Chapter 6
THE SOUND OF PANIC
Ginny
I miss my alarm Monday morning, so I’m rushing to get to my day job meetings on time.
After throwing on the first dress I grab in my closet and a quick brush of my teeth, I practically sprint into the kitchen, on my way to the converted butler’s pantry that’s now a home office for me.
Need to get coffee.
But I stop my beeline for the coffee maker when Declan looks up at me from the table.
He’s in a blue performance T-shirt that hugs his biceps and chest, his thick brown hair damp and sticking up at all angles, sweat lingering at his hairline. There’s a plate of scrambled eggs, fruit salad, and thick-cut wheat toast in front of him, and the aroma of coffee lingers in the air.
And a camera guy in the kitchen with him.
It’s the camera guy that really does me in.
Him and his camera.
His lights.
His mic.
All in my kitchen.
It takes me back to my On the Rhodes days, when I’d be filmed doing everything from what Declan’s doing now—eating breakfast—to doing my homework to being yelled at for leaving my room a mess or making dinner wrong to fighting going to bed.
My hands start shaking and my lungs tighten and my mouth goes dry.
The worst part though?
I knew they’d be here.
Mabel cleared it with all of us last night after Ten left to go home.
The director and producer want film of Declan doing normal life things in addition to making wine, and our large eat-in kitchen is classically Victorian. It’s a great backdrop for meals.
But my brain is still half slush and my mother texted me right before I went to bed, asking if I’d buy her a fancy hat she found on the internet to replace the one that burned in the barn. She’s asking me since she doesn’t want Caro to think she only loves her for her money.
Like it’s okay for me to think my mom only loves me for my money.
My money that would save our home if I had it, which I don’t.
So I’m not operating well this morning.
Declan glances at me, then shakes his head at the man aiming a camera at him. “Take ten, yeah?”
“Food’s gonna get cold,” the guy replies. He’s thirty, maybe thirty-five, dressed in all black, not unlike Mabel, with dark spiky hair and eyebrow and septum piercings.
Declan grins at him. “Eh. I make terrible eggs anyway. Go take a break. Get some B-roll out in the fields. Won’t be the only morning I eat breakfast here.”
The other guy glances at me, then at Declan again, and once more back to me.
“What?” I say on a sigh, prepping myself for you’re Ginny Rhodes, but instead, he sticks a hand out.
“I’m Shade,” he says. “Since someone doesn’t have any manners and didn’t introduce us.”
“She’s not going on camera,” Declan mutters.
Shade smirks at him. “Doesn’t mean we’re not polite.”
I hesitate, then take his hand and shake. “Ginny.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Ginny. See you around.”
He nods to both of us, then takes his camera and heads out the back through the mudroom, leaving the lights and mic set up.
Declan eyes me. “Morning,” he says hesitantly.
“Good morning,” I reply with a fraction of the warmth I give my friends here, hating that I have reason to be so guarded in my own home, then continue on my path for coffee.
“I figured it out,” he says, watching me like I’m a feral groundhog who might bite.
I channel my best friend and regard him with detached attention. “Figured what out?”
“You’re not a cult.”
“I told you we’re not a cult.”
“But you all went viral. All of you who live here. You. Cricket. Samantha and Olivia. Dori. Heath the handyman and Pip too.”
At least he hasn’t figured out that Mabel’s also gone viral.
She was in costume for most of her internet-famous time, and very few people realize her ex doxxed her. Or if they knew he did it, they don’t know it was her that he exposed.
“Doesn’t your contract forbid you from using Wi-Fi and cellular networks to do internet research while you’re here?” I ask.
He smirks at me over his mug.
No, my mug.
He’s using my mug again.
In college, I took a pottery class, and I fell in love. Sitting at the wheel, nothing but me and the wet clay, my mind shifting into just the right space to be able to meditate and clear away intrusive thoughts.
It was almost as effective as therapy—something I still need a lot of after my adolescent years—and I left college with two favorite mugs that I’d made.
I left my relationship with Alex with neither of them.
When I got here to Makepeace, I turned to it again. There was a woman Mabel knew just outside of town who’d done pottery her whole life, and she let me use her space to find some semblance of peace.
That’s where I made the mug that I still use every day.
Except for the past two days, when Declan has managed to use it instead.
“Mabel overlooked adding any no-contact-to-the-rest-of-the-world clauses to our contract,” he says.
She didn’t overlook it. Cutting off anyone’s access to the outside world isn’t something we’d do here. No matter how much we might want to and how much I might hint at it to Declan.
“In case no one told you, Cricket’s testing the tractor to make sure it starts before harvest. You should probably go get your close-up videos,” I say.
“So you’ve been here since…the last time I saw you?”
“The tractor hasn’t actually been started since Pip’s husband died, so it’s likely to be a production. It would be a shame if you and Shade missed it.”
“I wondered where you’d gone.”
“And after my mother tried to set it on fire Saturday night, we’re giving it a fifty-fifty shot that it works.”
“Heard you quit your job and disappeared.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Where’s this going?”
“I’m glad you had somewhere safe to go. Everyone seems…protective.”
I was already dreading Declan being here, but this?
This is making it worse.
He’s being kind. Attentive. Like we used to be friends, when he spent nearly four years making it clear that we were anything but.
“Catching on to that, are you?” Olivia says as she joins us in the kitchen, dressed for the day in jeans and a pretty blouse.
She and her wife, Samantha, managed all of the catering Saturday. If I were them, I wouldn’t be moving at all this week.
I can still barely move myself. And that probably would’ve been the case even without the massive amounts of alcohol I consumed after my mother left.
And wanted to consume all day just from being in her presence.
Even before she tried to set the barn on fire.
And before Declan got to be a hero, which I’m begrudgingly grateful for.
“I won’t tell your secrets,” Declan says to her. “I get the privacy thing now.”
“Hmm. How’s the coffee?”
He gives her a reserved smile. “Weak.”
“Then I did it right.”
I stifle a sigh as I reach the coffee maker on the counter near the sink and dishwasher.
He’s being nice.
I can be nice and make better coffee.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says to me.
“Need some for myself to get through my workday anyway.”
“You still in marketing?”
“Yes.”
“Same company?”
“Freelance.”
“Nice.”
Olivia slides me a look as she passes me on her way to the sink.
She’s a black belt in tae kwon do.
She could take him if I need her to.
Not that I need her to.
“I’ll get the dishes,” Declan says to her as he rises.
“Testing the equipment today. Shouldn’t miss it,” Olivia says.
Declan makes a noise that sounds like a rusty laugh.
It annoys me.
Mostly because of how hard I used to work to get a rusty laugh out of him.
He was my boyfriend’s best friend.
I wanted him to like me so that we could all hang out together.
Instead—well.
It was pretty clear he never thought Alex and I should’ve been together.
And he never gave me a chance.
Fucking reality TV show.
It happens all the time. People find out I’m that Ginny Rhodes, and they say “Remember that episode where you couldn’t say the word parallelogram and so you tossed your orange juice all over your siblings when they laughed at you?
” or “Do you still throw temper tantrums if you have to share a bathroom with Ten?” or “Your mother was a saint to put up with you.”
Or, my all-time favorite, “You’re so much prettier than I expected you to grow up to be.”
It’s that beautiful insult couched in a compliment that I love about as much as I love stubbing my toe.
Declan never said those things, but I could feel him thinking them.
And I know he watched our show.
Alex told me.
“Okay,” Declan says. “I’ll go help with the great equipment start-up. After I clean my own dishes.”
I retreat into the office, counting down the minutes until coffee should be ready.
When I peek out of the door, Declan’s still there.
Leaning against the sink. Tight T-shirt.
Short running shorts. Thick muscles on his well-over-six-feet frame.
Broody lips. Intelligent eyes. One slim ankle hooked over the other.
Two days’ worth of stubble growing on his chiseled jaw.
Messy hair that he used to take so much time with, fitting the stereotypical hockey guy mold with the good flow.
And he’s still sipping coffee out of my mug.
My clunky, homemade pink-and-yellow mug scrolled with a message to myself—you are worthy and you are loved.
It has imperfections and flaws, but like me, it’s still here.
Also like him.
Olivia’s gone, but Declan is still freaking here.
Why isn’t he leaving?
Is he planning on snooping?
Does he need something but doesn’t want to go find someone to ask for it?
He’s not even supposed to be in here since he’s not filming right now.
The coffee’s done. I heard its final sputter.
I need to get my coffee now or I won’t have it until noon.
Bad plan.
I suck in all of my fortitude and leave the office, heading straight for the coffee maker on the granite countertop, even though it means I have to stand next to Declan.
“Gonna miss the tractor,” I say as conversationally as I can.
He lifts my mug. “Just finishing up.”
“Cricket doesn’t wait for slowpokes.”
He turns to the sink, grabs the dish soap, and starts washing my mug. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you. That day. At the church. I always regretted not doing the right thing and helping you.”
Well.
That’s a hell of a thing to say this early in the morning.
Especially with a ring of sincerity that makes goosebumps race down my back.
I can count at least a half dozen of Alex’s teammates that I would’ve believed if they said that to me. That I would’ve appreciated hearing that from.
Not that any of them did.
So when Declan says it—I want to know the catch.
“I believe we’ve agreed to not discuss the past,” I say.
“Teeth doing okay?”
My crowns.
The fake front teeth that I had to get after the worst moment of my life.
“Mine are fine. And how are yours?” His front two teeth were also missing when I knew him.
He didn’t go viral for it the way I did, but then, it’s a lot more common to lose teeth in hockey than it is when disrupting a wedding.
“Permanently fixed now,” he tells me.
“Congratulations.” I reach into the cabinet for a normal, boring Makepeace Cellars mug—we have a million of them—but Declan sets my now-clean mug on the counter in front of me. “Here. Guessing you want this one.”
I suck in a breath and tamp down on the urge to tell him to stop being nice to me.
He’s getting what he wants. He’s filming here.
He doesn’t have to pity me and make a show of being the bigger person or whatever mind game he’s playing.
But I also don’t have to take the bait.
Stars know I took the bait enough with my mother on that horrid show.
“I’m here, bring on the cameras!” Pip announces in her throatiest voice.
She struts into the kitchen in her pink thong, feathered house slippers, matching boa around her neck, a glittery pink top hat perched on her head, and nothing else.
There’s a reason we call her the Notorious P-I-P on occasion, and I take a minute that I don’t have before my meeting to watch Declan’s reaction to her.
“Good morning, Pip,” he says mildly, looking, as far as I can tell, at her face and not her sagging breasts and missing nipple.
“Where’s the camera?” She twists and turns, mugging for us. “I’m ready for my close-up.”
“You’re not going on camera, Aunt Pip.” Mabel sails into the kitchen behind her.
She’s frazzled.
Declan probably wouldn’t be able to tell—it took me a long time to see the signs—but my best friend is clearly having a morning with her aunt.
I catch her eye. “I’m sure we could do a few scenes,” I say, grateful to have something else to focus on.
Mabel stares at me.
I stare back, hoping she can understand my silent message of and then delete the footage forever.
“Only if Shade’s comfortable with it,” Declan says. “He might have a no-nudity clause in his contract.”
Pip plants a fist on her hip. “Honey, you’re cute, but I already told you that I’m not interested in screw-me clauses.”
He holds up his hands. “Apologies. Sometimes I need to be told twice. I’m working on that.”
Agreeable Declan is starting to piss me off.
“Where’s the camera?” Pip repeats. “You got the lights. But you’re missing the camera.”
Declan glances at Mabel, then at me, and then he gestures to the mudroom door. “This way.”
“Silly to have the lights in here and the camera in the mudroom,” Pip says as she marches past him.
Mabel sucks in a long, slow breath and starts to follow.
“My grandmother lived with us when I was growing up,” Declan says to her. “I’m well-trained if you want me to keep an eye on her.”
I don’t wait for Mabel’s reply.
I have a meeting to get to.
And I don’t trust nice Declan.
He made it too clear while I was dating Alex that I wasn’t worthy. And after these past four years—I’m done with people who don’t think I’m worthy.
No matter how much this nice Declan act is making me feel like I’ve been forgiven for what I did to Alex. How much it’s soothing a part of my soul to have simple kindnesses shown to me by someone who hated me in the life I lived before Makepeace.
As Olivia would say, he’s offering emotional table scraps.
I don’t settle for those anymore.
Especially from people with an agenda.