Chapter 20
CASPIAN
one month later
A year ago, I would’ve laughed in someone’s face if they had told me that I would be sharing my home with a woman, especially in this tiny village in the middle of nowhere.
But now, with Darwynn curled up beside me, stealing all the warmth from the blanket, her sock-covered feet tucked under my leg, I couldn’t imagine it any other way.
She had settled into my home like she’d always belonged here. Her books cluttered my shelves, her clothes hung next to mine in the wardrobe, and the faint scent of her shampoo lingered in my pillows. She had even claimed an entire drawer in the kitchen for her baking utensils and endless mugs.
I never understood why one person needed more than one mug.
I had lived alone for a long time, but Darwynn made it easy to share a space. She had filled the quiet, softened the edges of my solitude, and made the house feel like a real home.
Nobody in town cared about her moving here.
Well, they did stare the first night we went to eat at the bar, and there were some whispers, but no one dared to come and ask us if Darwynn was now officially a resident of Hilton Beach. All the paperwork we filled out would immediately answer that question, but they didn’t ask.
Not even Theresa.
Tonight, we decided to stay in to watch a movie. It seemed appropriate for a rainy Friday night. Though, once we sat down on the couch, she convinced me to watch one of my films.
I had tried to fight it. “We could watch anything else, Darwynn. Literally anything.”
But she had just given me that look, the one with the slightly raised eyebrow and the amused smirk that always made me feel like I had already lost the argument before it had even started. “Caspian,”
she had said, tone sweet but firm. “You spent years writing, directing, and acting in these films. How is it possible that I have seen more of them than you have?”
I sighed, already knowing she was going to win. “Because I don’t like watching myself on screen.”
“Actors are so strange,”
she had muttered. “Well, I do like watching you on screen.”
And that had been the end of the discussion.
So now we were here, wrapped up in blankets, a bowl of popcorn between us, watching a film I had made nearly two decades ago.
I had forgotten so much about it. The way I had agonized over the script, the long hours on set, the stress of pulling the production together. It had been one of my biggest projects, and it had a big impact on cinema back then. Darwynn watched it like it was something new and magical like it was more than just a movie.
I noticed the way her posture had changed halfway through, her body tensed slightly, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. She was fully immersed in the story, and her breath hitched during a particularly intense scene. When I turned to look to her, I saw the unmistakable sheen of tears in her eyes.
I frowned. “Are you crying?”
She blinked rapidly, as if trying to pretend she wasn’t, and quickly wiped at her cheeks. “No.”
I smirked. “Liar.”
She groaned and buried her face against my shoulder. “Shut up.”
I chuckled, wrapping an arm around her, and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s not even a sad scene.”
“That’s not the point,”
she murmured, her voice muffled against my shirt.
I pulled back slightly so I could see her face. “Then what is?”
She hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just…you wrote this. You made this. And it’s beautiful, Caspian.”
Her voice was soft, full of something I couldn’t quite name. Admiration, maybe, or something even deeper than that.
I felt something tighten in my chest. I had heard compliments about my work before—even got a couple of awards, including Oscars, for it—but never like this. Never from someone who knew me.
I swallowed, turning my gaze back to the screen. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”
She was quiet for a moment before asking, “Would you ever do it again? One last time?”
I shook my head. “You know I’m done with all that. It’s in my past.”
“Maybe you should revisit it,”
she said immediately, with no hesitation.
I finally looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because I think you still have stories to tell,”
she said simply.
I sighed, shaking my head. “I don’t know, Darwynn. That part of my life is over.”
She didn’t look surprised. She just watched me, waiting. “You’ve been saying that for a while now.”
“Because it’s true.”
I gestured at the screen, at the younger version of myself delivering a monologue I barely remember writing. “That was me then.”
Darwynn curled her legs under her, still looking at me like she was seeing something I wasn’t. “I know why you left,”
she said softly. “And I know how much you hate the industry. But that’s not the same thing as hating filmmaking.”
I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over my face. “It doesn’t matter. The second I step back into that world, it’s all going to come rushing back. The press. The whispers. The people who pretended I didn’t exist after what happened.”
My jaw clenched. “Nobody wants to see me again, Darwynn. And honestly? I don’t want to see them either.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t try to tell me I was wrong. She already knew how deep the scars ran. She knew about the accident, about the friend I lost, about how the industry had turned its back on me.
She had never once told me to get over it. And that was part of why I loved her.
“I get it,”
she murmured. “I really do.”
Her fingers brushed against mine. “But what if you didn’t have to go back to all that?”
I frowned, glancing at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…what if you didn’t go back to Hollywood? No studios. No investors breathing down your neck. No executive turning your story into something you don’t even recognize.”
She tilted her head. “What if you did it your way?”
I let out a short, dry laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”
She smiled. “I didn’t say it would be easy. But it would be yours.”
I looked away, my mind turning over her words.
I hadn’t let myself think about making another film since Harris died. Hadn’t even entertained the idea. Because the moment I did, I would have to face everything I had been running from.
But Darwynn wasn’t asking me to go back to that world. She was asking me to create something new. To reclaim something I had lost.
I swallowed. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
She squeezed my hand, her smile soft. “You start with the story.”
I turned back to the screen, watching as my past self spoke words I had once written with so much enthusiasm.
For the first time since Harris’ death, I wondered if I still had something left to say.
And for the first, the idea of stepping behind a camera again didn’t feel impossible.
Maybe…just maybe…one last film wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. And if I did it, I’d dedicate it to Darwynn for all the love, belief, and quiet strength she had given me since the day she showed up at my door.