4. Four
Four
LENA
T he coolest person I’ve ever met approaches like she’s on a mission she believes she’ll win—squared shoulders, a determined gait, a tiny smirk, and enviable confidence.
Jaye Kent is otherworldly awesome. As a graphic novelist and actress, her imagination alone puts her on a different creative level than other mere mortals.
But so does her unique beauty and general ease.
“Did you know she was coming?” Dot demands nervously as Jaye moves closer up the lane. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know. Be cool. Not weird.”
She rolls her shoulders and her eyes. “How? It’s Jaye Kent. What the fuck do I say?”
“Follow my lead… Hey, Jaye, it’s great to see you again.”
She eyes our Cheetos bags. “Ah, the breakfast of champions.”
Dot’s Cheetos fall to the dirt like she’s lost all motor function. I scoop it up before the dogs get it. “Yep, we run on caffeine and Cheetos around here.”
Her head tilts toward the stone-like woman beside me. She extends her hand. “Hi, I’m Jaye. You must be Dot?”
Dot stares in stunned disbelief at her gracious offering. Does she not know what to do? At her side, I push her arm out with mine like she’s my puppet.
A quicker, limper handshake has never happened.
“Um, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Jaye says, her confidence dipping slightly. “Ruthie loves your monster and alien collection.”
Shadow grunts when Dot doesn’t answer—even my grumpy horse understands her social awkwardness.
“Dot’s a horror and sci-fi expert.” An arm pinch pulls me into Dot’s whisper. I roll my eyes. “And graphic novels. She loves your books.”
“Thanks.” Jaye’s cheeks redden. Her bronze shoulders bounce lightly, bringing my eyes to the delicate inked flowers stretching over her upper chest and disappearing into her shirt. “Writing’s my passion. I don’t feel happy unless I’m in front of my laptop.”
“I’m the same way about baking.” Another violent pinch brings me closer to Dot. “For Dot, it’s building or fixing things.”
She confirms with a brief nod. I can’t wait to tease her relentlessly about her crush.
“So, Jaye… here for your usual? There’s a hot cinnamon roll with your name on it.”
Her hands slip into the pockets of her high-waisted army-green wide-leg pants.
She wears a buttoned-up silky blouse that gathers around her waist, revealing peeks of tattoos and her tight abs.
This woman works out—her muscular arms make me want to join Ben for weightlifting.
She’s my height, around five-eight, but her short haircut makes her look taller.
She gives off a serious professional vibe softened by delicate gold jewelry and her heeled Converse, which I hope aren’t getting too muddy.
“I’ll never turn down your cinnamon rolls,” she grins, “but that’s not the only reason I’m here.”
“As I suspected,” I say, stifling my bother. I don’t have time for this.
Her pleading brown eyes land on mine. “It’s down to the wire, Lena. Nothing suits us like Saddletree. The only thing close is two hours away in Kinston. Will you humor me and listen to one last pitch?”
I met Jaye last month when she showed up with a team from Diamond Studios to scout locations for their next feature, Hunter, The Return. My property has everything Jaye’s movie needs—a beautiful country house, horse pastures, a pond, a barn, and a thick tree line.
“It’s the perfect vibe—gentle beauty, rough and wild, with an undercurrent of anticipation like anything can happen here,” Jaye said then (and many times since), which made Saddletree sound like the Australian outback or Grand Canyon.
Knowing little about graphic novels or horror movies, I turned to my expert, Dot.
After happy cursing and ecstatic screaming, Dot explained that Jaye’s best known for her graphic novel series, The Watchers , about a ragtag team of oddballs (some with powers) who fight supernatural forces when they aren’t working their day jobs.
The Hunter franchise is semi-based on that series.
The team’s mentor, archaeological anthropologist Dr. Jim Hunter, investigates “haunted” artifacts and places for his research.
He’s like Indiana Jones, but with horror.
In the first surprise mega-hit movie, Hunter , he investigates a demon possession.
This time, he investigates a farmhouse based on rumors of witches and lore about an ancient relic that summons them.
They offered me a deal.
I turned it down multiple times. As amazing as it sounded (and as much as Dot begged me to do it), I couldn’t.
Three hundred grand to film a horror flick here sounds like a jackpot, but it means closing Saddletree for two months. Too many people count on me and this place for food, peacefulness, and connection. I can’t let them down.
“One last pitch,” I agree, only for Dot’s sake. “As long as you can pitch on the move. I must get back to the kitchen.”
Dot practically dives into the driver’s seat. I give Jaye the passenger seat, slightly cleaner than the open trunk littered with hay and oats.
The ATV sputters and stalls when she turns the key. A second try produces the same disappointing result.
“We’re out of gas… just like you, Lena, babe,” Dot says.
“Shit. Another thing I forgot this morning. Sorry.”
“Let’s walk and talk,” Jaye says, sounding upbeat. “It’s a gorgeous morning.”
Our dogs greet her as she exits, and Jaye gives them enthusiastic affection, showing no intimidation over our two German shepherds.
Hugo and Penelope take our sides as we stroll, barking like they have opinions on our conversation.
They’d report our activities to Ben if they could, as cop loyalty surely extends to retired police dogs.
“Great dogs,” Jaye says. “I’ve always wanted one, but I travel too much.”
“Aw, wish you’d been here to see their puppies. UNCW adopted them for service training—future port security and police dogs. Well, except one—Samwise Gamgee went home with a little boy named Adam. If Ben had it his way, we’d get all the retired police dogs and horses—”
“Lena, let her do her pitch,” Dot whispers sternly beside me.
“Right, the pitch. Just don’t be too disappointed when I say no again.”
She smirks. “I appreciate the chance. You can’t blame me for falling in love with this place.”
“Before the renovation, it felt like living in a horror movie, but not after Dot and Cherry got through with it,” I chuckle. “Filming a horror movie here doesn’t fit the peaceful retreat we’ve worked so hard to create.”
“Horror isn’t your brand—I get it. But that’s exactly why Saddletree’s perfect for the story.
Dr. Jim Hunter is trying to save a beautiful place and a close-knit family from dark forces.
The retreat you’ve built here will be respected in the story and completely restored by the movie’s end.
And—bonus—a nice side effect of opening your home to celebrities is that they’ll rave about Saddletree on social media.
Your customers will be more excited than ever when you reopen. ”
“Maybe, but I don’t want Saddletree synonymous with witches and battles against evil. This is a happy place, a safe place, free from darkness.”
“No place is free from darkness. That’s the first mistake people make in any good horror movie—thinking they’re safe. Complacency breeds trouble.”
Dot’s voice surprises Jaye and me, bringing our light stroll to a quick stop.
I gawk at her, stopping short of the eye roll and arm punch I want to give. She has a chance to flirt, and this is what she says? Cherry may need to give Dot a flirting tutorial.
“It’s true,” Jaye says. “The moment you relax into thinking everything’s okay is when it probably isn’t…”
My throat tightens. Everything’s okay.
“You have a tight grasp of the horror genre.”
Dot’s cheeks go brick red. This is so unbelievably cute.
I stifle a laugh. “This isn’t a horror movie. It’s my life. I can’t shut down for two months. Too many people count on me.”
“The community adores you—they’ll understand. Why wouldn’t they want Saddletree in the limelight?” Her bangs slide sideways as her head tilts. “If it helps, I’ve discussed your situation with the execs. They’ve authorized me to up the offer.”
The way Dot grips my arm makes me feel like a perp under arrest. I really don’t have time for this.
She says a number I don’t understand.
“What?” I ask, sure I didn’t hear her correctly.
“Five hundred grand. A cool half-mil, Lena, and all you have to do is…” Jaye shrugs her muscular shoulders. “Say yes to a two-month vacation.”
Hugo sits beside me and barks shortly—he doesn’t believe her either.
“Um, that’s ridiculous,” I say, ready to argue that the studio should be more fiscally responsible.
“That’s more than double what Matt Kirby made starring in the first movie.
He’s the actor who plays Jim Hunter,” Dot says for my benefit, though I know who Matt Kirby is.
Before he was Jim Hunter, he played a detective in Nightshift , a police drama Mom enjoyed.
She compared Kirby to “that adorable Matt Damon” and called them both “casually handsome.” I never argued.
A gentle smile finds my lips, imagining what she’d say about Hollywood magic and Matt Kirby descending onto her homestead, let alone the 500-grand. Mom loved TV, crime shows, and treasures.
“Well, the original Hunter was a low-budget film. No one expected it to become a mega-hit. The studio’s more generous this time,” Jaye explains before locking eyes with me again.
“They understand your concerns regarding the support groups, too. They don’t want to displace anyone, either.
If you agree, they’ll build a new structure with bathrooms near the pond as a bonus.
And we’ll keep to a schedule during filming to share the spaces.
You won’t have to turn them away. What do you think, Lena? Will you reconsider?”
My phone pings, and I glance at Trisha’s text. May and June are arguing over the tip jar again. *eye roll emoji*
I groan. Please confiscate the tip jar and separate them until I get back. OMW.
“Everything okay?” Jaye asks.
“Just issues with the children,” I sigh.
She looks confused. “I thought you only had one child.”
“Me, too. Look, I appreciate all that you’re trying to do, but—”
Dot yanks me aside, earning a stern bark from Penelope. “Don’t be so hasty, Lena.”
“I’m not shutting down Saddletree for your love life, Dot.”
Her hands go to her hips. “It could be good for yours, too. Talk to Ben first, at least.”
“I don’t need to talk to Ben. He’d hate it. Plus, there’s Ruthie. Do you want her having nightmares over the horror movie being filmed outside?”
“Are you fucking joking? She’ll be a badass for life with this kind of street cred. Besides, seeing behind the scenes and knowing how things work will make her less scared of shit.”
I shrug, knowing that’s probably true.
“A half mil, Lena. Ben should know before you refuse it. What’s the harm in asking for a little time to think? Come on. For me.”
Her hopeful gleam karate-chops my resolve. Dot rarely asks for anything except time with Ruthie and free baked goods. How can I refuse? She side-eyes Jaye, who sweetly tries not to listen by playing with the dogs, and Dot’s clear admiration sways me—she really likes this woman.
A deep breath and a quick step bring me back to Jaye. “You’re right. I need more time to consider it. And, um, since Dot’s my contractor and official property advisor, you should exchange numbers. She’ll have many, many questions on my behalf. Dot’ll let you know my final answer.”
A glance between Dot and me confirms that I’ve scored a lifetime of favors. Who’s the boss bitch now?
She bobs on her black Timberlands, back and forth, with authority. “Yep. I’ll handle it. While you’re here, Jaye, can you walk me through the studio’s construction needs for the project?”
“Absolutely. Join me for coffee and cinnamon rolls?”
Blushing, they leave me. It’s up to Dot now.
I pass the vegetable garden, well picked over and nearing its seasonal end. Jack Harvey helps me with spring planting—it’s a massive undertaking now. In exchange, I cater his monthly poker nights (Alice refuses to host on religious grounds).
It’s a rule of country life—we help each other out.
But there’s no one to help me get back on schedule.
Returning to work, I race to complete everything necessary to make my deliveries, gulping coffee between tasks like a marathon runner hitting a water station. When the lunch rush ends, I load my twenty-year-old Honda Pilot with baked goods and hit the road.
I don’t start to relax until I’m on my last delivery—Millie’s neon purple cupcakes for her girls’ night. I check the time. If I do a quick drop-off at Millie’s, I’ll only be a few minutes late to pick Ruthie up from preschool.
Or maybe I’ll make it on time. I press the accelerator, curving quickly around the familiar country roads.
My mind drifts into planning for tonight.
I’ll set up the table on the back deck overlooking the pond with candles and soft music.
I’ll make a pit stop to Publix for his favorite beer and make shrimp scampi.
We’ll watch the sunset and talk— really talk .
I’ll bring down his shields with funny stories and gentle questions.
The more I imagine our reunion, the more I need it.
I miss him.
His small, one-breath laugh that feels like a win every time I hear it.
The way he holds my hand under the table whenever we go to dinner—maybe he’ll do that tonight.
His deep, gentle voice that mesmerizes me when he talks.
I long to feel close to him again and feel ashamed that we’ve drifted apart in the first place.
My speed sneaks up on me, as does the sharp curve around Clayton’s Swamp. I’ve driven this road thousands of times at higher speeds and in unfavorable weather conditions, but I’m hellishly preoccupied.
“Distraction can be deadly.” Ben’s words from previous driving lectures flitter my thoughts like an omen.
I take the narrow, tree-lined curve too fast and feel my rear end fishtailing behind me.
Shit, shit, shit. I slam on the brakes too hard and overcorrect the wheel.
The car jerks in nonsensical directions as the steering wheel refuses to turn where I tell it.
Tires screech against the pavement, joining my screams when the car twists, and I feel inexplicably weightless.
No, no, no. Oh, God, no.
Airbags whoosh, but a brutal hit breaks against me, anyway. Sharp pains lightning bolt through me, and immense pressure pins me to the seat.
I can’t breathe.
Then, darkness.