Chapter 6
Ava
Ituck my phone between my shoulder and ear, as I fidget to unzip this sadistic corset and breathe.
“Hannah, seriously… thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
A soft laugh on the other end. “It’s really not a big deal.”
“It is,” I insist. “I couldn’t be there and you, letting me ship everything to you, then sneaking it all into Harrison’s house.”
“Well,” she says lightly, “I had help. There was no way I was getting that all done without Brian and Jules. And what’s a little breaking and entering among siblings.”
“You mean Harrison doesn’t know?”
She laughs. “He’s extra ogre like these days. We thought it was best until you two talked.”
My chest tightens in that quiet, inconvenient way it’s been doing all day.
She knows we haven’t talked.
I try to avoid that discussion at all costs. “I owe you,” I murmur.
“Just let me know the next time you’re in town. Lunch. Then, we’re even.”
“I won’t be back for a while.” The sadness in my voice comes out before I can stop it. With the schedule the studio’s tossing around, it’ll be a few weeks at the earliest.
There’s a pause.
And it’s right there.
His name.
I could ask.
How’s Harrison?
Has he asked about me?
My fingers tighten around the phone.
If he wanted to talk to you, Ava, he would. He has your number.
I swallow. “Anyway… just—thank you. Again.”
“Anytime,” she says, softer now.
My phone buzzes against my ear. Call waiting.
Everything in me shifts. I swear my heart does this ridiculous little leap.
I missed the first call. Thank God it’s during lunch.
“Oh—the kids are calling.”
Hannah laughs. “Go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
I swipe over.
Me. Losing my mind because a thirteen year old is calling.
Who is this version of me?
Because if you’d told me a few months ago I’d be counting down the hours between calls from three kids—three—I would’ve laughed you off the lot.
And yet… here I am. Smiling before I even hit accept.
His name lights up my screen again, and “Hey, you—”
Immediate, overlapping faces trying to shove into view.
“Ava! Ava! You have to see—”
“No, let me tell her—”
“Snooki, you just told her—”
“I did not!”
I laugh, sinking back into the tiny couch in my trailer. “Okay, okay, one at a time. Or at least… slightly less at the same time?”
They ignore that completely.
The camera jerks wildly between faces, ceilings, what looks like a chandelier, and, wait—wood beams? Stone?
“Where are you guys?” I ask, trying to piece together the blur.
“At Uncle Mark and Aunt Jess’s!” Ollie shouts.
I met them at the surprise engagement party they threw for us.
The happiest day of my life.
Until I got on a plane to LA and realized I’d left half my heart behind.
And that stupid, broody lumberjack hasn’t spoken to me since.
I refocus on the kids. Behind them is a picture window the size of three garage doors. And breathtaking mountains. I wish I was there.
“You’re in the mountains?”
“Bishop Mountain,” Ollie adds.
“Bishop Mountain?” I repeat, realizing that’s Jess’s last name. “Is that… a place or something you made up?”
“It’s what everyone calls it, but you won’t find it on a map,” Connor explains, very matter-of-fact. “It’s where Aunt Jess and her brothers grew up.”
The camera flips again, and for a second I catch it again. A sprawling, warm, ridiculously picturesque place. Part cottage, part mansion. Like something out of a movie that wins awards for set design.
I know Mark’s basically the big kahuna boss of an entire global empire that includes Harrison and my brother Gabe, but jeez-louise. Fancy isn’t even the half of it.
“Look what we made!” Snooki squeals, shoving both hands directly into the screen.
It’s… a glob of what looks like oats and raisins and… is that frosting?
“What am I looking at?” I ask, studying what she’s obviously proud of.
“Reindeer food,” Connor explains from somewhere off-screen.
“And look—look—look!” Ollie grabs the phone and swings it around so fast I nearly get motion sickness.
The image steadies on Connor, who’s crouched down, polishing—
“Wait,” I say, leaning forward. “Is that a—”
“It’s the sleigh,” he says, like that’s a normal sentence.
“The… sleigh.”
“You know. For Santa. Uncle Mark says it’s on loan from the North Pole. It’s all set up for pictures with the deer.”
“Deer,” I repeat. “Like… decorative deer?” I ask, because they’re indoors.
“Real reindeer.” The camera then swings to the window, where I can see several reindeer in a field.
“Oh.” I blink. “That’s amazing!”
Snooki pops back into frame. “They need food. They’ve got a big job this Christmas. They’re flying from us to you. Tomorrow night!”
It makes me that much sadder. How very far apart we are.
I paste on a smile. “That’s very considerate. Can’t have exhausted reindeer on Christmas Eve.”
“Can’t you come back for Christmas?” Snooki asks, and they all squeeze into the frame to see my reply.
My chest does that tight, full thing again.
God, I miss them.
“I have to work,” I say, apologetically. And as much as I’d love to come out there, I have no idea when that would even be possible.
Or if I’d even be welcome by a certain grumpy lumberjack.
Their sad faces shift.
“Sorry,” Connor says. “Dad’s calling. We’ve gotta go.”
My throat tightens.
I want to say it. And why don’t you have him join the call. I want to be flippant, easy, me.
And tell that stubborn, impossible, lumberjack to call me already.
Or at least—tell him I said hi.
Anything.
Instead, I just smile.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Go. We’ll talk again soon.”
“Love you,” they all say quickly.
“Love you guys too,” I say, hoping they don’t see how much I hate when we say goodbye.
The screen goes dark.
Silence rushes in.
For a few moments, I stare at my blank reflection in the mirror.
Same face.
Same trailer.
Same life I had a month ago.
But somehow, nothing fits the same. My perfect, custom-made life pulls in all the wrong places. Like a one-of-a-kind designer dress that’s suddenly two sizes too small.
There’s a quick knock on my trailer door. “Come in.”
Asher, the director’s assistant, pops his head in. “They’re ready for you back on set,” he says, handing me a call sheet. “Do you need anything? Coffee? I know exactly how you like it.”
Right. Because unlike Harrison, not everyone needs a notebook for my order.
And there it is again.
Like a match in a draft, the thought of him flares, bright and brief, then blows out.
The emptiness lingers.
It’s become a low hum that’s deep in my bones, under my skin, that never quite fades.
Damn him.
“No coffee. I’m good.”
Asher nods. “Ready when you are.”
I nod, pushing aside the lunch I had no appetite for, and follow him out.
I paste on the same empty smile I’ve worn for weeks and slip back into my life without Harrison.