Chapter 4 #2
“Yes, you did.” Angelo rolled his eyes. “And you deserved it.”
“What happened?” Zoe asked, breathless.
“Archer made some sexist remark about women farmers,” Angelo explained.
“Joan overheard and laid into him. Not only that, but she treated him to a lengthy lecture about power dynamics and stereotypes in traditional occupations as well as modern farming families. Pretty sure Archer donated to about six different charities to atone for his ignorance. So, yeah, I imagine he really doesn’t want to be the one to touch base with Joan about a favor. ”
“What about Della’s new intern?” Archer asked hopefully.
“I’ll do it,” Baxter said suddenly, from my side.
Everyone swiveled to peer at him.
He turned his focus away from his tablet and pushed his glasses up his nose, obviously uncomfortable with the attention.
“She, uh, helped me change a tire on my rental car the other day. I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m an idiot, but I don’t mind asking her about clearing the land next to the lavender field for the set. ”
“She changed your tire for you?” I asked.
Baxter glanced at me briefly before nodding. “Yeah. She actually had me help her so I could learn how to do it. I think I could probably manage it without a YouTube video now.”
I brought my coffee mug to my lips to hide my smile.
In truth, I didn’t know Joan all that well, but that sounded like something she’d do. Confidently delivering lengthy lectures to ignorant outsiders, but wholly incapable of ignoring someone in need, even a stranger. That was how I’d wormed my way into her good graces, after all.
Thinking back to the other morning on the Judds’ screened porch, I wasn’t so sure that grace extended to me anymore.
Joan had obviously been surprised by my presence there.
She’d been closed off, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she’d looked almost betrayed.
The chill around her had rivaled the brisk mountain air.
She hadn’t been happy to find me with her family members, and I could understand that.
I was protective about Georgie, after all.
But it truly hadn’t been my intent to impose upon her family.
I simply hadn’t been able to ignore Amy Judd struggling under the weight of that birdseed.
And then it had seemed impolite to turn down her invitation to coffee.
Before I’d known it, I’d been surrounded by Judds and genuinely enjoying myself.
Joan’s appearance had changed the atmosphere. Her reaction to my presence hinted at more than passing annoyance, though. And, maybe, I’d handled it all wrong, being flippant and teasing.
I supposed I’d find out just how upset she truly was tomorrow morning. We had another run scheduled.
I imagined she’d still show. That was another tidbit I’d picked up about Joan in our brief acquaintance—she was dependable, true to her word. Even something as casual as an early-morning workout wouldn’t be overlooked by the stalwart farmer.
I was relatively certain that if Joan Judd made plans, she stuck to them. I liked that about her. She was an original—a grumpy, principled original.
And I couldn’t wait to see what happened tomorrow. If she was actually angry over the way I’d butted in with her family, I’d let her take it out on me. Part of me thought I wouldn’t even mind a little punishment.
Archer frowned at Baxter. “Why didn’t you just call roadside assistance?”
“I was going to,” Baxter admitted. “But she just pulled over and started getting tools out. I wasn’t going to argue with her. You’ve met her.”
I just barely caught my snort of amusement before it could escape.
Archer opened his mouth to say something else, but Della swept into the room with the aforementioned intern trailing her, stacks of papers in hand.
“Good morning, friends,” Della called, in that way of hers.
She was the writer and director for the film, and she wasn’t like anyone I’d ever worked with before.
After meeting her and auditioning, I’d known immediately that I wanted to be a part of this project.
It was outside my typical roles, but I could tell it would challenge me in new and exciting ways.
Plus, I liked her vision for the project.
Della was probably in her early fifties, and she didn’t seem to have any fucks left to give, but I meant that as a compliment. She wasn’t concerned with how everyone else did things. Della wanted them done right, and to her, the right way was with kindness, respect, and consideration.
She was insightful and observant—probably a hippie in another timeline, judging by her long, graying braid and the colorful skirts she always wore.
Whenever we spoke, she always asked about my well-being. Most people said, “How are you?” But Della Stewart asked if all was well within your heart.
She was weird, in a good way. I liked her a lot, and I was excited to make this movie together.
“Is everyone feeling nourished?” Della asked, gesturing to the pastries and coffee.
A chorus of yesses rose from the assistants and the other producers who’d filtered in.
Our director grinned and clapped her hands together. “Fantastic. Then let’s begin.”
I’d bet myself five bucks that Joan would be waiting by the entrance to the orchard the following morning, and, wouldn’t you know it? I was right.
Being able to accurately predict her motivations didn’t really account for the relief I felt at seeing her, though. It couldn’t explain the sudden nervous energy buzzing beneath my skin either.
“Good morning,” I called as I approached.
She eyed me cautiously, like I might pull a knife on her instead of the smile I was already wearing. I hadn’t bothered with the sunglasses, but the beanie was necessary. It was cold this morning on my newly shorn scalp.
Joan grunted something that might have been “good morning” or “hurry up.” I wasn’t sure, but when she took off down the gravel path at a brisk jog, I moved to keep up.
I fought against my amusement at her surliness as I forced myself to focus on my pace and breathing—like she’d taught me. But after a few minutes, I couldn’t take it.
“So, you’re mad,” I said.
“Nope.” The word snapped out and landed with the subtlety of a live grenade.
Well, at least she wasn’t starstruck. If she’d shown up this morning a staring, bumbling mess, I would have been strangely disappointed. Impressing Joan was one thing; using my celebrity status to do it was something else entirely.
But we were obviously back to square one. She was spooked and distrustful, and had basically reverted to ignoring me and giving one-word responses.
“Listen, I won’t bother your family anymore if you don’t want me to,” I told her, not entirely sure how to keep that promise should she demand it. I already had plans with her brother and a group chat with her mom and dad.
“None of my business,” Joan bit out before picking up the pace a little. It was her way of shutting me up. If I couldn’t breathe, then I couldn’t yap.
Unfortunately, I was persistent, often to my own detriment. Who needed oxygen anyway?
“You seem like a private person, and I get that. I really do,” I said, panting a little. Okay, a lot. “But we’re neighbors for the time being and I don’t mean any harm. I want to be on good terms with you and your family. Friends, you know?”
She didn’t answer.
“So how long do you think you’ll be mad at me? You’re not breaking up Team Turkey Trot, are you? Because I already registered us, and I think we can easily place in our age groups.”
Joan cut me a look sharp enough to impale before facing forward and rolling her eyes.
That was progress.
I needed to get this next part out. There was a hill coming up, and I’d be fighting for my life just to make it to the top. “Feel free to punish me for encroaching on your home life. You can make me do sprints after our run, or, hey, you could spank me, if you wanted.”
She stopped so abruptly that I nearly stumbled before turning to face her.
Joan’s glare was worse than incendiary; it was stone-cold.
I raised my hands in surrender. “You’re right. That was inappropriate.”
“Do you think this is funny?” she gritted out.
“No?” I replied warily. It was clear from her tone that the question had been rhetorical.
“All some big joke? Tricking me into thinking you were just some regular guy?”
“Oh, that.” I chuckled. “I mean, yeah. It’s a little funny. No one actually thinks that you can hide Superman with a pair of Clark Kent glasses, but it actually happened. You didn’t recognize me with my sunglasses on.” I laughed again, but Joan didn’t.
“You cut your hair,” she accused.
“Superman uses gel, and Clark is all disheveled, but same difference.”
“I’m not an idiot,” she said, and I sobered immediately.
“I never said you were,” I replied slowly.
“Well, you must have assumed it when you pulled a fast one on me.” Her blue eyes were angry—legitimately furious.
Confusion had me shaking my head. I fought to catch my breath. “Hold on a sec. I think—”
But she didn’t let me finish. “And you’re different when you’re—you’re—”
“When I’m what?” I wondered, genuinely curious.
“Performing.” She practically spat the word. “Putting on a big act, making my mother laugh, charming the pants off my siblings. Acting like you’re chummy with the country mice.”
I frowned, feeling suddenly cold, and not from the sweat drying on my skin. “Is that what you think? That I was . . . acting?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “One minute I thought you were a cameraman or—or a lighting specialist, or one of the guys with the big sticks with the microphones on the end.”
“Boom operator,” I supplied automatically, wincing as I realized I wasn’t helping.
Joan glared and put her hands on her hips. “I thought you were a normal guy who was bad at cardio and needed a running partner. Then I get ambushed in my own home. And I felt so st—” She cut herself off, but I heard what she hadn’t said, loud and clear.
Stupid. I’d made her feel stupid, and she was angry at herself for trusting me.