28. Everett
Everett
Two Days Before The Grand Opening
Istand in the middle of the theater lobby, my stomach filled with nerves. The grand opening is in two days. With a clipboard in my hand, staring at the final checklist like it might magically shorten if I glare at it long enough.
It doesn’t.
Confirm lighting for the marquee
Final sound calibration
Concession inventory
Ribbon cutting setup
Confirm the mayor
Confirm the banner outside
Confirm the coffee care from Violet’s café
My eyes linger on that last one longer than the rest.
I look around the lobby. If someone had told me that I would be standing inside the fully restored Starlight Theater, preparing for its grand reopening, I probably would have laughed in their face.
When I first bought the building, it had been a shell of what it once was.
Dusty floors. Broken seats. Faded posters still clinging to the walls like ghosts of another time.
Most people only saw what it had become.
Empty. Forgotten. Too far gone to be worth the trouble.
But the bones were still there.
You just had to look past the damage long enough to see the structure underneath.
I understood that better than most.
Because when I first walked into this building. I wasn’t much different.
After years in LA, chasing a version of success that never quite felt like mine, I’d come back to Lavender Creek feeling like a stripped-down version of myself.
The kind of tiredness that doesn’t come from work but from trying to be someone you aren’t for too long.
This place felt familiar in that way. Both of us were a little worn down. A little neglected.
Still standing but not exactly thriving.
Renovations aren’t about erasing what something used to be. They are about uncovering what’s worth saving.
You sand down the rough spots. Replace the parts that can’t be fixed. Reinforce the foundation so everything built on top of it can actually last.
And slowly, sometimes so slowly you barely notice, it starts to look like something new.
Something better.
Standing in the middle of the finished lobby now, I can see every hour that has gone into bringing the theater back to life.
It looks nothing like the broken building I first walked into.
And in a lot of ways, neither do I.
“You’re doing that thing again.” Henry’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
I glance up to see him standing halfway up a ladder near the entrance to the screening rooms, adjusting the banner that reads:
GRAND OPENING – THE STARLIGHT THEATER
“What thing?” I ask.
“Staring off into space.”
I look down at the clipboard. “Just making sure I didn’t forget anything.”
Henry climbs down from the ladder and leans it against the wall.
“How many times have you checked the list?” he asks.
“Twice,” I reply.
“Okay, Santa Claus,” Henry laughs.
“Relax, the place looks incredible,” he assures.
He isn’t wrong. Everything is finished. By every logical measure, the theater is ready.
So why do I feel like my stomach is tied in knots?
Henry watches me for a moment. “You’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
He just chuckles to himself.
“Opening a business is a big deal,” I defend.
“Opening the town’s favorite theater after it’s been closed for year is an even bigger deal,” Henry says.
“Thanks for the added pressure,” I say, chuckling to myself.
Henry claps me on the shoulder. “You brought it back,” he says simply.
“That’s the easy part.”
“The easy part?” he asks.
“Now we see if people will show up,” I say.
Henry gestures toward the street outside. “This town has been talking ’bout the opening for months. If anything, you might run out of seats.”
“Let’s hope that’s a good problem to have.”
Henry checks his watch. “You headed to the airport soon?”
“Yeah.”
Riley’s flight lands in about an hour.
Henry grins. “Your partner in crime finally making an appearance?”
“He said he wouldn’t miss it.”
“Smart man, good friend,” Henry says.
I glance at the checklist one last time. Everything really is done.
Well. Almost everything.
There are still a few surprises I haven’t told anyone about yet.
I arranged to set up the outdoor projector screen in the park for a late-night showing after the main event. The free popcorn vouchers for every kid in town. There is a small tribute wall in the lobby where people can pin old photos and memories of the theater from years ago.
Little things.
This isn’t just a business opening.
It is the return of something the town had lost.
The theater isn’t the only thing in my life that has changed recently.
I go back to the conversation I had with Sydney earlier today.
I told her I wanted to come visit and meet Emily after the theater opens, and that the guys I hired felt comfortable handling things for a few days.
She agreed that it was a good idea for me to go there first and meet Emily in her environment.
We talked about Emily for almost an hour. I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact I have a daughter. I started to be excited about it and love learning about Emily and what she likes and what’s going on in her life.
I’ve learned that she loves pancakes and dinosaurs.
She is stubborn and is a sweet talker. She sounds like me.
I smile and laugh to myself. The conversation felt easy with Sydney.
Our focus is on Emily, so it’s easy to stick to that, just two people trying to figure out a new version of their lives.
A couple months ago, I left LA and moved back to Lavender Creek, thinking there was nothing for me there. Turns out I was wrong. There is a three-year-old little girl who is half me running around, eating pancakes, and playing with dinosaurs.
Henry snaps his fingers in front of my face, “You’re doing it again.”
“Sorry.”
“You thinking about Emily?”
“Partly, yeah,” I respond.
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Everyone keeps saying that,” I say.
“Because it’s true.”
My thoughts shift somewhere else entirely.
To Violet. My dad’s question echoes in my head.
You love Violet?
At the time, I answered without hesitation. And now I might have lost her.
She said she needed time. I understand that. I took time after I first heard the news. But the silence still feels heavy. Because the truth is, I can’t picture my future without her in it.
If she comes back, if she chooses me. I need to show her. I need to prove to her with my actions that she can trust me. That I would always show up. And not disappear on her again.
For whatever life we build together.
“You better get moving if you’re picking Riley up,” Henry says.
I nod. “We’ll be home for dinner.”
“He won’t want to leave after Mom’s cooking,” Henry adds.
I laugh and head out the door.
The airport is about forty-five minutes away. Even then, it is barely more than a runway and a small terminal. Which means picking someone up takes about five minutes.
I stand against the truck as passengers filter out through the sliding doors.
Then I see him. Riley steps outside carrying a duffel bag, sunglasses perched on his head, wearing the same confident grin he has had since I’ve known him.
“There he is,” he says, walking toward me.
He pulls me into a quick hug. “Thanks for coming, man,” I say.
“I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
We head toward the truck.
“So,” he says as he tosses the bag in the back, “how’s the theater? All ready to go?”
“It’s ready. Crazy to think all the hard work is about to pay off,” I say.
He climbs into the passenger seat. “How are you actually doing?” he asks.
I start the engine.
“It’s going,” I say, letting out a laugh.
“How’s Violet?” Riley asks.
“I’m just hoping she doesn’t hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She would have told you by now if she were done. Plus, didn’t you say she’s helping with the grand opening?”
Hope flickers somewhere inside my chest. Maybe she isn’t completely gone after all.