Chapter 19
T he restaurants Nolan picked felt the same to Ellie.
There were always fresh-cut flowers, pressed white linens, and brown sugar cubes tucked inside decorative dishes fit for royalty.
The hostess led Ellie toward a small, round table next to a trickling fountain.
Ellie was too preoccupied to enjoy these luxuries—even the ornate menu descriptions, which leaned into words like foraged .
Instead, she waded through what Melinda had said over drinks: “You know how he is.”
The table rattled. Nolan had landed, frazzled in a navy suit that likely cost a fortune.
“First off, I want to give the air a spritz and say, I’m sorry for our last meeting,” he told her after they ordered.
Two juices and local biscuits with marmalade were set down for each of them.
They hadn’t asked for either of these things.
“I shouldn’t have said that your work was okay .
Artists go through phases. It’s a part of the process . ”
Ellie spread some marmalade onto a biscuit. The first warm bite crumbled apart in her mouth. “Thanks,” she said. “But you were right.”
Nolan tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. “This new stuff … the piece about the dress shop. It’s compelling. You found something you’re obsessed with.”
Ellie wiped the marmalade off her mouth. “I’m not obsessed with Melinda.”
“Who?”
“The … owner.” Ellie took another bite of the biscuit. Nolan wasn’t eating his. He slid it over her way. “The owner of the dress shop.”
“Right. Well, whatever you did, it worked. This was the best thing you’ve written since Finn’s.”
Warmth coursed through Ellie in response to a compliment. She’d missed those.
“Your timing was perfect. You sent me the draft. Then, you were fresh on my mind when a friend brought up a new project over lunch yesterday. It’s a little different, this thing. Something that could be great for you, honestly.”
There was a holiday home show, he explained over his egg whites with foraged herb salad.
The producer was casting a host in advance for next year’s winter season.
Finding the right person and having time to build chemistry around them was important.
Normally, casting would turn to the morning-show hosts, followed by people from interior-design shows or reality stars, but this project called for someone more avant-garde.
“Turns out, you’re very avant-garde, in a network television way. ”
Hosting a holiday show on its own wouldn’t have interested Ellie, but the show’s premise intrigued her.
Old houses were going to get revived, Nolan explained as she wolfed down her chocolate crepes with organic berry mélange.
“Revived and decorated in lights.” For free, or the cost of playing along, a home that would normally be turned over or flipped got to stay with its rightful owner.
“The same bones in better form.” It wasn’t a guarantee that they would choose Ellie, but the producers had trouble finding a host to fit the bill.
They were eager for her to come in for a meeting.
“I don’t know,” Ellie said. “My last show was a disaster.”
“The last show wasn’t your fault. You were great!
What wasn’t great was the screenwriter they hired right out of college.
” Nolan pushed his plate away. “Look, Ellie. The thing about this gig is that, if we get it—which I believe we will—we can easily land another book. You’ll pick up lots of fans. Then, we go where the wind takes us.”
Ellie had to admit there was something enticing about being on television during the holidays. “I’m afraid,” she told him. She was surprised to say that out loud. “Of failing yet again.”
Nolan softened. “Look around the room,” he instructed. Ellie did. “Everyone in here is afraid.”
“Not you.”
He moved closer and pushed the small vase of greenery between them out of the way.
“Sure I am. I’m scared that if I don’t dress this way—and eat at places like this—people won’t take me seriously.
He pulled the corner of his shirt up to display where some red fruit punch had left its mark.
“Or if they see the juice stain on my sleeve. We’re all a little messy. ”
“Wow, Nolan.” His candor was refreshing. “Thanks.”
He shrugged and brushed the bread off his hands.
“I guess I’m softening as a dad. And also, I really want you to go for this.
Because you’re good. You’re a perfect fit.
And, I do like money.” Money. Ellie had barely considered the money.
The thought of having a network television budget to do what she loved was alluring.
How many homes could she save—and people could she help—with a big crew on her team?
It was a dream job, the kind of thing Ellie couldn’t have even imagined existing.
And yet, she couldn’t shake the reason she was in consideration: Melinda.
The story about Melinda was the reason for the call, the reason for this breakfast. Drake’s past had made Ellie relevant in the present.
After being in a creative rut for such a long time, she wasn’t about to throw away this newfound relevance.
By the time Nolan snatched the bill and ordered a pastry to go, Ellie agreed to put her name into the hat. On the walk to the car, she texted Drake. She reminded herself that it was good news she had to share, albeit with a challenging layer.
Want to get dinner out tonight?
Three typing dots appeared, then:
It’s another late, annoying day. Rain check for tomorrow? Before our midnight movie.
“Did you just thank the maps lady?” Ellie asked on their way to dinner the next night. The GPS had told Drake to make a right turn, and he’d responded back to her. He was impossibly polite, even when bantering with inanimate objects.
“Gertie?” he said. “Yeah. Of course, I thanked her.”
“I need to share something,” Ellie said, eager to get everything out and off her chest. Her guilt had grown larger over the last day; the lunch with Nolan had made Melinda’s story even more of a reality.
“Some things , actually.” Ellie’s eyes moved back to the map on the phone.
Drake had plugged in an address she recognized. It was a street she knew well.
“Sure,” he said. “Tell away.”
Finn’s. Drake was taking her to Finn’s. She couldn’t ruin their special place with her confession.
They had only gone to Finn’s once since they’d met.
Ellie insisted they shouldn’t visit too often; things tended to lose their luster when they were overdone.
But Drake seemed to think tonight deserved a stop, and she agreed.
It had been a tough week. They needed this lift, this mood boost. Ellie stuffed her guilt in her mental junk closet and moved on.
“The thing I wanted to tell you,” she said, dancing her hand up his arm, “is that I could really use an old-fashioned.”
“Well then,” Drake said. “You’re just in luck.”
Finn’s was busy that night.
Sam was still behind the bar. Ellie knew from checking in every now and then that his uncle had promoted him to manager.
Copies of her book with the Finn’s story inside were stacked on top of the liquor shelves.
There were a few newer touches, too— lights behind the bottles, some more modern vinyl selections, and a food menu of small bites.
Sam stopped midpour as Ellie and Drake moved toward their meeting spot.
“It’s been a while, bar saver,” he said.
“Didn’t technically save it,” Ellie reminded him. “Just wrote about it.”
“Yeah, okay, sure.” He finished the drink he’d been making and started to pour an old-fashioned without asking.
“Sometimes, people ask to buy those books, but I won’t let them out of my sight.
They’re my good-luck charm.” After passing over Ellie’s drink, he finally acknowledged Drake. “Hey, man. You want a beer?”
“You know what?” Drake said. “I’ll take an old-fashioned, too.”
Ellie lowered herself onto the same stool as that first night. Drake went to the bathroom, which left her alone with Sam for a moment. She glanced behind her to make sure Drake was out of earshot, then tapped her hands on the bar to get his attention.
“Psst,” she asked. “Can you do me a favor?”
A few minutes later, Drake shuffled onto the stool next to her. “Hey, again,” he said. “This is really taking me back. I was sitting here.” He brushed the bar. “You were there. And I was like, hey, whatcha working on?” Drake pretended to lean over her shoulder to check out a notebook.
Ellie smirked. “And I was like, oh yeah, there’s this big vampire project.”
“No, I said the vampire thing,” Drake clarified. “I said something like, you’re becoming a vampire?”
“And I said, yes, I’m a Vampire in Progress. A VIP. And you,” Ellie pointed to him, “you seem like you’d go to a lot of restaurant birthday parties? Am I right?”
Drake grabbed her hand. “You know what I was thinking?”
“I don’t remember this part.”
“Back then, I mean,” Drake said. “I thought you were the most interesting woman in the world.”
Ellie mocked disbelief. “You thought I was the Dos Equis man?”
“Right. Spitting image. What about you? What did you think when you saw me?” Drake spun his stool to the side to show off his profile.
“I thought,” Ellie said. “Okay, well at first I thought you were cute.”
“I’ll take cute.”
“But you know what I love about you now?”
Sam dropped off their drinks, and they placed an order for a few small plates. Drake took a sip. “Rocket fuel,” he said. “ Delicious rocket fuel.”