“We should go in,” I told him after a moment.
“Why?”
“Because someone is going to find us out here. I can’t believe they haven’t already.”
“So what if they do?” he said, shrugging.
I blinked. “The last thing you need is someone to post a picture of us in the town Facebook group or call into Sheila Jessup’s stupid podcast tip line to report on our—our?—”
“Our what?” Ian asked, clearly enjoying my sudden bashfulness. “Our canoodling? Our superhot make-out sesh? The way you couldn’t keep your hands?—”
“Alright. You’ve made your point.” I rolled my eyes before taking a step away toward the train station doors.
But Ian’s warm hand snagged mine before I could get too far. I turned to find his dark brows drawn low, gaze focused and intent.
The sudden seriousness of his expression had me straightening. That sparkling energy from earlier, that sense of restless unease, was back. My dress felt too tight—my skin along with it.
“Let them,” Ian said. “Let them catch us or talk about us. It doesn’t matter. I’m not embarrassed, and I don’t regret it. You can kiss me whenever you want, Joan. Frankly, I wish we hadn’t stopped.”
fourteen
IAN
It took longer than I anticipated for Joan to freak out about the kiss.
I blamed the timing of everything. Following the wedding, my days on set were long and grueling. Della and the first assistant director in charge of the shooting schedule tried to pack as much in as we could before the film broke for the holidays. My director was adamant about giving the cast and crew the opportunity to celebrate with their families, but the three days after the wedding only left me with time to fall into bed each night and not much else.
I hadn’t seen Joan at all, and I’d barely seen Georgie.
But starting tomorrow, I would have ten days off. Sophia and Darren were flying home to California with most of the cast and crew, but Georgie and I were staying in Kirby Falls.
My parents were spending the holidays with friends. There had been no invitation to return to Ohio to celebrate together. Maybe I should have pushed it, insisted on a family gathering so that Georgie could see his grandparents. But truth be told, I felt more at home with the Judds or the Clarks than I ever had with my own family. I knew that what Georgie needed right now was consistency and stability, and he had that here, in Kirby Falls.
Regardless of our plans for the break, I was tracking Joan down and figuring out where we went from here. I wasn’t going to let her shut me out and ignore what was happening between us.
The next evening, I parked my rental car beside the tidy lawn of a gorgeous two-story cabin. The house was on the far side of the Judds’ property, as far away from where we were filming as you could possibly get. There was probably a metaphor in there, but I was choosing to ignore it.
The national forest pressed in on one side, and the path from the main highway was more a suggestion than an actual road. The first-floor windows glowed with warm light, and the wraparound porch looked inviting with its double hanging swings and ceiling fans. I could imagine Joan out here on hot summer evenings, a book and a beer in hand while crickets chirped and a breeze whirred lazily overhead.
Brady had told me to go to the back door and knock. He’d also been the one to text his older sister and make sure she was home tonight. He and Mac were watching Georgie for me. They had big plans for homemade pizza followed byWheel of Fortune.
I gathered the stockpot from the backseat and made my way around the side of the house. In the distance, I could just make out a mobile home with a few lights on. The yard—if you could call it that—was strewn with lawnmowers, car parts, overgrown weeds, and junk piles. A white-and-brown goat sat beneath a tree, looking cold and pitiful.
I knew without having to be told that Joan must resent the run-down property next door. The neglect. The lack of care. The poor animal was tied to a tree with little freedom to speak of.
Before my boots hit the top step, the back door swung open. I froze like a cartoon escapee during a jailbreak. I couldn’t raise my hands in surrender on account of the oven mitts and stockpot, but I wanted to.
“Hi,” I said.
Joan stared like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with me. I could see the “what are you doing here” written all over her face.
“I brought dinner,” I added quickly, nerves making me question myself. “White chicken chili.”
“You made it?”
“Yeah.” I may have Facetimed Amy so she could walk me through the recipe, but I’d cooked it myself. Joan’s mother might have also mentioned that it was her eldest daughter’s favorite winter meal. I wasn’t above cheating at this point.
“Come on in,” Joan finally said, opening the door wide.
