24. Donovan
TWENTY-FOUR
DONOVAN
It’s been a day since Beck dropped the bomb that not only is he not an itinerant law school dropout living out of his car, but he has a trust fund and a U.S. Senator for a father. I’m trying like hell not to be one of those people he’s clearly had experience with that treat him differently after they find out he’s got resources the rest of us don’t.
But I don’t know how good of a job I’m doing.
For one thing, we haven’t had sex since before he told me he signed the lease for Beck’s Cookie Counter. I had been reading by the pool before he arrived with the news, but once I finished my lunch, lounging the afternoon away suddenly seemed irresponsible. The third act of my play remained unwritten, and after the “wicked successful” (Dulcie’s words) audition workshop I ran for the Rosedale Art Center, Dulcie booked me to do a class on working with an agent. My little mini-course will teach life skills to aspiring working actors, she says. So instead of going back to the pool or talking Beck into bed, that day I went to my room and hammered out two scenes, plus an outline for the agent workshop, then went to bed early.
Today, Beck is out taking measurements in the shop. I almost offered to help him, but the call of the play was stronger. I actually want to finish it now that I can see the end in sight. The words are coming faster because I know the characters better. Julian’s words seem to flow out of my hand onto the page as if we’re the same person, which I guess makes sense since he’s my avatar in this particular story. He’s a man who needs to know what there is to life besides ambition.
Julian might be reaching some understanding, but I’m still floundering. The only thing I know for sure is Jack and Pete return to Rosedale in less than three weeks and I’m supposed to be making plans to go back to the city.
I have a voicemail from Joan, but I haven’t called her back because I just don’t know what to tell her. As much as I’m happy and excited about certain things in my life—writing the play, for one—I feel strangely ambivalent about living in New York and returning to my bachelor routine.
When Beck finally comes home, my eyes are bleary from staring at words on the page, and Cleo’s antsy from being inside all day.
“I’m taking Cleo for a walk,” I announce as I gather up her leash.
“Want company?” Beck asks. “I was just thinking about ordering pizza for dinner, anyway.”
“Why don’t you put in the order and by the time we get back, it’ll be here?”
“Good call.”
By unspoken agreement, we follow the route from the first night we both took up residence at the house on Wild Rose Lane. The time since then has sped by, a blur of hot and humid days, starry nights, afternoons by the pool, food and friends, poker and Prosecco. And Beck making it all possible, taking what could have been a frustrating and lonely summer and turning it into one of the best of my life. Maybe the best ever.
“What did you do today?” Beck asks as we saunter along, not in any particular hurry. I heard him tell the pizza place to just leave the order on the front step if there was no answer.
“I wrote some more, actually.”
“That’s great.”
“How’d it go at the shop?”
“My head is full of numbers. But it was good. The carpenter I talked to about installing the counter thinks he can get the materials in time for a Labor Day opening. I just have to decide on the finish. And the color. I also reached out to Lani to see if her business partner Nicole would consider doing a quick branding design for me.”
“You’re quite the networker.” Beck can do anything he puts his mind to. I’ve seen that up close and personal. “So what colors are you thinking?”
“That one,” he says, pointing to the empty house he noticed that very first night. “I love that blue so much.” He sounds almost sad.
“Blue suits you. Goes with your eyes,” I say, my attention focused on Cleo tugging at her lead. I look up to find Beck staring at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “A deep blue would be nice. Soothing. And then a pop of something brighter for contrast. Orange, maybe. Or pink.”
“Something with energy,” I agree.
“It’s really too bad about this house,” he says regretfully, staring at it for another moment before turning to go home.
“What do you mean?” I give it another long look. In the summer heat, the front yard has sprouted up even more in the last few weeks. It’s a nice-looking house underneath the veneer of disuse. I could see Beck at home there.
I swallow back a lump that suddenly rises in my throat at the image of Beck living in Rosedale, working at his cookie shop, coming home to—what? Cleo isn’t his. The house on Wild Rose Lane isn’t, either. Will he get a dog of his own? He’ll have to find somewhere to live. As usual, I’ve been a self-centered ass, worried about my own future when Beck has even more to consider and arrange.
“I wanted to see if maybe the owners would sell,” Beck says casually. “But Noelle hit a dead end learning who they are, then she got busy with other stuff. I’m going to have to find someplace to rent soon. There are some apartments available, but it’s going to be really hard to say goodbye to Jack’s kitchen.”
I frown. I can’t see Beck in some tiny apartment kitchen. He honestly deserves a kitchen out of a Nancy Meyers movie. I wonder if the blue house has a decent kitchen, and why Beck’s real estate agent hasn’t made any progress with it.
“I’m sure Jack and Pete will let you stay as long as you need to. Is Jack excited that you’re sticking around Rosedale?”
“Yeah, actually.” Beck’s posture perks up. “He’s got this weird theory that all his friends should move to Rosedale, that they’d be happier and more well-adjusted or something? Apparently, I’m just following some kind of preordained path that leads all of us here. It’s kind of funny. But I like it here. At least for now.”
“What do you mean for now ? You’re opening a business. That makes you an honorary local. You fit right in.”
“I’m excited about the cookie shop, yes. And I do love Rosedale. Living near my favorite family member is going to be great. And I’ll get to see this little furball whenever I want.” He bends down and scratches Cleo behind the ears, then straightens and looks right at me. “But I’d be a little more excited if I wasn’t afraid I’m going to peter out on it in a few months.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve never stuck with anything I tried after college. You know this. What if I lose interest and all this hard work is for nothing? Or worse, what if the cookie shop is a failure?”
I stop in my tracks. “Beck, believe me when I say the cookie shop is not going to be a failure. I have never for one second believed it wasn’t going to be a huge success. It’s a home run. You and cookies are a magical pairing, believe me.” He smiles a little at that, but I’m not done.
“And if running a cookie shop turns out not to be what you want, well, that’s okay. You don’t have to do the same thing for the rest of your life, even if it is a success. You could sell it or hire a manager and do something else. Lots of people are serial entrepreneurs. I wouldn’t be so afraid about the future, because if you need a change, you can always pivot.”
“Thanks, Donovan. That’s good advice.” He draws closer and pats my shoulder. “You ever think about pivoting yourself? You could be a killer life coach.”
I shake my head at the idea. I’m aware that I stole elements of my own pep talk from Joan, but I decide to play along. “I could do it if all my clients were like you.”
He cocks his head. “And what am I like?”
“Smart. Hard-working. Talented.” Am I hoping flattery will get me somewhere with Beck? Hell, yes.
His eyes glint. “Talented, huh?”
I look at his mouth, which turns me on by just existing. “Very talented. You’re really great at… baking.”
He grins. “That reminds me, I have another molasses cookie recipe to try on you tonight.”
“Then we better get home,” I say.
“Yes, let’s go home.”