Twenty-Five
Henry
I tell myself if I just don’t open my eyes, I’ll be able to sleep in. Instead, I toss back and forth for thirty minutes (I know because I keep checking my phone), and give up and roll out of bed at 5:30 A.M.
I busy myself after showering with some cleaning, then debate for a few minutes on shaving before the doorbell rings at 6:15. I open up the door to a sleepy, grumpy looking Tait—rotisserie chicken tucked under one arm.
“I saw your light on. I slept maybe an hour,” she huffs before letting herself in.
“Coffee?” I ask, adding as much cheeriness as I can into a single word. She plops down at the counter and nods.
“Why couldn’t you sleep? Nothing sweet to dream about?” This earns me a glare.
“It’s a billion degrees upstairs, so I tried to sleep downstairs on the couch, but I roll around too much… Here, hand me something to cut, I’m starving. ”
I give her the peppers and leftover steak. She easily finds a knife and a cutting board, and we work side by side in comfortable silence—which seems like the safest option before her coffee kicks in.
“What’s got you smiling like that?” she says grumpily, leaning a perfect hip on the counter and eyeing me suspiciously over her mug.
“I don’t think I’m smiling,” I say, feeling my grin grow. “I just think I’m a morning person, and you’re not.”
“I’m so glad I continue to give you material to laugh at me with.”
“Honestly, me too.”
At that, she snorts, but finally cracks a small smile.
“I can only imagine how funny the mental image of me being hurled across the pond would be,” she says, giving me a light shoulder punch before reaching to refill her mug.
“Trust me, that’s not what I think of when the other night comes back to me.” Oops.
Her shoulders tense, but she looks back up at me sideways before we break into an awkward chuckle.
Determined to refocus, I plate our omelettes and go over today’s plan.
“I thought you might want to see some of the more functional parts of the ranch first before exploring more of the property, and I need to help out over at the garden today anyways.”
She shrugs merrily, the caffeine’s effects visible. “Sounds good to me. You like to garden, too? Is there anything you don’t get roped into doing around here?”
“It’s one of my favorite parts, actually.” And I can’t help but feel a little self-conscious, suddenly unsure about whether or not she’d find my love of growing things particularly manly.
She slowly cocks her head in that studious little way of hers, and the gesture is so similar to the turn of her head before she kissed me back that night, that my jeans immediately feel tighter. God, I love the little seam that divides her bottom lip, the one that makes it into two pillows stuffed together.
I break eye contact to precisely cut an oversized bite of my omelette to hoover up. I feel her assessment while I do the dishes, studying me with a look I can’t make out. I told Grace I’d pick her up, but we’ve got an extra hour before I’m supposed to, and the thought of killing time fills my head with ideas that I grind my teeth to stomp out. I feel everywhere her eyes land on my body.
“Ask me something?” I say before I can change my mind.
“Huh?”
“Well, I feel you ogling me, and we’ve got time to kill. Ask me something if you want.”
I expect her to deny it, or to make some sarcastic and cutting remark about my ego, so she surprises me with her response. “Can’t be helped. I’m a sucker for watching a man clean. Especially one who does it well.” She shrugs again and bends down to scratch Belle.
Damnit, my whole chest feels like it fills up with air bubbles and a laugh barks out of me. “You should see my feather duster.” I waggle my brows, at which she puts a hand on her chest in mock surprise and bites her lip with an over-the-top “Oh my.”
Nope, nope. Abort. Can’t play-pretend flirt with her when I remember the taste of her mouth and skin. Yesterday I was prepared for her to call me on the bluff, but this early into today I can’t.
My face must look horrified, because she tosses her head back and starts laughing in victory, holding on to the counter for stability.
And, yet again, I get tunnel vision. Tait looks so damn beautiful in this moment, laughing with her entire body—the one that has no rhythm or predictability, tinkling out of her in chaos—that it hurts. I suck in a breath at the sudden realization that I, someone who is not inherently funny, want to be the one making her laugh like this, for as long as I can.
She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye as it settles. “Sorry. But I actually do know what I want to ask you!”
I swallow and try to pull myself together. “Go for it.”
“Can I see your playlists?”
“What? Why? No.” I scoff and clutch my phone through my back pocket like she’s going to try and rob me of it.
“Now, now. I think it is only fair. You were incredibly rude about my taste in music. I want to know what you’re into.” She holds out her palm. I can think of a lot of things I’m into that don’t have a fucking thing to do with playlists.
I try to remember what songs are on there, not thinking of anything particularly weird or embarrassing. It’s music, not like I actually made any of it, but it feels intimate anyways.
“Alright,” I relent. “I gotta load up some stuff and will pack some lunch while you scroll.”
Five minutes later I hear her bellow…
“HENRY. GET OVER HERE.” I take the steps a couple at a time and burst in to a very red-faced Tait.
“What? Are you okay?!” I look her up and down.
“You honestly made fun of my playlist choices when you are rocking with THIS?!” She holds out my phone to me and breaks into a massive grin.
Fuck …
“ Mamma Mia ?!!! You’re into MUSICALS?! Come on, man. I’m trying not to judge here, but you’ve got both albums on here from both movies. And you judged me first! Explain yourself!”
“I… I…” I struggle for a cool explanation and come up empty. “Fine, okay. Yes, I like it. It’s Grady’s fault, though.”
“Uh-huh… sure, Abba man.” She is way too delighted at this.
“No, I swear. He got a bad case of something called hand, foot, and mouth disease when we were younger. I was old enough to watch him and the only other person who got it, so they quarantined us together… Basically I got stuck on babysitting duty while sick with him. He was a tyrant even then, and made us watch the movie and Grease for a week straight while we alternated between ice cream and soup.”
I can’t keep the smile from my face when I remember us both from way back then. I was sixteen and still felt like an outsider most of the time, but it was after that week that I knew I had a brother in Grady.
She hands me my phone with a flourish and a smile. “I am delighted more and more by everything I find out about you that is clearly so off-brand. You contain multitudes, Henry. I’m sorry to have ever called you ‘ Deliverance .’”
“Well, now I know what I want to listen to today.”
We finish loading her camera equipment and spend the ride over to the house blasting the Mamma Mia soundtrack in hysterics. Her enthusiastic air drum solos are Oscar-worthy, and despite the bruise still left on my self-esteem from her dismissal, I find myself wanting to enjoy her presence more than worrying about my pride.
The ride ends too quickly, and I drop her off at the house to get the rest of the group while I go check on the horses. By the time I head back, I can hear Tait’s laugh above the rest all the way from the porch.
That smile falls when she sees my face, though, and the rest of the room goes awkwardly silent.
“Uh… Good morning?” I say with a frown at everyone.
“Morning, Hen. Muffin?” Grace quickly brushes over the weirdness and hands me a plate. That’s when I notice Jake Lockhart, producer (and asshole) extraordinaire. Ah, that explains it.
“Henry Marcum, speak of the devil!” he bellows. And fuck, I hate not being in on the joke.
“Jake.” I nod, friendly enough. “You’re back early.”
“All for you, too, my man. We’ve got some new extras, and Sadie will be riding this season. I need them to look like naturals. And I’d like to go over some of the scenes with you and Charlie to get your suggestions for locations. Figured we could get a head start,” he says, leaning on the counter like he owns the place. He’s wearing his overpriced, perfectly clean cowboy hat indoors, and doesn’t go to remove it even as he drags over a stool to sit on before diving into his breakfast. I share a glance with Charlie, who seems to be noticing the same thing, grinding his jaw before stabbing a bit of eggs.
“I thought you guys already went through all of this with Duane? The locations, I mean,” I reply, carefully monitoring my tone.
“Indeed, but you know how these things go. We’ve had some rewrites. Nell mentioned some sweet spots you took her too, actually, that she thinks would be ideal.” The meaningful look he throws me from under his stupid fucking hat is smug. I’m tempted to tell him that his ex-fiancée (Nell—aka Sadie Dollar—a fan-favorite who he fucked around on constantly) actually followed me out one day during filming last year, put herself in my truck, and asked to go to my place—claiming that the bathroom options were all taken. Nothing happened while we were there, but the illusion she wanted to create was solidified when she continued to flirt shamelessly and aggressively the rest of the season, always turning it up a notch in Jake’s presence. I’d never taken the woman anywhere else on this whole damn property, though, but I didn’t know if I should tell Jake that and sell her out… We’d become pseudo friends over our shared enjoyment at pissing off Jake, after all.
“Uhhh… sure, Jake. I’m busy today, though.”
“Already got it covered. The lovely Tait can join us. Nell and the extras get here next week and we’ll make up the time during production as long as we get a plan together,” he proclaims, smacking around an overly large bite of eggs. My eye twitches and I feel my lip curl, but I let out a grunt of agreement.
I catch Tait’s watchful eye as I sit down across from her with my muffin clenched a little too tightly in my fist, something in my face making her flinch. She must read me too well, already, and feel guilty.
She confirms it by speaking up next. “I figured we could all go, two birds with one stone, you know. That way you’re not stuck carting me around extra, on top of advising for the show. I’m sure your time is stretched thin as it is.” She throws in a few casual shrugs, but I don’t miss the apologetic note. I feel my jaw clench, but I quirk an eyebrow at her and shrug back.
“Sounds good to me.” I quickly finish off the pastry, catching Charlie’s shrewd look before he pipes up.
“Actually, Jake, why don’t you go over the rewrites and the scenes with me today so we can have a solid game plan together. I’d rather be efficient with our time instead of wandering around in this heat. I need Henry to stick to some scouting today before our hunting trip.”
My face pulls into a frown, because Charlie knows damn well that in this early season heat wave, the elk won’t be moving around at all, and he can’t stand Jake just as much as I can’t. He has never treated me as anything less than a son, but we’ve got an unspoken agreement that when it comes to this side of the business, it’s typically on me to grin and bear it.
“Alright. Well, ready to get started, then?” Jake asks, not doing a great job at hiding the disappointment in his tone.
“Yep, I’ll meet you out front,” Charlie dismisses him.
“It was great meeting you, Tait. I look forward to seeing you around,” Jake says before waving the rest of us off and heading out front. Asshat.
Charlie scoffs as soon as he’s out the door.
“Well, I know you’ll get good pictures next week on set and behind the scenes and whatnot,” he says to Tait, flourishing his hands agitatedly, “but you should take this time to get some better material of this place outside of the show. Lord knows our website needs updating.”
“Of course, Henry seems to have a good plan,” she replies with a sweet smile and a sidelong glance my way.
It catches Charlie off guard, his stare lingering a little too long on her face before he squeezes her shoulder, reaches over to kiss his mother on the cheek, and heads out. Grace walks him to the door.
I might not understand his angle, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth on this one. I nod a confused thanks and glance from Tait’s quizzical face over to Mrs. Logan’s beaming one. She sips her tea and gets up, slowly for her, before gathering the empty plates and starting the dishes. Tait gets up silently and heads toward the bathroom. I wonder if she is cognizant of knowing where it’s located.
“Emma, please don’t, damnit,” Grace says as soon as she returns. I chuckle at the familiar dance they’re entering into.
“Oh, stop. I’ll do these, and you put away the leftovers. I’ll bring them over to Grady and Caleb on my way out,” Mrs. Logan replies.
“Where are Grady and Caleb this morning, by the way?” Tait asks when she gets back, and an unsure look passes over her face, like she’s mad at herself for being comfortable. Jesus, I need to dial back on being tuned in to this woman and her expressions.
Grace chimes in, “They’re already at LeighAnn’s starting on the garden work. We’re getting a late start and with the heat I don’t have high hopes, but…”
“But Grace is the MacGyver of gardening. Between Henry and Grace, they’ve made this place almost completely self-sufficient.” Mrs. Logan throws her a loving look. Color drains from her face suddenly, though, and she grips the edge of the sink with white knuckles. I jump up and over there, but only hover, knowing better than to call Mrs. Logan out on any kind of frailty. While she and Grace share some silent communication, Tait, oblivious to the moment, starts piling things into the Tupperware containers on the counter. I catch Grace’s eye and do my best meaningful look towards Mrs. Logan and back.
“Shoot, you know what—I just remembered. I have an appointment in town and need Em to drive me.” Grace nods. Mrs. Logan gives us both a resigned look, some color returning to her face.
“No biggie,” Tait says, looking at us all suspiciously.
“Tait—I’ll meet you at the truck. I uhh… gotta use the bathroom,” I say, and wish I could punch myself directly in the face. Nice one, Henry. Great seduction tactic, letting her wonder about your bowel movements.
She nods my way, then looks to Grace and Mrs. L, saying, “Thank you for the muffin.” She smiles warmly, awkwardly (adorably) waving a hand before she goes.
Grace waits a beat after hearing the door shut before turning to me.
“She needs to go to the hospital; she’s needed to for days now, but I can’t get her to.”
“Don’t speak about me like I’m not goddamn here, Grace. I’m fine, just old,” Mrs. Logan says, but it’s lacking her typical venom.
“Mrs. Logan. You know I would never insult you. But you went from Helen Mirren to the crypt keeper in half a second. I think Grace is right,” I say.
She squeezes my arm, giving me a glassy-eyed look.
“Tell him, Em,” Grace says quietly, earning a defeated look from the woman I consider my grandmother.
“Tell me what?”