Chapter 33
Present Day
Maya, Fitz, and I sit outside on the back patio at the studio. It’s a warm summer morning, and we have shade for our meeting
until the scorching sun peeks over the rooftop around eleven thirty. The courtyard around us is bricked with wisteria climbing
across and over the walls, its fragrance a permanent perfume during the blooming months. It’s a dreamy spot to review the
good work completed in the week since the producers visited, as well as our outstanding to-dos.
On the low table between us are the coffee and pastries I grabbed from a bakery on my way in this morning. Each time I buy
something like a butter-loaded croissant, it feels like payback for all those nights in high school when Magnolia refused
to allow me to eat anything but Special K—per the latest diet.
“How are things with Ms. Dorothy?” Maya asks me. “I know she only wants you as her point of contact, so generally I leave
her alone.”
I smile. “She’s as sweet as the tea she plies me with every time I go over, but I don’t think she’s got anything for us right
now.”
“Which is probably all well and good considering that we need to start planning the furnishings at the Daniel House,” Fitz
says.
In the days that’ve passed since the producers visited, real progress has been made. We’ve done drywall repairs and mended woodwork. Mateo was even able to work his magic on the dining room medallion enough that we could keep it. The kitchen has cabinets and fixtures, and the downstairs hall bath is complete—aside from wall art and decor. The railings on the staircase, our centerpiece, are each being patched and shined one by one.
“This might’ve been the better week to have the producers come on-site. When things are really moving along,” I say.
“I don’t know that it makes a difference,” Maya says. “Plus, we haven’t done paint or furniture yet, so there are plenty of
reveals upcoming, if they want a flashy moment.”
“True,” I say. “But don’t you think we should’ve heard from them by now?”
“I’m not so sure,” Fitz says. “It’s only been a week, and we’d be hearing if they’re green-lighting a pilot. It’s no small
decision—I’m sure there are multiple rounds of red tape to get through.”
I sighed. “You’re probably right. It’s just that I can’t help but wonder about the worst.”
“Let’s not plan our own funeral while we’re still in the game, Boss,” Maya says.
I smile at her, something about her enthusiasm reminding me of Hallie. I glance at my watch. “Hallie should be here by now,”
I say, pawing around for my phone.
I text Grady: Here at the studio. Weren’t you dropping Hallie by this morning? I thought we said around 9:30.
A few minutes later, my phone pings.
Just pulled up to your house. We said your place, not the studio.
“Grady freakin’ Suffolk is going to be the death of me,” I say.
“And probably many more of the unfortunate souls who come into his orbit,” Fitz says. “What’s new today?”
“He took Hallie to the house instead of bringing her here.” I scroll through my phone and find the exchange. “I knew I was
right. It’s almost as if he’s trying to make it hard.”
If it’s not him missing our preplanned handoffs, it’s babysitter snags and last-minute work requirements.
“You want me to go grab her?” Fitz asks.
“No, of course not,” I say, gathering my things. “Y’all eat the rest of those pastries or take them with you. Guess I’ll be
working from home the rest of the day.”
“Ok,” Maya says. “And don’t forget, you have a meeting with Theo Hartman tomorrow morning at ten to discuss landscaping at
the Daniel House.”
“Thanks, Maya. I’d lose my head without you.”
I cross inside and begin packing up my laptop and gathering any samples I’ll need for next design steps. Fitz and Maya grab
the food and follow me in, muttering about the patio already feeling too hot. I can’t ignore the heat sitting heavy in my
chest over Grady’s nonsense. I should ask him to bring her here himself, but after he pitched a fit over the Exquisite Interiors
shoot, I’m trying to keep him at arm’s distance. I sling my bag over my shoulder and grab my keys when my phone buzzes in
my pocket. I almost ignore it, sure it’ll be Grady checking in on my ETA.
Instead it’s Lincoln. Calling.
I pick up slowly. “Hello?”
“Hey,” he says. “Hope I’m not interrupting, but I’ve got Hallie here. Her dad saw her run over to Foster and asked if she
could hang until you got here.”
“I’m sorry, Lincoln. He shouldn’t have,” I said. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
“It’s ok. I offered to take Foster downtown to visit the market candy shops, so we could drop her off—or bring her with us.”
I hear Foster’s pleading voice in the background.
“Scratch that,” Lincoln says. “It’s now a request: Can Hallie come to the candy shop with Foster before we drop her off? He wants me to say please, please, please .”
I smile and slip onto my desk chair, bag dropping to my side. Lincoln is so great with Foster, and Hallie too. So good that
he’s hard to reconcile with the young man I once fought with before he hopped a flight and never came back. He always was
easy to like, but is especially so now. Easy to be with. Easy to rely on.
Easy to love—for any individual lucky enough to get there.
But I shouldn’t let myself get too tangled up with my new neighbor. It’s the responsible, adult thing to do, after all, but it’s moments like this when I can’t help but wonder: What if things had worked out differently
between us?
I smile. “If you’re sure you’re ok with it,” I say. “Otherwise, I can be home in fifteen minutes, ten if I speed.”
Lincoln laughs. “I’m completely free today, and I wouldn’t hear the end of it if Foster had to endure this trip without his
best pal.”
“Thanks,” I say, and we hang up.
Fitz is at my side, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “And who was that ?”
“I bet you could guess,” I say.
“You’re holding out on me.” Fitz pulls up a chair, props up an arm, and stares at me.
“He’s great with the kids,” I say. “They came over for pizza the other night, and things were... good .”
“Excuse me while I pick my jaw up off the floor,” Fitz says. “So did that good include any butterflies or googly eyes?”
I roll my eyes in a way that I’m sure totally gives me away. “We’re neighbors, and on the way to being friends.”
“Ok, Bambi with the fluttery eyes over there,” Fitz says. “You know I’ve been reading you like a book for years now.”
I drop the act and let my hands flop onto the desk. I lower my voice to a whisper. “Ugh, it’s so awful because he’s still
superhot, and I kinda wanna kiss the guy, but then I remember he ran away to a different state to get away from me. Like,
yuck. It makes me sound so shriveled up and desperate.”
“He did run away to a new state,” Fitz says. “But he was running toward Marcus Wilson, not away from you. So maybe your beef should
be with Marcus—he’s an attractive guy, from what I’ve seen in pictures.”
“Trust me,” I say, “you and I both know I had— have ?—beef with Marcus Wilson.”
Fitz sighs. “He’ll officially be our scapegoat from here on out. A paint color doesn’t turn out? Marcus Wilson. A windowpane
cracked? Marcus Wilson. We get hit by the flu? Again , Marcus Wilson.”
“Poor Marcus,” I say. “He didn’t know what he was stirring up for himself.”
Despite what I say, I can’t really blame Marcus for what fell apart between Lincoln and me. Not if I’m honest. Yes, Lincoln
left, but I wasn’t innocent in the situation. I played my part, soaked in Magnolia’s influence, so probably Lincoln and I
are both to blame.
Just as I’m about to dig back into my work, I see Erica’s name light up my phone screen.
“It’s Exquisite Interiors,” I announce, and Maya and Fitz are at my sides, crowded around the phone.