Chapter 6
six
JOAN
After sifting through my rarely used email inbox, I found the shooting schedule for the week from the film liaison and made my way clear across the farm.
It was unsettling how easily they’d taken something foundational to me and rewritten it for their purposes.
There were more people than I ever would have imagined on a movie set.
What did all these people do? Tables of food were set up near a trailer.
Beneath a white tent, folks in puffy jackets gathered around a woman with a headset as they reviewed something on a tiny screen.
There were monitors and cameras and even a person operating something on a track system, like a little train car.
I spotted Ian right away. He wasn’t hard to find. He was big and imposing, drew attention like a lighthouse.
As I stomped my way in his direction, I shook off the unease of what I was walking into. Was it unfamiliar? Yes. Was I intimidated? Fuck, no.
I didn’t care who these people were or the fact that I was about to cause a scene. I wanted answers from the man who’d been too cowardly to confront me himself. He’d sent someone else to do his dirty work.
A young man in an absurdly furry trapper hat was the first to see me as I approached the set. He seemed vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.
The man squeaked and nearly fumbled his clipboard before hustling out of my way.
“I’d like a word,” I said to Ian when I reached the people gathered in a semicircle around the tiny screen.
They all turned, startled, and the woman seated in the middle of them pulled her headset off and eyed me curiously. If she was mad that I’d interrupted, she didn’t show it; she merely gave me her attention and a surprised smile.
I knew she was the director—Della . . . something.
She’d come to the house and introduced herself to my family.
I knew this whole project was her idea. I’d known it even before I’d met her because she’d called and talked to my parents prior to them signing on with the production company and allowing the film to use our land.
Her enthusiasm and love for the area were what convinced my family to say yes.
I ignored the fact that I actually liked this woman.
She was different from what I’d expected.
I’d assumed a Hollywood director would be more businesslike and professional.
Della wore rings on every finger and flowy skirts.
She talked about the spirit of the land and was obsessed with my mother’s zucchini bread.
I didn’t know her well, obviously, but there was no artifice I could detect in her dealings with us.
But I wasn’t here for a social call.
Ian frowned for maybe the first time in his entire life and looked around the set. I followed his gaze to where Darren sat near the trailer. The large man’s eyes widened when they landed on me, and he stood.
Ian shook his head, and Darren stayed where he was.
“Excuse us a moment,” Ian said smoothly with an artificial smile.
I hated that I knew him well enough by now to know that it was fake.
The puffy-jacket-wearing strangers watched us with interest, but it was Della who spoke. “Of course, Dorian. We make time for what’s important in life.”
She sounded like a television psychic mixed with a Magic 8 Ball, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
Ian led me away from the tent, past the hungry gazes of curious onlookers, to the back side of a small trailer.
Secluded as we were and facing away from the set, the landscape looked familiar in this direction.
Trees I recognized and a field I’d plowed back in the spring.
Something settled into place, and I was finally able to take a deep breath.
But then Ian stepped in front of me, stealing my focus. “What did you need to discuss?”
“What was that all about? An NDA, Ian? What the hell?”
Ian swallowed visibly. “It’s for—it’s to keep him safe.”
“Who?” I practically demanded.
There was no one nearby, no one to overhear, but Ian still lowered his voice. “Georgie.”
Confusion must have shown on my face, because he sighed and admitted, “No one knows about my nephew, Joan. And I want to keep it that way. Just because he’s saddled with me doesn’t mean he should be subjected to the media and rumors.
I want him to have a normal life.” Then he winced, as if remembering he was, in fact, a fucking movie star who wouldn’t know normal even if it hit him in the face. “Well, as normal a life as possible.”
I felt the tension in my jaw loosen. “He’s your nephew?”
Ian hesitated. “My sister died last year.”
“I’m sorry,” I said immediately, reflexive but sincere.
“And my parents aren’t able to care for a little kid.
So he’s living with me. And we’re making it work, even with .
. .” He gestured with his hands, as if he could encompass the film and the set and the giant spectacle that was his life.
“Everything. I didn’t know he was with you until yesterday.
He’s been running off, leaving the house to go explore.
Scared the shit out of Sophia—his nanny—when he ignored her and didn’t come back yesterday. ”
Well, I’d wondered where George was coming from. Now I knew. Sadness and empathy welled within me for the quiet little boy.
“At first, I thought his family was visiting the orchard,” I confessed. “But with the timing of the crew’s arrival, I assumed he’d wandered away from the set.”
Ian nodded like that made sense. “But I can’t have anyone finding out about him.
We’ll never have any peace. Paparazzi will hound us, and they’ll do their research.
They’ll track down my parents, looking for a story.
Georgie is too—I don’t want to make things worse.
He’s been uprooted enough as it is. This lifestyle .
. . it’s not for children. I’m trying to figure things out, but I can’t—I don’t want—”
“Hey, it’s okay,” I said quickly, placing a staying hand on his forearm and regretting it immediately.
I’d never seen Ian like this, so unsure, so unsteady.
I’d only ever witnessed the carefree flirt, the confident movie star, the charming figurehead.
This, I realized, was the uncle who was very afraid of fucking it all up.
“I won’t say anything. I signed the form. I won’t tell anyone about George.”
I would need to tell my sister and my friends to keep their traps shut about what I’d already divulged, but they would.
Ian nodded, relief plain on his face.
“What about the film people here?” I asked. “Or your friends back home? Do they know about your nephew?”
But Ian was already shaking his head. “Della knows. That’s it. And my team, of course—my assistant, my manager. I don’t have anyone back—” He cut himself off abruptly and looked away.
I felt surprise slice through me, enough that I shifted on my feet. Was Dorian Masters about to admit he didn’t have friends to confide in about George? Surely, that couldn’t be right.
“There’s no one else,” he finally acknowledged.
Again, the urge was there to offer a comforting touch, a squeeze of my hand, but I resisted, and I said, instead, “Okay. Alright.”
I understood the reason for the secrecy. I thought of the solemn little boy who was thoughtful and inquisitive but rarely smiled, and my heart squeezed. The honor-questioning, righteous indignation I’d marched over here with had fizzled out, a firework flaring bright before burning down to nothing.
My fury may have faded, but I still had more questions. Where was George’s father? Why were Ian’s parents unable to care for their grandson? Why was he running away from his nanny?
At least her name wasn’t Gloria.
But perhaps this wasn’t the time or the place for my curiosity.
“Thank you,” Ian finally said. “For keeping this secret. For protecting Georgie. I’ll make sure he stays away from the orchard. We’ll make new rules and Sophia can—”
“You don’t need to do that,” I interrupted. “Now that you know where he’s sneaking off to, you don’t have to be worried. And I don’t mind having him around. He’s quiet and smart. He’s not any trouble.”
Ian’s face did something funny. He was an actor and could probably pluck out any reaction and emote the hell out of it. But whatever he was feeling right now, I didn’t have a name for.
I watched his bright blue eyes move between mine. Then, after another hard swallow, he nodded. “Maybe he can visit you a couple of afternoons a week. After he finishes his schoolwork.”
“That’s fine. I’m always at the farm on Wednesdays and Thursdays. I can meet him after lunch at the gate, walk him across the highway, so you don’t have to worry. Probably be better if he avoids the weekends while we’re open. Too many people—strangers who might talk to him.”
“You’re sure this is okay?” Ian looked conflicted.
I didn’t understand it myself. This man was a glorified stranger, and so was George, but I liked the kid. And now I knew he was more alone than I ever could have imagined. His little voice calling himself an inconvenience flitted through my head and tightened my chest.
He’d sought me out—the Apple Lady—and for some inexplicable reason, that made me feel good, almost proud. For a kid who’d gone through so much, this was an easy wish to grant.
“I could pay you to watch him,” Ian offered when I’d been quiet too long.
My frown was immediate, and I snapped, “I don’t need your money. Not everything needs to be bought and paid for like a transaction.”
Ian still eyed me warily but nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything—”
“It’s fine.” I forced myself to take a breath and ignore the reminder he’d lobbed between us. As if I could forget he was rich and famous and used to buying loyalty and trusting no one.