6. Oliver
OLIVER
Imet with the producer/director the next morning in Toronto.
The events of the past evening still lingered in my head.
I had tossed and turned more than sleeping, cursing myself for losing my temper.
I should have let her remarks roll off my back, but I hated that she thought so little of me. Why I hated it, I had no idea.
Davis Todd was affable and friendly. Blunt at times but not unkind. We discussed my character, the town, and his vision. He took a long drink of coffee, then sat back, eyeing me frankly.
“You got yourself into a mess back in LA.”
“I did. Unintentionally. Vic is a friend—nothing more.”
“Even before that.”
I blew out a sigh. “I haven’t been myself.”
He nodded, crossing his ankle over his knee and signaling for more coffee. “I don’t tolerate excessive drinking or fighting on my sets. I expect you to learn your lines, show up on time, and prove yourself.” He smiled at the waitress as she refilled our cups. “Thank you.”
I began to speak, but he held up his hand. “I’ll be honest with you. You weren’t my first choice for this role—you weren’t even on my radar. Annie asked me as a personal favor.”
My shoulders slumped at his words.
“But,” he continued quietly, “I watched you in Door to Nowhere and the sequel. The movies were awful, but you were brilliant.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“I reviewed some of your other work, and you have lots of depth. I need that for this character. The fact of the matter is, he is what holds this script together. So I’m trusting you to do him justice.”
I leaned over the table. “I won’t let you down. I’ve read the script three times already. Made tons of notes I want to talk over.”
He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “And we will. But let’s get to know each other a bit. Annie tells me you’re from Richton.”
“I grew up there.”
“If you’ve read the script, you know you’re a cowboy in the movie. You ever been on a horse?”
I laughed. “I practically lived at the Colby Ranch. Been riding since I was a kid. Worked there every summer.” I had to grimace. “I might be a little rusty, but I’m heading there tomorrow to see the Colbys. I’ll saddle up and get used to it again.”
“That’s great. Annie mentioned you might have a little experience.”
“How well do you know Annie?” I asked, curious.
He grinned. “As well as anyone can know her. She is something.”
“I know. She has to be if she talked you into giving me this role.”
“She asked, but it was your work that convinced me.”
Those words bolstered my flagging ego.
“Have you worked with Carl Rawlins or Sheri Williams before?” he asked.
“Carl once, a long time ago. He’s a decent guy. Never worked with Sheri.”
He rubbed his chin. “Carl is a great pick for the lead. His character, Ryder, is older, stable. Sheri…” He paused and took a sip of coffee. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one I’m taking a gamble on. But I think she’ll make a great Camilla.”
I had heard Sheri was hard to work with at times, but I had seen her in a few things and she was a good actress. I would wait and make my own opinion about her. I totally agreed with him on his choice for Ryder. Carl was perfect for the role.
“Any chance of getting a room with the crew?” I asked.
“I thought your accommodation was set.”
“There might be an issue. The, ah, landlady is someone I knew before, and let’s just say, she isn’t my biggest fan.”
He began to laugh. “So I suppose the old adage, you can’t go home again, is correct this time?”
I scrubbed my face. “Maybe.”
“We’ve taken up the two motels in the town and the one in the nearest town to Richton. I’m staying closer to Toronto since I need access to the studio. I can try to help.”
“I’ll figure it out,” I said, not wanting to be a bother already.
“I’m going to be in Richton day after tomorrow. Why don’t we meet for breakfast? I was there last week and had a great one at a place called Dill something…”
“Kind of a Big Dill,” I replied. “I heard it’s good as well.”
“Great. Say eight? We can talk about a few things, some of your notes, and maybe take a ride together.”
“Sounds good.”
Kassie
I watched as Oliver’s rental car pulled out of the driveway early in the morning. I sat in my favorite chair by the window where I had been since four a.m. I hadn’t slept at all, Oliver’s angry words on repeat in my head. All of his speech stayed with me, but some of the phrasing echoed constantly.
I know our past is fucked up and I made a shit-ton of mistakes.
The reason I asked about a private gym is because I’m used to being hounded when I try to work out in a public one. I’m constantly harassed. I can barely go out in public at times without being mobbed, which is a frightening thing to have happen.
I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Made more sacrifices than you know. So I’d appreciate it if you’d stop with the attitude and the preconceived notions of my life.
I’ll try to remember the sweet girl I knew and not this sanctimonious, sarcastic woman who took her place.
He was right. I was being judgmental and sanctimonious with him. What he didn’t know, though, was I wasn’t normally like that. I was reacting to his being here. I wasn’t prepared. I’d had no opportunity to steel myself to see him. Hear his voice. Feel him close again.
When I allow myself to think of you, Kassie, what I remember the most is your sweetness and openness. Your light. The fact that I killed that will haunt me.
What exactly did he mean by that? When he allowed himself to think of me. Did that mean it happened more than he wanted it to, so he forced himself not to?
He indicated his life wasn’t always as great as the stories and pictures made it seem.
I knew that, lately, the pictures I had seen showed a different-looking Oliver.
Older. More withdrawn, his usually easy smile more forced.
And the articles weren’t as positive anymore. He seemed jaded. Sad, perhaps?
Why did the idea of him being mobbed bother me so much? Was it the slight fear in his eyes when he said it? What sacrifices had he made? Was he talking about leaving Richton and me behind? It had to be something else.
I had to confess, he still occupied a gigantic part of my head. More than I wanted to admit. Maybe even a little of my heart. But I couldn’t analyze that thought right now.
He said he would find another place, but the truth was, I didn’t want him to. Maybe his staying here would give us a chance to mend some of the hurt of those years ago. It might help both of us.
If I were honest with myself, I didn’t want him to think I was a sarcastic, uncaring person. I wasn’t. I cared too much most of the time, which always got me in trouble. Maybe if we spent a little time together, he would think more kindly of me.
Perhaps we could even be friends.
I sighed as I stood and headed back to the kitchen to start making some pies.
Friends with Oliver Hart.
That was something I would never have imagined wanting a mere twenty-four hours ago.
Yet, now, I wanted it badly.
A few hours later, I had a dozen pies cooling on the counter. Tomorrow, I would make another six, plus a special order for Quinn for her catering business. I planned on making the pastry for all of them later, so it could chill overnight and the pie-making would go faster.
I pulled out four small pies, adding them to the cooling area. Two were blueberry, which I knew to be Oliver’s favorite. He had seemed to enjoy the one I’d left him yesterday, and I hoped he would accept these as an olive branch.
I stretched, feeling the dull ache in my lower back. I decided to go for a run. It always cleared my head and helped relieve the ache.
I had never properly healed from what had happened a few years ago.
I shook my head, refusing to think of that, and headed to my room to change and put on my sneakers, needing the run now more than ever.
It felt good to move. To feel the ground beneath my feet as I ran, my rhythm balanced, my breathing steady.
I was in the zone, splashing through small puddles left by the sudden downpour earlier, skipping over deeper ones.
I loved running in the park, especially this time of day.
It was fairly deserted, a few children and their caregivers or parents watching over them.
Some of the older townsfolk were sitting on benches and gossiping, a few men playing on the chessboards painted on stone tables.
I waved at the people I knew but kept going, not wanting to stop.
I rounded a corner, the trail ahead of me empty except one runner in the distance heading my way.
I kept to my side, head down, accidentally misjudging the depth of a puddle, my feet suddenly flying out from under me as I slipped on mud and tumbled sideways.
I flung out my arms, doing a great interpretation of a windmill as I tried to recover my balance, to no avail, and I crashed to the slope beside me, rolling a little way before the world righted itself.
I shut my eyes in embarrassment, grateful for the empty trail and no one witnessing the epic fall.
Except, before I could move, a man appeared beside me.
“Hey, are you okay?”
I met all-too-familiar blue eyes, the concern in them clear.
“Jesus, Kassie. That was a bad fall. Can you move? Should I call an ambulance?”
Oliver was bent over me, looking far too handsome to be this close.
His dark hair fell over his forehead, and he brushed it out of his eyes with an impatient flick.
He scanned me, running his hands over my arms and legs, freezing when I gasped as he touched my foot.
Without asking, he picked it up, pushing up my pant leg and running his long fingers over my ankle.
“I’m fine,” I protested.
He sat back, shaking his head. “You’ve twisted or sprained your foot. I wouldn’t call that fine.”
I stared at him, unable to believe he was here. Without thinking, I gripped his arm, his muscles bunching under my touch. “I-I…” I shook my head, unable to get out the apology I wanted to share with him.
He frowned, leaning close again. “Did you hit your head?”
“No.”
“Let me help you up. The ground is wet and you’ll get cold.”
He stood and grasped me around the waist, effortlessly lifting me to my feet.
“I’m okay.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How about you try to walk before you decide that?”
I took a couple of steps, biting my lip to stop my groan.
“Okay. Enough,” he said then, without warning, scooped me into his arms.
“What are you doing?” I gasped.
“My car is parked the other side of the trail. I’ll drive you home.”
“I can walk.”
He snorted. “Uh-huh.”
“You can’t carry me!” I protested.
“Feels like I already am,” he retorted.
“It’s too far.”
“Kassie, shut up. Just shut up.”
For a minute, I did what he asked, and then I peered up at him. “I’m not always a bitch.”
“Good to know.”
“Don’t leave.”
He glanced down, and I met his eyes. “Please.”
He smiled—it was different from his Hollywood red carpet or interview smile. His practiced, charming working persona smile I had seen all these years. This one was soft, warm, and lit up his eyes. It reminded me of the way he used to smile at me. It was my smile back then.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Okay. On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“We talk.”
“Okay. But I—”
He cut me off. “Shut it. I’m getting the last word.”
“I think you already did last night,” I mumbled.
“I’m not going to apologize for that.”
“I figured.”
“Hush, or I’ll drop you into the pond over there.”
I gripped his neck a little harder, and I felt his fingers squeeze my waist.
He chuckled all the way to the car.
And I stayed quiet.