Chapter 18 #2
After a moment, I tapped back over to my text thread with my sister.
While I tried to figure out how to reply, I realized I was freaking the fuck out.
I didn’t know what Candace expected me to say, but it probably wasn’t a collection of emojis meant to convey my brain exploding.
I typed holy shit before backspacing. It would have been easier to send a photo of whatever my face was doing.
There had been so much of me in everything Ian had said on camera.
My life and my presence in his spread out on a countertop in a twenty-foot set trailer.
I’d heard my words—things I’d told him during our runs or over lunch—slip out of Ian’s mouth when he’d spoken about the beauty of the land and the county’s apple production.
I finally managed to type an inarticulate wow and hit send.
My sister’s reply was immediate: All of the orchard merch is sold out.
The tee shirts, the hats, the mugs. All of it, sold out online.
I’ve been fielding calls all morning asking when we open for the season.
Mac texted, and all their stuff is sold out too, even the baking mixes and jam and stuff from the bakery.
Wow, I repeated dumbly, as my mind raced, truly unable to comprehend what Ian had done, very intentionally shining a light on our family business.
Candace: Wow is right. The Dorian Masters effect, in real time.
Candace: Also, he’s clearly in love with you, but we don’t have to talk about that if you aren’t ready yet.
I stared at the words on my screen as my stomach flipped over, very much not ready to think about Ian’s feelings, or my own.
Later that night, I made dinner while George drew at my kitchen table. Ian had a production meeting that was running late, but he was due any minute.
Normally, we made dinner together. Usually, a recipe of my mother’s that Ian was excited to try his hand at. He was great at chopping, but terrible at measuring with his heart. His heart usually put in twice the garlic and three times the salt.
Ian came rushing in just as I was slicing and plating the pork tenderloin.
George set the table while Ian washed up, and we ate together the way we had so many evenings in the last few months.
The kid dominated much of the conversation as he recounted the book he was reading on the Great Molasses Flood. Ian listened in stunned horror, occasionally asking questions between bites of mashed potatoes.
If anyone noticed how quiet I was, they didn’t comment on it. I was still mulling over that interview.
When had it been filmed? Why had he said all of those wonderful things about our town and our business? Didn’t he know he was supposed to be promoting his film—his own livelihood? What was that collection of stuff on his countertop, and why did it make my chest hurt just looking at it?
What did all of this mean to him? Was he really just going to leave next month and take George with him?
What the hell was I supposed to do when they left?
I stood abruptly from the table, my chair scraping loudly on the wooden floor.
“Everything okay?” Ian said quietly after a tense moment following my sudden departure.
“Yeah,” I called over my shoulder, placing my dishes in the sink with forced gentleness.
But a minute later, I heard Ian stand and collect the rest of the dinnerware. “Georgie, why don’t you set up Monopoly in the living room? I’ll be in there in a minute.”
The boy whooped and hurried out of the kitchen.
A hand touched the small of my back as I stood over the sink, forcing myself to breathe.
“What’s going on?” Ian asked as he settled beside me, depositing his and George’s dishes next to mine in the sink.
The warm hand on my back stayed, rubbing circles over the fabric of my flannel. I leaned into his touch, wondering how much longer it would be mine.
After clearing my throat, I replied, “Just a weird day.”
“What made it weird?”
I watched you in your element and saw how I might fit into your life.
You just did more for my parents and this farm in one interview than we could have ever hoped to accomplish with any amount of advertising on our own.
I wish I could be as brave as you are, as open.
I think I’m in love with you, and I don’t know how to lose you.
I think letting you and George go might ruin me.
But I didn’t say any of that. I couldn’t even look at him. “We had the final planning meeting this morning for the spring festival. Eloise was in rare form.”
“That’s right. The Spring Fling is next week.” Ian sounded amused.
I finally managed to bring my gaze to his, curious despite my internal freak-out. “How do you know about it?”
“I’m working the kissing booth. Eloise emailed me about it, and I said I’d do it.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
He grinned. “It’ll be great for the town.”
“Ian.”
“What?” He laughed the word. “You know I love this kind of stuff.”
I did know it. He loved Kirby Falls. He liked playing pool with the regulars down at Mattie B’s and going to trivia night at Trailview Brewing.
He met my neighbors and signed autographs and took pictures with anyone who asked.
He’d helped the head librarian with a fundraiser by sharing it in his Instagram stories.
Her programming was funded for the next thirty years.
When the barista over at Cubhouse Coffee had remembered Ian’s order and asked if he wanted his usual, he’d been so thrilled, he’d mentioned it no less than a dozen times that day.
Ian had been absorbed into our community, and he relished every moment of it.
Part of me worried it was the novelty of our small town that had drawn Ian’s attention.
My cynical side was sure it would wear off when he couldn’t get delivery after 9:00 p.m. or once he realized how close-minded some folks could be.
It was all fun and games when there was a pie-eating contest or a children’s art show to judge.
But when rural communities faced hardship or disaster, people were often left out in the cold.
Then there was the fact that I didn’t much like Eloise Carter taking advantage of Ian and his generosity. He didn’t owe us shit.
A kissing booth. Jesus Christ. There’d be a line a mile long.
“You don’t have to participate in every damn thing, Ian. It’s not your responsibility to help the town raise money for the new community park, or whatever she’s promised you you’ll be doing. Kirby Falls doesn’t need to get famous at your expense.”
Unbothered, Ian’s hands reached for me. He clutched my hips and turned me to face him. Blue eyes twinkling, he asked, “Are you jealous, Joanie? It’s only cheek kisses. No need to worry. These lips are all yours.”
I tried to hold on to my anger, but my grip faltered. A resigned smile tipped up the corners of my mouth. “You are ridiculous.”
“Thank you.”
“And you’re going to regret this whole Spring Fling nonsense.”
He shrugged. “Maybe, but I doubt it.”
I could hear George counting out the Monopoly money.
“Hey, before we go get our asses kicked by Mr. Moneybags in there,” Ian started, “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
He hesitated, licking his lips and releasing a breath through his nose.
I straightened, unsure what he could possibly want to know that would make him so visibly nervous.
“Would you—” He paused, shaking his head as if to clear it before smiling self-consciously and saying, “Fuck it. Would you like to come with me to my premiere next month? It’s for the third Inferno Man film.
I can show you around LA. We’ll dress up, walk the red carpet.
It’ll be fun, I promise. I’ll plan the whole thing.
You’ll just have to show up. And you’ll get to meet Eddie J, finally. He won’t shut up about meeting you.”
I felt my jaw drop partway through Ian’s nervous rambling.
“You can say no. If you want. It’s okay,” he added, when I’d failed to respond.
Forcing my mouth closed, I managed a swallow on the third attempt. “Ian, that’s really nice of you, but I’m not sure I’d fit in—”
“I won’t drag you to any parties or loud places. We could go to the beach. I know you like the ocean. The weather will be amazing. The premiere would just be a small part of it. One night.”
The hopefulness in his expression hollowed my stomach. The earnest way he stood waiting filled it with butterflies.
“Can I think about it?” I heard myself saying, very distantly, like I was standing in a deep hole I’d dug for myself.
“Yes! Of course!” he replied emphatically, nodding. And I knew his reaction was because he’d been expecting a no.
Something about that made me wish I was different.
Someone who could say yes easily when presented with such an opportunity.
But I wasn’t that person. I liked plans and didn’t want to inconvenience my co-workers by taking last-minute time off.
And as much as Ian might hope differently, I was never going to be a woman who could confidently walk a red carpet.
I didn’t understand anything about his world.
He’d found a way to fit into mine, but then again, most charming people could chart their own course. I wasn’t charismatic or friendly. Dorian Masters’s colleagues and friends would take one look at me and think he’d lost his damn mind.
But I didn’t know how to explain all of that to a man who so clearly wanted to introduce me to the life he’d left behind. The one he’d be getting back to in a few weeks.
“Guys, I’m ready!” George called from the other room, distracting us both.
Thank fuck, because what was I going to do now?
The Spring Fling was held in downtown Kirby Falls. Just like the Orchard Festival in September and the holiday markets in December, booths lined Main Street, which had been closed to vehicular traffic.