Apple Lady—and for some inexplicable reason, that made me feel good, almost proud. For a kid who’d gone through so much, this was an easy wish to grant.
“I could pay you to watch him,” Ian offered when I’d been quiet too long.
My frown was immediate, and I snapped, “I don’t need your money. Not everything needs to be bought and paid for like a transaction.”
Ian still eyed me warily but nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything?—”
“It’s fine.” I forced myself to take a breath and ignore the reminder he’d lobbed between us. As if I could forget he was rich and famous and used to buying loyalty and trusting no one.
I had him put Sophia the nanny’s number in my phone, in case I needed to contact her. Then Ian and I agreed that George would come visit tomorrow afternoon, if the boy wanted to. He gave me the okay to be honest with my family, should they run into George around the farm, saying he didn’t want me to be forced to lie to the people I cared about.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” I said, once the logistics were covered, and turned to walk away.
“I have an early call time in the morning, so I won’t be able to join you for a workout.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “That’s fine. I realize that you’re busy.”
“What about Saturday’s run? Can I see you then?” He put his hands in the pockets of his puffy coat and then took them out again.
The nervous gesture nearly made me smile, but I ignored the urge and battled back the inclination to read too much into Ian’s desire to still spend time with me. “Sure,” I said, keeping my tone unaffected.
“Bye, Joan,” Ian calledonce I’d resumed walking.
I threw a halfhearted wave up in the air.
The sound of Ian’s laughter faded as I crossed the threshold back into reality. My boots carried me over dead grass and muddy ground. I put distance between me and the movie star. Away from cameras and strangers and a whole other world that I’d never understand.
Ian
I found a parking spot for my rental car off Main Street and located the address Brady Judd had texted me easily enough.
He sat at a high-top table for six and waved me over as soon as my feet touched the sticky wooden floors. Candace was seated across from him with her fiancé, Mercer—a quiet, bearded man I’d met briefly in the fields during one of my solo runs. I didn’t recognize the fourth member of their party. She had long, dark hair, and I assumed she was Brady’s girlfriend, MacKenzie, from the picture I’d seen on the lock screen of his cell phone.
My eyes took in the comfortable and worn interior of the bar as the jukebox played an old George Jones song. This felt like a hometown watering hole—looked like one, too. The warm overhead lights gleamed, reflecting off a wall of liquor bottles behind a long wooden bar top that made up the whole left side of the establishment. The opposite wall was lined with booths, and there were dartboards and pool tables in the back.
I imagined those were regulars sitting at the bar, watching a college basketball game, and sipping whatever was on draft. High-top tables were scattered throughout, but only about half were occupied. Not bad for a Wednesday night, though.
A red-haired server was delivering a pitcher of beer as I approached the table.
Brady grinned. “Hey, man. Glad you could make it.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” I said, meaning it, as I slid off my jacket and draped it across the back of the empty chair next to Mercer. Some of the other cast members were having a late dinner delivered to the SterlingHouse, but I didn’t really want to talk about the film or whatever projects everyone else was working on. It would be a lot of gossip and posturing, and I wasn’t in the mood.
