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WILL
In the morning, I text Hope to ask how she’s doing. Her response comes back within seconds: thumbs-up emoji.
The equivalent ofI’m trying to be kind, but leave me alone.
I don’t blame her.
Hope deserved better last night. She deserved someone who looked her in the eye and told her in no uncertain terms that you can’t blame yourself for things that aren’t in your control.
The logical part of my brain tried to say that. The emotional part got tongue tied. Because I can’t give that advice unless I’m ready to hear it myself.
My first stop is the bank to speak to Seth Richards—or S.R.Chard, as he’s known in the Inn’s guest book—about a personal loan. He rejected my business-loan application—Annette’s influence, no doubt. Up until last night, when Hope stood up for my character, I’d planned to use that nugget of information to encourage him to change his mind.
Since I couldn’t sleep anyway, I spent the night scouring the internet for a plan B. A personal loan means tethering myself to the Inn and Kingsette more than I’d like, but it buys me time to figure things out. Right now, time is more valuable than money.
More importantly, when it comes to personal loans, the bank requires that loan officers assert the reason for their denial. In writing.
I strongly doubt anyone at the bank is willing to put in writing that they’re letting Annette dictate bank business.
Two hours later, I’m stepping back into the day’s oppressive heat. Seth has not only granted me a loan, but he’s agreed to a more-than-reasonable rate.
The next stop is to the Friendly Bean. Annette flashes her signature closed-lip smile when she spots me, and I steel myself for the conversation ahead.
As long as Annette thinks she can do whatever she wants with no consequences, she’s going to keep doing it.
My phone pings as soon as I walk into the Friendly Bean, which is as busy as it was the last time I was here with Delilah.
It’s not Hope.
This is the first time my agent’s texted me in five months.
He answers on the fifth ring. “Will Reynard. Just the man I was thinking of.”
I roll my eyes but do my best not to sound jaded. “Hey, Jimmy. Sorry I haven’t checked in. Family stuff.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get that. Family stuff. Listen, though. Get that family stuff taken care of. The original producer ofThe Burningwants you back. He’s got a new show, and you’re top of the list. He wants to talk.”
“What?”
He’s speaking too fast and sounds distracted. I imagine him at a restaurant, craning his neck to see whether there’s anyone in view he should be watching or navigating to get attention from.
“A job, kid,” Jimmy says, and his voice becomes clearer as if he’s leaned forward and curled his other hand over the phone.
His words suddenly start to make sense. A job in LA. “They want me back?”
“When can you get yourself back here?” Jimmy asks.
I breathe through the tension in my shoulders and clutch my phone. There’s a strange kind of déjà vu occurring in my brain, onlytwisted, as if I’m gazing into the past through a kaleidoscope. As if it’s being superimposed onto the present in all its distorted glory.
Another chance to leave.
Once upon a time I took it, and it was the easiest decision to make. Things were stable then. My mother was running the Inn. Darren was ... Darren, but a better version. LA was an exotic place where anything was possible.
Could I do the same now? Leave the Inn to fend for itself. Leave Darren to be Darren without any family nearby. Leave Hope to—
Friends.
She saidfriends. Could she have been any clearer?
