Chapter 23
“And…cut!” Artie calls out. “That’s the one, folks!”
Hoots and hollers ripple through the dance hall as crew members exchange high-fives.
Extras buzz, PAs squawk into their comms, and Alisa claps Artie on the back.
Nailing a shot like this in one take doesn’t happen often, and normally I’d be right there with them. But I’m too busy looking for Maggie.
She’s gone, and the guilt I kept buried during filming claws its way back up.
Gabi nudges my shoulder, pulling me out of my haze. “What the hell, Shaw? Where did that come from?”
I manage a smile. “We’ve done kissing scenes before.”
“Yeah, no. Not like that. Your little shoulder strap maneuver? Genius.” She leans in, voice dropping to a murmur. “Think our new extra had something to do with that?”
Without a doubt.
“I’m…not sure.” I scan the room, but I’d know if she was here. “You happen to see where she went?”
“I saw her talking to some girl. They took off toward the front. Your trailer, maybe?”
“Maybe.”
Gabi studies me for a beat. “Did you know she was going to be here? Like, actually in the scene with us?”
“He did not,” Artie says, strolling over like he didn’t just treat Maggie as set dressing. “Last-minute decision.”
Our director, to his credit, doesn’t look remotely guilty. Just elated. He’s a good man, practically a father figure to me. But nothing, not even our relationship, gets in the way of his shot.
I yank off my Stetson and drag a hand through my hair. “That was really messed up, Artie.”
Maggie never struck me as the jealous type, but ditching her Saturday night, then lying about the song? Yeah, that stung. And the kiss? I had a feeling that’d sting too—back when I thought she’d be watching from the sidelines, not shoved into the fucking frame.
“Can you blame me?” Artie takes off his glasses, rubbing them against his shirt.
“Your chemistry is off the charts. When you’re around her, even when you talk about her, you light up like she’s the goddamn second coming.
And don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen her do it too.
” He slides his glasses back on. “I needed to know if that electricity would transfer over to Gabi. And clearly, it did. One take, kids! One. Take.”
A few whoops go up in the background as he gives my arm a squeeze. “You gotta forgive me, son, because damn, that was good stuff.”
Is that why the scene felt different? Because Maggie was watching? Or because I wanted her to?
“Gotta agree with Artie,” Gabi says, fanning herself theatrically. “For a second there, I thought you’d have to put me out with a fire extinguisher.”
A PA jogs over. “Artie, we need you at playback.”
He checks his watch, still grinning. “We’re rolling again in thirty. Don’t wander too far.”
I only wander as far as my trailer, praying Maggie will be there.
But she’s not.
By the time we break, everyone’s dragging. It’s late, just a sliver of moon in the sky. But it could’ve been worse. That first scene going smoothly shaved hours off the clock.
I’m almost at my trailer when I spot Loretta jogging toward me.
“Hey, I caught you,” she says, a little breathless. “Um, your pass. And Maggie’s sweater. She left it backstage.” She holds them at arm’s length, like I might be contagious.
“Thanks. I’ll get it to her.”
She flashes a nervous smile. “Good job today, by the way. Okay, bye.” Then she’s gone. Off the way she came, escaping me just like Maggie did.
Yeah. Good job, Holden.
Inside, I grab a quick shower, then drop onto the sofa with a bottle of water, Maggie’s sweater in a heap on my lap. Getting the pass back doesn’t feel great, but the sweater, still carrying her magnolia scent, isn’t a terrible trade-off.
I can’t imagine what she must’ve felt today. For someone new to this world, just being on set is intense. But I stepped on her—stepped on her—to kiss someone else.
I tip the bottle back, swallowing past the knot that’s been in my throat all day. For a few quiet minutes, I just sit, trying to get my head on straight.
Maggie’s different, and not in a way I can easily define. There’s just something about her that makes everything else, everything I’m used to, feel artificial by comparison.
I glance down at the sweater in my lap and pick up my phone.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say when my sister answers. “Am I interrupting dinner?”
“No, just watching a movie with Mom.”
“Oh, okay. You guys finish up then. We can talk tomorrow.”
She yawns. “Okay. G’night, Holden.”
“Night, Banana.”
As soon as I end the call, a text from Maggie comes through. There’s pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry
My heart does a stupid lurch I wish I could blame on exhaustion. I didn’t even check on her, and here she is trying to feed me. Before I can read too much into it, I get up and drape her sweater over the back of the couch, where it’ll stay until the end of filming.
Because I need the comfort more than she needs the clothes.
Because I want her here, and I don’t think she’s coming back.
When I get to Maggie’s, I head straight to the main house, punch in the code, and step inside. It’s dark, the faint smell of grease and cheese hanging in the air. Soft music filters in from the other side of the living room, and I follow it down the hall.
“Maggie?”
“Back here.”
Her room is exactly what I expected: overstuffed bookcases, a writing desk, an unmade bed piled with white blankets.
There’s even a window seat that overlooks the carriage house.
Did she sit there and listen to me play?
It’s dim, lit only by a bedside lamp and a few vanilla candles. The air is warm, thick with their scent. The music I’d heard when I came in—some indie folk thing I don’t recognize—plays low from the speaker on her desk.
Maggie watches me in her dresser mirror, her short navy robe skimming her curves. Her hair’s pulled up in a clip, exposing her slender neck. The glow of candlelight flickers across her skin.
“What’s all this?”
She gestures lazily around her. “This is what you’d call a much-needed self-care day.”
I won’t deny I’m a little disappointed it isn’t for me—not that I expected otherwise. But damn, it does set a mood.
I slip my hands in my pockets and lean against the door frame. “What does a self-care day entail?”
“Think spa day but with pizza and Brandi Carlile.”
I smile. “Is that who we’re listening to?”
She nods.
I toe off my shoes and wander barefoot into her room, stopping at the nearest bookcase to scan the titles. She has a little of everything, but romance stands out. I pick a book and flip through it. “Is this what you write? Romance?”
“Yep.”
I glance at her reflection. “Have you published anything?”
She shakes her head. “I’m…not there yet.”
“Well, when you are, let me know. I might have a few connections.”
“I appreciate it,” she says. “But it’s something I need to do on my own.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “I get that. More than you know.”
I put the book back where I found it and keep scanning the shelf until a tattered copy of Yesterday’s Son catches my eye. I slide it out and turn it over in my hands. It’s beat to hell, well loved, read a dozen times at least.
The book that brought me to Maggie.
“I didn’t know,” I say. “I had no idea Artie was going to do that.”
Her gaze dips to the dresser. “I figured.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie.”
I come up behind her. Close enough to breathe her in, that soft, warm sweetness that always hits me dead in the chest.
She hugs her robe tighter. “I know you lied to me about the song.”
“Maggie…”
“It’s okay, Holden. I think I know why.”
“Why?”
She looks up at me again. “Because this is all we have.”
What can I even say? Outside of this movie, our lives don’t line up. Once filming ends, I’ll leave, she’ll stay, and that will be that.
But does it have to be?
I set the book down and cup her shoulders, my thumbs brushing the curve of her neck, her pulse steady beneath them. She leans into my touch, just barely, but it’s enough.
“Why’d you leave today, Maggie?”
“You know why.”
“Were you jealous?”
She inhales, her back rising under my palms. “Yes.”
“Of Gabi?”
“Of what you gave her.”
“What did I give her?”
I remove her clip, gather her hair in my hand. Drag my lips along the skin beneath her ear.
“Magnolia, what did I give her?”
“My kiss. My kiss.” She lifts her chin. “The one you’d already given to me.”
“It’s still yours. It was yours today, I just…”
Had to give it to someone else.
She stares at me for a long beat, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what she’s thinking. Until her fingers find the tie at her waist. She pulls, and I swear my brain shorts out.
“Maggie…”
“Ben’s gone. He won’t be back until after his final tomorrow.” She opens her robe just a little, revealing a teasing glimpse of her breasts, bare and beautiful and fuck me. “We’re alone.”
My gaze drops before I can stop it, skimming her smooth, taut waist, the lush curve of her hips. And those panties—thin, satin, sexy as hell—clinging to her like a challenge.
What little restraint I had gives way, and I need to know how far she wants to take this. Because I’m gone for her. Ruined.
“Tell me what you want, Maggie.”
She swallows, slow and visible. “Touch me, Holden. I want you to touch me.”
My jaw clenches, a low growl hissing through my teeth. I reach around her, cupping a breast in one hand—“Here?”—the other trailing lower, teasing the lace trim of her underwear. “Or here?”
“Yes,” she breathes, sending blood rushing south so fast it makes me dizzy.
My thumb moves over her nipple, while my other hand slips inside her panties, finding her warm and slick, so damn ready for me. Her head falls back against my shoulder, eyes closed, sexy little noises spurring me on as I explore her, gliding my fingers through her.
A breathy moan slips free, and I nearly lose it. She’s so tight, so unbelievably, impossibly tight.
“Maggie,” I say gently. “When’s the last time you were touched?”
She hesitates. “A while.”