Chapter 12
twelve
JOAN
“He’s going to offer you coffee,” I said very quietly. “Just accept it and drink it. Don’t make a face.”
Brady just had time to say “What?” before Ian opened the door to me, my siblings, and Mercer standing on his front porch.
“Come on in, y’all.” Ian smiled as we passed. “Thanks for making time to go over this stuff ahead of the rehearsal. I know you’re very busy this week. I’m actually a little nervous and just want everything to be perfect.”
And I had to admit, Ian did look nervous. It wasn’t an expression I’d seen on him very often, but if you knew where to look—the overly toothy smile, the wide eyes, the stiff set of his shoulders—it was pretty obvious.
This was a busy week, Ian was right about that. It was Tuesday, and Candace and Mercer were getting married on Saturday evening.
But I knew for a fact that Ian was busy, too. Between the movie and George and all the time we’d been spending together, Ian had a lot on his plate.
I now saw George most days. Save for the weekends when I was busy selling Christmas trees on the farm. But during the week, George was with me for most afternoons. Sometimes Sophia was there, and sometimes she wasn’t. They focused on his schoolwork in the mornings.
Ian had been finding ways to slip away. He’d been joining George and me for lunch nearly every day. And he’d been making it to most of our morning runs, too.
Despite being tugged in many directions, Dorian Masters would be officiating the upcoming wedding ceremony.
Initially, my brother had offered to marry the happy couple. He’d officiated our friends Chloe and Jordan’s wedding last summer, and wouldn’t shut up about it. But Brady was Mercer’s best man. When Ian had found out, he’d offered up his services. Said he’d love to marry Candace and Mercer.
Ian had asked us to come over this morning to discuss the vows and make sure they were exactly right. He’d also requested the presence of the best man and the maid of honor, hence the reason Brady and I were in attendance.
Perhaps it should have been strange that an A-list celebrity was going to not just attend but officiate my sister’s wedding, but for some reason, it was easy enough to accept Ian’s involvement. It probably helped that he seemed genuinely happy to do it.
That was the thing about Ian. He was adaptable and easygoing. He’d charmed the locals and hadn’t batted an eye during the bachelorette party. The man traveled the world and went to award shows, walked red carpets and worked sixteen-hour days on set.
The more I learned about Ian and got to know him, the more I realized that my earliest assumptions had been off base.
He loved being a performer and had been interested in acting since childhood.
And his current acting role was very important to Ian.
I knew because he’d told me, and I’d been curious despite myself.
We’d had plenty of conversations about the production, how it was a much smaller budget when compared to Ian’s other projects.
But he’d wanted to work with Della. He valued her process and vision, and respected what she did and how she did it.
Plus, he was a producer on the film, which was a big deal to him, careerwise.
One day, a few weeks ago, as we’d sat on a picnic table and watched George hop across the bounce pillow, Ian had confessed that he’d love to slow down on the acting portion of his career and hoped to write or direct someday.
But he didn’t know if it would ever happen.
That he might never be taken seriously and always be seen as superhero material.
That was another reason he’d wanted his current role so badly.
So he could work with someone like Della, whose gritty, artistic films were often nominated during awards season.
Ian hoped to expand his portfolio and diversify.
He wanted space to pursue his interests which would allow him to cut back on acting so that he could spend more time focusing on George.
I’d learned a lot about the movie they were making in my own backyard, too. Ian’s character was a blue-collar mechanic, a small-town guy who got caught up in a murder mystery plot after he and his sister discovered a body in the woods.
I knew they’d be wrapping up production in Los Angeles following the location shoot in Kirby Falls. They needed studio space to film some of the interiors they didn’t have access to here. But the majority of the movie took place outdoors.
Ian had explained how they shot scenes out of order, which seemed wild to me. And that was why things like continuity were so important. Like how they trimmed his short hair weekly and kept six of the same shirt in wardrobe, just in case.
The more I’d learned about the film, the more I’d come to understand just how demanding the work was for everyone involved. Ian liked to downplay a lot, but he had dialogue and blocking to memorize, and so much going on behind the scenes that it had to be stressful.
But he never let on if he’d had a difficult day or an early start. He never seemed exhausted or frustrated with his work. George and I only ever saw cheerful, happy Ian.
The man was a professional. He’d admitted that his least favorite part of being an actor was when everything wrapped and the film was released. Promoting and dealing with the press took a toll, requiring his time and attention in a way that acting on screen did not.
Curious, I’d asked if he wasn’t famous enough to get out of doing the boring interviews and jumping through all those hoops. And he’d said he didn’t think anyone was famous enough to avoid that stuff.
“Let me make you guys some coffee,” Ian said, drawing my thoughts back to the here and now and this wedding-prep meeting.
“Here we go,” I murmured. “Game faces on, people.”
Brady, Candace, and Mercer looked at me like I was insane.
“Actually,” Ian called over his shoulder as he measured coffee beans and twisted knobs, “I wanted to make sure you two were still okay with me officiating. I didn’t think about it when I offered—I was just happy to be involved—but I could see how I might be a distraction.”
The sound of grinding interrupted us for a moment.
“Maybe I put you on the spot when I offered,” Ian said sheepishly. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to back out and find someone else. I don’t want to divert attention away. This should be your day.”
With his focus on delivering the first two lattes, Ian didn’t see Candace’s panic.
“No, Ian. No,” she hurried to assure him.
“It’ll be fine. The wedding isn’t going to be that big.
You’ve met most of the people who’ll be there.
We are thrilled to have you included in the ceremony.
” She smiled genuinely at this, and Mercer nodded his agreement.
“I am confident our guests will be more interested in the wedding than leaking photos of you to TMZ.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but it really was too late in the game to find someone else.
Still looking a little uncertain, Ian nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
Then he shifted back to the coffee maker.
I watched as Candace reached for her mug. She took a sip and immediately spit it back into the cup. Mercer had been in the middle of lifting his mug to his lips, but after his fiancée’s reaction, he set it back down.
I gave him a stern glare, and he sighed and picked it up again.
“Just drink it,” I whispered over the hiss of steamed milk.
Brady stared at Candace, who looked like she was trying to scrape the taste off her tongue with her front teeth.
Fear overtook my brother’s features. With his pants very much on fire, he shouted, “I’m lactose intolerant. You can skip me, bro.”
Liar, I mouthed at him.
Brady shrugged, looking pleased with himself until Ian spun toward the refrigerator.
“That’s okay, bro. I have oat milk.”
“Great,” Brady called with forced enthusiasm.
I didn’t bother hiding my grin.
A few minutes later, we all had various mugs of caffeinated abominations in front of us.
I was able to sip stoically, probably in large part to the tolerance I’d built up from all the travel mugs Ian had brought me over the last month.
Today’s blend was definitely an improvement over some of his other creations.
But still worse than any gas station coffee I’ve ever had.
“Oh, something else I wanted to discuss,” Ian said from where he faced us across the kitchen island. “Eloise asked me to be the grand marshal for the Christmas parade coming up. She wants me to dress up as Santa.”
Candace and Mercer exchanged looks. Brady groaned in sympathy.
“You didn’t agree, did you?” I asked incredulously.
Ian frowned in confusion, and it looked so unnatural on his face that I almost laughed. “Obviously, I agreed. Santa, Joan. I’m going to play Santa.”
“A role of a lifetime. Of course. What was I thinking?”
Ian grinned, but then he went on, “Actually, I said I’d only do it if she agreed to feature Judd’s Orchard on Santa’s float.
Since y’all have done so much for the film and—and for me.
Your family has welcomed Georgie and me with open arms. I want to share the spotlight with you and highlight the farm. ”
Candace and I shared a commiserating glance while Mercer and Brady started laughing.
Ian looked between the four of us. “What?”
In between wheezes, Brady said, “They got into a huge food fight the last time they were in the Christmas parade together.”
Ian’s blue eyes widened. “What?” he repeated. “I want to hear this story.”
“No!” Candace and I shouted in unison.
“It’s embarrassing,” my sister added. “I wasn’t my best self.”
“Yeah, you really weren’t,” I agreed.
Candace whacked me on the shoulder, and I chuckled.
“Anyway,” I said, meeting Ian’s amused and way-too-interested gaze. “Thanks for the offer, but we’re going to pass on the float thing. It’s not even a float anyway. You’ll just be riding on the back of Bubba Walcott’s hay trailer.”
Ian looked crestfallen. “But I already told Eloise that you’d dress up as Mrs. Claus.”
My siblings burst out laughing.
My mouth dropped open. “You did not.”
Just then, George came running into the kitchen and hugged me around the waist. The little stinker must have been eavesdropping because he immediately launched into a sales pitch.
“Joanie, I get to ride on the float too! Uncle Ian says it’s okay because I’ll be in a costume and no one will know me.
I’m going to be an elf. I want you to be an elf, too.
Sophia’s going to be an elf. And Darren is going to be Rudolph. ”
I glanced at Ian, who was biting his lip in a futile effort to hide his smile.
“An elf sounds good,” he agreed seriously, after he’d composed himself. “Or you could always be Mrs. Claus.”
I shot him a glare.
“Please, Joanie,” the kid begged, his blue eyes impossibly big. “Please ride the float with me.”
My chest constricted at the hope on his little face.
Everyone was looking at me, waiting for an answer. I’d rather drink ten cups of Ian’s coffee than ride on some stupid hay trailer for two hours in the cold this Sunday night.
“I’ll take care of the costumes,” Ian said. “You just have to show up.”
“Pleeeeease,” George pleaded.
With dread sinking like a weight in my belly, along with some truly horrific coffee, I managed a weak smile and said, “Sure, George. I’ll be an elf, too.”
The boy pumped a small fist in the air and let out a whoop. I could already feel the reluctant smile urging my lips into action.
My attention snagged on something clutched in George’s hand as he lowered it. There was a friendship bracelet wrapped around his fingers. The beads were alternating gold and silver, but I couldn’t make out the letters from here.
Before George could take off again, he ran over to Ian and said, “Here, I made this one for you.”
My family was oblivious to what was happening, back to talking amongst themselves, but I straightened on my stool. I knew Ian didn’t have a bracelet from George yet. I’d seen the longing on the man’s face when he caught sight of mine.
But now, it looked like Ian had been hit by a truck.
George thrust the beaded bracelet toward his uncle, and Ian lowered his big body down on one knee to accept it.
“It’s for me?” Ian asked quietly, so damn hopeful that I felt a catch in my throat.
“Yep,” George replied easily, the way only a child could—one who was completely unaware of how he’d plowed through his uncle’s emotional walls.
“Let’s see what it says,” Ian said softly, placing the bracelet gently across his palm. “Uncle Ian,” he read.
“That’s you,” George told him simply. “We’re teammates, so you needed one, too.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard, thinking back to my conversation with the boy during our fishing adventure.
Then I watched as Ian swallowed several times before clearing his throat. “This is the best. I’m going to put it on right now.”
He stretched the elastic around his thick wrist and ruffled his nephew’s hair. “Thanks, Georgie. I love it.”
“You’re welcome,” the kid called and then skipped out of the kitchen, leaving an emotionally disheveled Ian staring after him.
After a moment, Ian’s gaze drifted back to the bracelet circling his wrist. It remained there a beat before he smoothly got to his feet. When he turned, his gaze found mine, blue eyes bright.
He smiled wide, both dimples appearing. I was helpless to do anything but smile back.
Realistically, I knew that this man was an award-winning actor who had a tight grip on his expressions and could command them at will.
But there had been something staggering about witnessing the raw honesty of George and Ian’s exchange.
A child’s direct and open way, contrasted with an adult doing everything in his power to rein himself in.
How deeply touched Ian had been and how he’d so obviously been dismantled by a seven-year-old who had—maybe—finally started to see how much Ian cared for him.
It felt like I’d witnessed a pivotal step in their relationship—a core memory for Ian on the terrifying journey of raising a child. I knew what receiving George’s bracelet had meant to him.
And I also knew that Ian was worthy of what that token represented. Trust and love. Hope and conviction. Promise and faith.
Teammates.
Ian’s smile didn’t dim for a long time, and mine didn’t either.