Chapter 8
MORE FILM STUFF, LESS DROOL
“You turnin’ in already, honey pot?” Mabel asks, lifting the plate in front of me, returning it to the sink. “You’re practically fallin’ asleep over your dinner.”
I stretch my arms over my head, my damp hair feeling so good against my sunburned shoulders. “I’m exhausted. I feel like I worked on a ranch all day, and all I did was watch Landry work on a ranch all day.”
Mabel sets a huge Mason jar full of water down in front of me. “You need to stay hydrated in Texas, my girl. And sunscreen. Or long sleeves. I know you like those miniskirts, but your legs will look like a catcher’s mitt in ten years if you keep that up.”
“I’ll be back in the foggy breeze of the sweet Bay Area not too long from now, so thankfully I won’t get catcher’s mitt legs anytime soon,” I reply, then thank her graciously for another wonderful meal.
“That was delicious, Mabel. And I’m so glad I didn’t try and get a hotel in the next city. No hotel is as cozy as this inn.”
Mabel takes a seat across from me, pulling her icy silver hair into a clip. She’s still dressed in her work clothes—overalls and an old flannel—while I’m already ready for bed, in a tank top and tiny shorts.
“I’ll put the dogs up in my room if you’re fixin’ to sleep,” she says, always courteous, a trait that everyone in Sable Sky seems to embody.
Small-town folk really aren’t like the people who live in the city and cannot be bothered by anything but their own wants and needs.
It’s charming here, and the longer I’m here, the sweeter it gets.
I sip my Mason jar and shake my head. “I’m gonna look through today’s footage and make some notes,” I explain to her, “which is my normal process after a day of filming. I try to keep all of the plans and storylines organized so I know what to do each day, and at the end, putting it all together becomes this beautiful, rewarding process, instead of stress and creative constipation.”
“Sounds a lot like writing from an outline instead of writing off the cuff,” Mabel says, surprising me. She winks. “I didn’t always own an inn.”
I slap a palm to the wood tabletop as I beam at this woman with so many treasures up her sleeve. “Mabel Sable, you are a woman of secrets!”
She mimes zipping her lips, locking them, and tossing the key.
“But yeah, like that, you’re right.” Another long yawn and I’m on my feet. “I better get started or else I’ll crash out on my computer.”
Mabel winks. “Put some lotion on the burn, and sleep well.”
I hug her. “Thank you, Mabel.”
Back in my room, I pop my SD cards into my computer, one by one, and transfer footage from the day. Because I’ve already taken hours of footage, it takes a while to transfer, so I catch up with my mom and sister on FaceTime while I do.
“Yeah? What else is new?” I ask, feeling like I haven’t seen them in ages, when it’s really been just a handful or more days.
Mom sighs. “Oh, not much. Did Laney tell you she made the volleyball team?”
I sit up straight and squeal. “No! She did? That’s amazing! Put it on speaker,” I demand. “Laney,” I beam after she confirms I can hear her. “Congratulations!”
“I’m gonna be a setter,” she says, and my heart swells because she tried out last year and didn’t make it. She’s a great setter. I know because I pepper with her, and she kicks my ass.
“That’s amazing, Laney. I’m happy for you.” I mean every word, and though I’ve been enjoying my time in Sable Sky, and I feel like this will be my best film yet, homesickness washes over me for a moment when she lifts her ice cream sundae, adding, “This is how we’re celebrating.”
I smile and swallow against the longing in my throat. “Mom, you could’ve opened with that!”
Mom runs her fingers through her hair. “I was overcome with my haircut news. I’m sorry,” she teases.
The blue bar on my laptop screen disappears, and a folder opens, showing hundreds of thumbnails. “Hey,” I yawn, “it’s later here than there, and my SD cards just finished uploading. I need to go through some footage and make some notes.”
Mom salutes and Laney thumbs-up, whipped cream in the corner of her mouth. “Go, work, do your thing, Miss Moviemaker. Love you.”
“Love you,” Laney adds.
“Love you guys, too.” I wave, then end the call.
I don’t even have a moment to miss them or get lost in the swell of homesickness because the first video in the queue opens and begins playing.
Landry Vaughn in a sweat-damp T-shirt, every single wrinkle of cotton clinging to his thick pecs and bulging biceps, fills the screen.
His brow is pinched beneath the shadow the rim of his hat leaves on his forehead.
Eyes set on the kickboard he’s pulling out, worn siena gloves covering his massive hands, there’s so much focus and determination is the way he carries himself.
Sweat slides down his arm, making the dark ink etched into his flesh shiny.
I stare at the movie, a quick loop of forty-two seconds, because sometimes I use these short clips in transitions, montages, and ending credits.
My heart hammers behind my ribs on the sixth rewatch, and when I realize I’m feeling some funny things toward Landry Vaughn, I exit the clip, make a note in my book about the file title, what’s inside, and where it can be used, then open the next clip.
Keep working, Quinn. You’re not here to fantasize about a man who honestly seems to hate your guts. Stay focused.
I continue through the footage, speeding up and skipping around, taking notes on what’s in the footage—whether it’s a few minutes of Landry and Tatum replacing the broken rafter in the stable while Daisy noses into his Levi’s (I get you, Daisy), or footage of Landry screwing in the new stable door hinges, or him yanking out the old stall mat riddled with wear and tear, only to turn around, sweating everywhere visible to the camera, and drag a new one inside.
So much good footage of Landry living his life, and I can already envision the way his story plays into a glorious victory. I get chills just remembering the energy in the empty arena, and try to envision this handsome, hardworking man arched back on a horse, pride in his eyes as he wins.
Amidst taking notes, my phone rings, and I answer without looking, expecting it to be Mom, or Lane.
“Did you forget to tell me you made the chess club, too?” I ask, sketching down a note about the last clip I watched of Landry and Tate riding through the pasture on horses, their backs to the camera.
The person on the other line clears their throat, and I know immediately that it’s Landry Vaughn. “Miss Quinn, it’s, uh, Landry. Landry Vaughn.”
Awareness tingles down my spine, and red floods my cheeks. “Would be pretty strange if another Landry called me right now,” I reply, then add, “and hello, Mr. Vaughn.”
“Don’t,” he replies, voice rigid. “I mean, you can call me Landry. Mr. Vaughn is what Sadie’s pediatrician calls me.”
“Okay, well, hi there, Landry.” Why is he calling?
“Hi. Uh. Well, I’m just callin’ to say thank you, and to also… apologize.” He doesn't sound uncomfortable, but he does sound worn out. And the fatigue that rounds out his words has me worried. Worried about him, though I know that isn’t my place.
“Uh, you’re welcome and it’s okay, but I don’t know what you’re thanking me or apologizing to me for,” I admit, kicking off the sheet over my thighs, my sunburn suddenly warm again.
Landry's voice is even deeper through the phone. “Thank you for being so kind to Sadie.”
“I love kids,” I reply easily. “And Sadie is a sweet—” I catch myself and reword it, trying to respect him and his wishes. “She’s great, Landry, she’s really such a great girl.”
“You were going to call her a sweetheart,” he sighs, “and that’s why I’m apologizing.
” There’s a beat of silence, but I give him space to find his words.
Eventually he says, “What I said to you back at the house today, about just callin’ her Sadie.
I just… It’s my job to protect her heart, you know?
And I can see she adores you, and this film is just a few months.
I don’t want it to be hell for her when you go. ”
Wow. Not only was that brutally honest and hugely vulnerable, but seeing this bare, honest side of Landry is surprising, and I find my toes curling into the sheets as I stretch my legs.
“I understand that,” I tell him, getting comfortable in the covers, laptop and notebook cast aside.
“I don’t want to bring any pain or discomfort to her, and I know you don’t know me well, but I promise you, I don’t want that. You’ll have to take my word.”
He laughs halfway. “I don’t know you well, but damn, Quinn, of course I know you aren’t out here fixin’ to hurt a little girl.” Another pause, this one filled with breathing. “Anyway, I just felt like I ought to apologize for this morning.”
“Well, thank you.” He didn’t have to, but I love that he did, and more than that, I love that he explained what he was thinking.
“You, uh, likin’ the Sable Sky Inn?”
I look around the rustic, charming, fully redone little suite I’m in.
“Actually, I am. I definitely thought I was gonna leave here with stitches on my back and one of my kidneys gone but…” I pause, because Landry Vaughn laughs.
Rich, deep, melodic, his laugh bounces around between my legs, and my heart rate climbs.
“But I was judgmental and wrong, because this place is amazing. Mabel is amazing.”
“How about the asshole who lives there with her?”
My brows pinch.
“McCharger,” he supplies, and then we both laugh.
“I think it's Mr. McCharger.”
“You think I’m gonna give that little asshole a title?”
I laugh again, and he does, too, and then the line falls quiet.
“I’ll see you in the mornin’, Miss Quinn. G’night.”
“Good night.”
I continue through the footage, and don’t get to sleep until midnight. But when I do, I’ve got images of little Sadie Vaughn floating through my mind, her toothless smile making me grin.