Chapter 29
It takes serious effort to keep my jaw off the floor when I spot Holden in the doorway wearing a black cowboy hat and those sexy-as-sin Luccheses, the sun backlighting him like the movie poster itself just came to life.
His gaze locks on mine for a split second before shifting to Gabi, and I can’t help feeling like it’s a slight.
I rejected him quite spectacularly last night, so I suppose I should be happy he looked at me at all.
Holden said we were fine, but clearly not if he needed a second shower this morning just to escape me.
My heart aches like it’s been hollowed out, but I did the right thing. There’s no future for us. As soon as filming wraps, so do we.
Beside me, Gabi’s PA, Michele, is busy unpacking disposable cups while I start the coffee. “To lid or not to lid?” she asks me.
“Better lid. Wouldn’t want Tripp dribbling on his fancy white shirt.”
Her eyes lift to Holden—still talking to Gabi—and she smiles in a way that makes my teeth clench. “He sure cleans up, doesn’t he?”
“Um, yeah.” I shrug. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”
She lets out an I’m-not-buying-it laugh, cut short by a high-pitched sing-song voice from just outside the barn.
“Sorry I’m late! Sorry I’m late!”
Holden grabs Gabi, yanking them both out of the way just as a ball of California energy bounces in.
“What is with the cows here? Just standing around in the road like that? They made me wait.” He flashes a wide grin. “No wonder you people eat them. Hi, I’m Dez.”
I assume by “you people” he means me.
“Maggie,” I say, holding out a hand he doesn’t take. I tuck it in my pocket. “Would you like some—”
He waves me off before I can finish. “Oh, God, no. Thank you, but I’m on a break from, you know”—he gestures vaguely at the coffee—“non-artisanal beverages.”
Michele smothers a laugh. “If you need something artisanal…”
“What an angel. Actually, I just need these two.” He tips his chin at Gabi and Holden. “The sooner we knock this puppy out, the sooner I can extract myself from this dust bowl. No offense.”
I glance down at my caliche-powdered boots. That’s fair.
Michele and I settle in at the bar while Dez buzzes about, getting Gabi and Holden into position.
“I hear we had a tiny audio emergency. Or am I overstating?” he says, adjusting their arms like mannequins. “Whatever it was, God bless. That horny bull song is an abomination.”
He steps back to admire his work, then strolls toward us, tapping a finger against his chin. “So now we’re dancing to an eighties country ballad?” He grimaces. “A two-step in the right direction, I suppose, albeit a small one.”
He stops in front of me, leaning in to study my eyes. A smirk tugs at his mouth. “Mystery solved.”
I swivel around, mortified clear down to my socks.
“Would you be a doll and hook us up?” Dez says, his arm coming around me, phone suddenly thrust into my line of sight.
I pair it to the barn’s sound system and hand it back without making eye contact. A minute later, “Bluest Eyes in Texas” kicks on.
Holden doesn’t hesitate. He pulls Gabi close—like he’s done this a thousand times—and moves with the same quiet confidence he showed at the restaurant last night.
This is not what I pictured. I thought we’d run through it a few times first. Get him comfortable before handing him off to Gabi. Maybe even dance together—the three of us—like Johnny, Baby, and Penny in Dirty Dancing.
What am I even doing here?
I try to ignore them, just keep staring at my phone, willing it to be over.
It’s worse than watching them kiss, and I don’t even know how that’s possible.
Every so often, Dez steps in to tweak something, but from the way Michele’s bouncing on her barstool, I’m guessing they’ve got it down.
But do they stop? Of course not. They keep going (and going and going) while I keep pretending to read.
Just when I think I can’t take another second, the barn door opens and Artie saunters in. I’m so grateful for the reprieve I almost run to him.
“A little birdie told me it might be worth my while to check out the progress,” he says, winking at Michele.
Dez lights up like he’s the one who taught Holden to dance, and I mentally roll my eyes. Artie drops onto the stool beside me, pats my knee, and waves for them to go again. The music starts up, and this time I force myself to watch.
Artie smiles in my peripheral, and I see exactly what he sees. Why Michele summoned him.
The chemistry. The ease. The story unfolding without me.
When the song ends, Artie—practically glowing—throws an arm around me. “This girl, right here. Did I tell you or did I tell you?”
Gabi claps, her warm gaze fixed on me.
“It was all Holden.” I slide off the stool. “Actually, I have something I need to take care of, if you’ll, um, excuse me.”
“No rush, dear,” Artie says. “I think we’ve got this locked in.”
No rush. Because I’m not needed anymore.
I’m halfway to the house when I spot my brother’s truck pulling in, so I veer toward the magnolia tree instead. It isn’t exactly hidden, but Ben knows not to bother me there.
I just need a minute. A minute to get my head on straight. A minute to remind myself who shot who down last night.
I kick off my boots and sit on the bench with one leg folded beneath me. A warm breeze stirs the branches overhead, the sweet scent of their blossoms comforting and familiar.
Restless Heart reaches me from the barn, and I wonder if she can hear it. If she knows I’m sitting over her ashes, beneath the tree she planted for me, listening to her favorite song on repeat.
I’ve always felt my mother here. I feel her here now.
“I can see why you love this place.” Gabi’s voice comes from behind me, and I immediately straighten.
She rounds the tree with her arms folded, her gaze drifting across the untouched land in front of us.
“Why LA might feel like too much.” The old wooden bench groans softly as she takes a seat beside me.
“Holden mentioned it. I hope that’s okay. We tell each other most things.”
I pull at a loose thread on my tank, twisting it around my finger. Willing my mouth to work. “I-I guess it kind of caught me off guard. This whole time, I’ve just…expected this to end.”
“I think what he’s trying to tell you is that it doesn’t have to.”
The thread breaks, the hem coming undone. “If I move to LA…”
She lets out a sharp laugh, then clamps her mouth shut. “Please tell me he didn’t say move.”
My ears go hot. “Oh my gosh, no. He didn’t,” I say, hiding behind my hands. “It’s just…his life is there. If this were to become anything, I’d have to move. Wouldn’t I?”
“I get that.” She pulls her knees up and rests the heels of her tennis shoes on the edge of the bench. “But I think he just wants to see you again, and yeah, he wouldn’t mind having you there. To show you around.” Her expression softens. “Introduce you to Hannah.”
I wouldn’t mind that either.
“What’s it like? LA?”
“The truth? Brutal. It can chew you up and spit you out if you let it.” One corner of her mouth lifts. “So don’t let it.”
“Just the idea of it scares me. Being followed. Judged. Picked apart.” I look down at my hands. “Here, Holden’s just Holden. But there…”
“He’s exactly the same,” Gabi says. “Still drives that stupid Civic. Has this quaint little house in the Hills. Private. Boring, by LA standards. I think there’s a lemon tree.”
She’s teasing, but there’s a wistfulness in her eyes I’m not sure she’s aware of.
I recognize that look.
“Are you in love with him?” The words fly out before I can stop them, the heat from my ears creeping outward. “I’m so sorry. That’s totally none of my—”
“Yes,” she says, not even blinking, just shrugs like it’s obvious. “Don’t look so scandalized. It’s kind of baked into who I am at this point. One of my things.”
“Your things?”
“Yeah. Like…you can dance. That’s one of your things.
And you write. Holden says you’re writing a book?
” She lifts her hand and starts ticking off her fingers.
“I do capoeira. I’m a Lifetime movie junkie—tell anyone and I’ll deny it.
And I love Holden Shaw.” Her eyes search my face.
“I think that might be one of your things too.”
I swallow. “Does he know? That you…”
“I doubt it.”
Would it be different if he did?
A squirrel rattles the branch above us, knocking seed pods onto the bench. Gabi picks one up and twirls it between her fingers.
“Maybe you should tell him.”
“He’s not my type, and I’m certainly not his,” she says, reaching over to squeeze my wrist. “But you are.” Her dark hair flaps in the breeze as she pushes to her feet.
“I should head back, but Maggie, you have nothing to worry about. It’s not like I pine over the man. I prefer men who pine over me.”
I unfold my legs and step into my boots. “Okay, I’m going to ask something wildly inappropriate, and you can tell me to shut up…”
She lets out a soft laugh. “No, we haven’t. I won’t pretend I’m not attracted to him. You’d have to be blind not to be. But that’s not our relationship.”
I don’t know what shocks me more—that she admitted she’s in love with him or that she carries it like it’s nothing. No jealousy, no bitterness. Only acceptance. Gabi may be the most emotionally evolved person I’ve ever met, or she’s just better at lying to herself than I am.
The midday sun is warm on my bare shoulders as we set off for the barn.
“I know I’m going to butcher this,” I say, “but what’s capoeira?”
“It’s a Brazilian martial art. Kind of like a fight that looks like a dance.” She stops to retie her shoe, then we keep going. “What kind of book are you writing?”
I glance over at her. “Romance.”
“I love romance. Have you thought of a pen name yet?”
“Magnolia May?” I say it like a question. “But I probably won’t publish it.”
“Why not?”
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I have reason to believe it might suck.”