Page 7 of Comfort Read

Unfortunately for Kit, the first thing to go in situations like these is always his verbal filter, and so what thoughts he does have all seem to pour out of his mouth. “Oh God, have you come to make me an offer I can’t refuse for my cat? Because I have to warn you, good luck getting him out of here. Not that I wouldn’t refuse the offer, I’m pretty attached to him, but also? He’s a terrifying demon from hell and he will escape any carrier you put him in, no matter how much bloodshed it cost you to get him inside in the first place.”

“Duly noted,” Sage says, crinkles appearing around the corners of his eyes, “and not very surprising, now that I think of it. But no, that’s not what I came for.”

He pauses, and after a moment Kit raises his eyebrows and says, “What did you come for, then? I have a hard time believing it was just for the books.”

“I feel like that’s the second time you’ve assumed I can’t read.” Sage seems more amused than offended. “Do you think actors can’t read? Because it’s a fairly critical part of the job. The scripts are written down, you know.”

“I know you can read!” Kit throws his hands in the air. “But there are bookstores in Hollywood. And also you’re an incredibly famous movie star, so I sort of assumed you could send someone for books if you needed them. But fine, if books are what you want, then books we’ve got. What are you looking to get into?”

Sage grimaces, and mutters, “Ah. Well. I mean, I read mostly fantasy and sci-fi, but I’m trying to get into classics and nonfiction. But. You’re right. I’m not here for the books.”

Kit waits for him to elaborate. He does not.

“Has anyone ever told you,” Kit says, in sunny tones, “that you’re a frustrating conversationalist?”

“Yes.” Sage offers him a sheepish smile, and then sighs. “Okay. I’m stalling. The truth is I want to ask you something, but I’m not sure I should. For one thing, if I do ask, I’m going to have to admit I did something that was maybe a little… creepy.”

“What variety of creepy?” Kit demands, narrowing his eyes.

“I poked around about this building,” Sage says, his cheeks coloring. “I heard you talking to Jaelyn about the outlets, and I noticed some stuff that seemed not quite up to code, and I thought maybe—I’m getting ahead of myself. I called the city, is my point, and I know the firehouse needs major repairs, and is going to be shut down if you don’t make them soon. I didn’t mean it to be invasive, but.” He shrugs, helpless. “I was trying to talk myself out of the idea I want to ask you about, honestly. I didn’t expect to find what I was looking for.”

Kit can feel his own cheeks burning. “More embarrassing for me than creepy, I think. It’s not like it’s not all public record.” He shrugs, trying to sound like it doesn’t matter to him at all when he adds, “Why do you care, though? What were you looking for?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Sage says, “Look—did you ever read the Marianne Vale novels? The Lanterns of Aeryath?”

Kit blinks, startled by the non sequitur, but: “Are you kidding? Of course I’ve read the Lanterns books, probably a dozen times—they were my absolute favorites in middle school. What does that have to do with anything?”

“They were my favorites, too,” Sage says, and looks down at the floor. “And I—I want to make them into movies. Adapt and direct them. I have a script, and a whole plan⁠—”

“But no one’s ever been able to pull that off,” Kit interrupts, unable to contain it. “I mean, don’t you remember that godawful version they made in the early 2000s?”

Kit recalls too late that Sage could hardly have forgotten it; his mother had starred in that movie, and it had basically ended her career. If Kit’s recalling it right, it was Seline Ballard’s first big film after Sage’s father John’s very public, very famous death. Her loss hadn’t made critics any more sensitive about her performance—if anything, it had made them more vicious, at least according to an episode of a podcast Kit listened to years ago. After that Seline had switched to television roles, her parts getting smaller and smaller until eventually she faded from the public eye entirely.

Barely containing a wince, Kit waits to see if the mention will lead the conversation down an unpleasant road. This is, after all, a man who was semi-recently filmed breaking a paparazzo’s camera, splashed across the tabloids as Unhinged and Out of control.

But all that happens is a slight furrow appearing between Sage’s eyebrows, and a brief flatness in his tone as he says, “I do, yeah. They made a real hash of that one. The version from the eighties is awful, too. No one’s ever been able to capture the scale of the story or the intricacies of that world before, but here’s what I’m thinking…”

Then, to Kit’s bafflement, Sage leans against the mystery shelves and lays out the single best idea Kit has ever heard for adapting the Lanterns books.

In spite of every intention to ask why on earth Sage is here telling him this, Kit quickly finds himself getting wrapped up in the concept, breathlessly asking questions about how he’s going to handle a given plotline or scene. Sage has a perfect answer to every one. This would be incredible from anyone—Kit has spent a lot of time on Aeryath forums and message boards, and he’s never heard a film concept even half this good—but from Sage Ballard? The whole thing feels like a fever dream. It’s unmissable that Sage is a huge, deeply devoted fan of the series, and that this is a passion project for him, something he’s determined to do because he cares so much about seeing it done right.

“Wow,” Kit breathes, shaking his head, when Sage wraps up. “That sounds amazing.”

Sage grins at him briefly and then ducks his head. Quietly, he says, “Thanks. Most people say, ‘That sounds expensive.’”

“I mean, making any movie sounds expensive to me, so I just took that as read?” Remembering suddenly who he is and what’s wrong with the current picture, he finally asks, “Wait, why did you tell me any of that? What’s happening? Why are you here?”

Sage sighs again, more heavily this time. “The thing is, I can’t afford to finance this movie myself, and I’ve never directed before. Nobody wants to take a chance on me for something this ambitious, especially right now. My reputation has taken some hits these last few years. It is what it is.” His expression is briefly embittered before it shutters. “Anyway, I met with my best lead on funding the other night, and he said he wouldn’t even consider moving forward with me on a project like this until he saw me settle down.” Making a face like he’s smelled something bad, he adds, “He said I needed a ‘grounding influence’ to ‘stabilize’ me.”

“I see,” Kit says. He considers this, and while he still can’t work out what it might have to do with him, he does have another thought: “I’m not, like, a Hollywood guy? Or a lawyer? But that seems like something someone shouldn’t be able to set as a condition for funding a movie.”

Sage raises and wiggles one hand as he says, “Eh. It’s complicated. The relationship is… He and my dad… Look, it’s complicated, all right? Wayne’s not a bad guy, he’s just looking out for me.” Sage pauses, laughs briefly, and then adds, “Also, I did flat-out lie to him and tell him I had been secretly seeing someone for the last six months, so. Don’t go thinking I have some kind of moral high ground here.”

“I see,” Kit says again. His voice sounds calm; in his mind, however, it’s a twelve-alarm fire, every neuron abandoning its usual battle station to run around in panic and confusion. He’s beginning to have an inkling at last of why Sage Ballard has returned to his bookshop today, but it’s such an absurd inkling that it couldn’t possibly be right.

Could it?

Sage continues, seeming determined now to barrel through to the end and get this over with: “I’ve been freaking out, because I told Wayne I was getting ready to hard launch the relationship on socials, and he told me he’d make a final call on the project at the end of the year, if I’d bring my new partner to dinner first. Which left me in a jam, because the truth is I’m as single as it gets, and I can’t imagine that’s going to change in the next two months. Frankie suggested I hire someone, but it would be such a nightmare if it went wrong, and actors are famously actors, so it’s hard to get a sense of personality match in interviews⁠—”