Haven appears beside me, asking in a low but hopeful voice, “You’re off tonight. Want to come?” She nods toward the faraway fields, where her sister works with Cyrus by her side. “We could…plot.”

  Haven wiggles her brows, and I consider the offer as I stare at Ripley. I can’t stop wondering. Can’t stop asking what-ifs.

  But it’s over with Ripley, and I don’t know what there is to plot with Haven, so I smile and say, “Thanks, but I’m having dinner with my family.”

  “Have fun.”

  She returns to the group, chatting with Chris, his hand on her arm, the two of them laughing. It seems so platonic to me, but I’m on the inside. From the outside, it could look like something else, and that’s why I’ve had a job for the last few weeks.

  But the job ends when the cast and crew leave tomorrow. So the rumors about Haven and Chris aren’t really my problem for much longer.

  I leave and hit the gym at The BookHouse. Afterward, I shower and head to meet my mom and sister at the tapas bar in town.

  I’m more relieved to see them than I ever thought I’d be.

  “Hey,” I say, and I can hear the gratitude in my voice as Mom pops up from the table and gives me a hug. Can she hear it too? I wrap my arms around her for longer than usual.

  Emily gives me a curious look as she comes in for a hug as well. I take it, finding comfort in family.

  When we let go, I pull out their chairs and sit once they’re settled.

  “Okay, you’re a nice man and all,” Mom says, cutting to the chase, “but you’re not Mister Affectionate. What’s going on?”

  I sigh, but I don’t want to burden her with my situation. “Just glad the job is finally over. It was…a complicated one.”

  Emily eyes me suspiciously over the menu. “Lies. Tell me sweet little lies.”

  “I assure you, the job was very, very complicated.”

  She scoffs. “Complicated by you falling in love with your client.”

  Mom slaps down the menu. “What happened? Who is she? Can I meet her?”

  “I wish,” I mutter. “Let’s order.”

  “We’ll order, then you’ll talk,” she says in the most mom-tone ever.

  The server swings by, and once we’re alone again, Mom puts on her very concerned about my son face. “So, I ask again, what happened?”

  Emily bats her lashes. “Yes, I really want to know too.”

  I roll my eyes. “You always want to know.”

  “I do, and it sounds like you finally have good tea. So spill it.”

  I could act put upon, like I sometimes do with Emily for fun. But I’m frayed too thin, stretched to the bone. I have no fight left in me. “Emily’s right. I fell in love with a client, and it was distracting. I couldn’t focus on the job. I wound up on social media, of all fucking things.”

  “Language,” Mom says.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  Emily fills her in on the details. “There was a picture of him and Haven Addison’s sister going out the other night and looking madly in love.” Grabbing her phone, she shows Mom the image.

  “Oh, I loved Haven in The Dating Games.” Mom studies the photo and adds, “Her sister’s quite pretty too.”

  For the first time, I look at the picture and see something besides my damaged reputation and a lost client. I see the last few wonderful, amazing weeks. Warmth fills my cells. A dangerous smile tugs at my lips as images of Ripley flash before my eyes and words fight their way out.

  “She’s beautiful and smart and fiery and caring and thoughtful,” I begin, and once I start, I can’t stop. The valve has loosened. “She’s bold and kind, and she keeps me on my toes. She loves to knock me down a peg or two or three, and she also tries to protect me. When I first started the job, she tried to give me the slip.”

  Mom’s enrapt at this info. Emily too. I take them back to the first day on the job and how valiantly my woman tried to ditch me.

  Soon, they’re laughing and asking for more. I tell them about the bike, and about Ripley’s friends showing up outside the salon and goading us.

  I tell them about how we had to share the cottage.

  I don’t tell them how we spent our nights, or how utterly, absolutely in sync we are after dark. That’s for Ripley and me.

  Instead, I tell them her favorite lavender is Melissa. That I set bouquets of it in the cottage for her.

  “I walked her dog and made her origami, and she showed me around Darling Springs, and I felt like…” I pause, giving some real thought to how I felt with the woman I fell for. The answer’s clear and beautiful. Like freedom and desire all at once. “Like I wasn’t chased by the past.”

  Mom sighs happily.

  Emily even drops her usual sarcasm. “That sounds really nice.” But then she clears her throat. “So why aren’t we meeting her tonight then?”

  I groan, and it’s full of self-loathing. “Because I ruined it all.”

  I tell them that part too, finishing the tale right as the food arrives.

  “This looks delicious,” Mom says of the risotto, but she doesn’t pick up her fork to take a bite. Instead, she turns her gaze back to me, her eyes thoughtful. “It sounds like you are stuck in the past, though, Banks.”

  I flinch. “Why do you say that?”

  “So you fell for a client. I get that you want to be professional, but you’re not the first person to fall for a client or an employee, and you won’t be the last. But you’re beating yourself up because you still think it’s somehow your fault that your father lied about his second family. But it’s not.”

  Way to be direct.

  Ripley said the same thing the other week. Did I believe her? I tried, but maybe I didn’t fully accept it.

  Emily’s gaze softens too. “It’s definitely not your fault, Banks. It’s Dad’s.”

  “But…” I begin, but the objection dies. What am I even protesting? I’m not entirely sure.

  Mom deals me a tough-love stare. “You think you don’t deserve nice things because you’ve held on to this belief that you have to protect me, and Emily, and any woman in your path at all costs since you think you could have protected me from him,” she says with a strength of character that comes from her own resilience, from the way she picked up the pieces and moved on. “But you couldn’t. He did what he did, and he was the only one to blame.”

  Like Ripley said.

  And dammit, it’s high time I believe it. Maybe belief is a choice. A line in the sand. A before and after.

  Right now, I can choose to believe that I wasn’t responsible.

  And I will.

  I feel decades lighter. Something I held on to for years is loosening its grip on me. But what about my mistakes over the last few weeks? “I am to blame for my own actions though.”

  Mom shrugs like that’s not a big deal. “Fine. Maybe you should have stepped away from the job sooner. But you didn’t. Is it such a crime? And did you actually fail to protect Ripley when you worked with her? As far as I can tell, not a hair on her or her sister’s head was harmed.” She holds up her forefinger. “You lost one potential client, and that’s too bad. But maybe the bigger question is this—is she worth it?”

  “Worth losing a client over?”

  “Yes,” Emily says, seeming exasperated.

  It takes nothing to answer from my whole heart. “Yes. She is.”

  Mom smiles. “Then let go of the past and move into your future. You’re worth it, and it sure as hell sounds like she is.”

  Emily’s eyes pop. “Mom! Language!”

  Mom points her fork at me. “Well, someone was being stubborn, so I had no choice. Now stop being a perfectionist and start moving past your mistakes.”

  “And start tonight,” Emily adds.

  “I will.” As we formulate a plan, I dig into my pasta, and it’s the best meal I’ve had in ages.

  48

  MIDNIGHT PICNIC

  RIPLEY

  In the cottage bathroom, I set the lotion on the counter, not even remotely lined up with my toothpaste. I get to be chaotic again. I can leave things where I want them. I can clean coffee cups in the afternoon instead of the morning.

  Yay.

  But the possibilities bring me no real joy.

  After I rub the lotion onto my legs post-shower, I trudge back into the main room of the cottage. The lonely cottage. One more night here; then, when the crew leaves, I can return to my house. I’m counting down.

  Hudson perks up, then shakes into a stand from his spot on the floor, trotting my way to lick my leg. “Of course, you lotion hound,” I say, petting his head.

  Dogs are so weird. Why do they like to lick lotion? I should look it up. It’ll keep my mind off other things.

  Like, oh say, heartache.

  I head to the sliding glass doors, yank them open, and sit down on the Adirondack chair on the deck in my sleep shorts, my dog at my side. I look up at the inky-black sky, stars shimmering light-years away, then down at the lavender fields stretching before me into the maze with its fairy lights.

  Next week, a tour group will wander through that maze. Next weekend, a couple booked it for an engagement. The week after that, we’ll have more picnics than I can count. The shop will reopen, deliveries will continue, and business will increase.

  Somehow, in spite of all the madness, everything’s worked out.

  Nearly everything.

  My bad-romance track record remains intact, but other than that, I didn’t distract from the shoot, I didn’t pull focus from the town, and I didn’t worry my sister.

  I draw a deep breath, inhaling lavender and calmness, wishing one more thing had worked out. I look up at the sky again, looking for a shooting star.

  But finding none.

  Oh well. It’s for the best anyway.

  I’m the practical one. The independent one. The fix-it one. And yet, my heart still hurts, and I keep wondering.

  And wishing.

  And stupidly hoping.

  Best to go inside. Tomorrow I’ll need to work on moving on. That’ll be easier once I’m back in my regular space. “C’mon, boy,” I say to Hudson, and he heads inside with me once again.

  As I shut the door, my phone beeps with Haven’s ringtone. I grab it from the table and swipe to answer. “Hey, cutie. Do you miss me already?”

  “Obviously,” she says. In the background, glasses clink, and music plays at the wrap party. “So much so that I want to come over and hang out. You and me. Does that work for you?”

  “Of course.”

  Some things never change. Her and me—the way we depend on each other, need each other, rely on each other.

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. We can have a midnight picnic.” Like we did when we used to sneak out of the house after our parents were asleep and play in the field.

  “That sounds perfect.” I’m genuinely excited to see her. “I’ll get everything ready.”

  “What did you say?” Haven asks, but from her lowered volume, she’s not talking to me. Faintly, I hear Chris Carlisle’s familiar voice, but I can’t make out the words.

  When Haven returns to me, she says, “See you soon.”

  We end the call, and I change out of sleep shorts and into leggings and a T-shirt. I slide on sandals, twist my hair into a bun, then head to the door, expecting Hudson to follow. But he flops down on the carpet with a beleaguered sigh. “Fine, fine. I get it. It’s past your bedtime.”

  He rolls to his side, obliging me to bestow belly rubs onto his soft fur and good-night kisses on his black-and-white head. When I’m done, I head to the kitchen in the house, grabbing olives and cheese from the fridge, then nectarines from the fruit basket.

  Grandma sails in as I’m setting things on the counter next to a cutting board.

  “Did I wake you?” I ask.

  “No. I was reading. Are you making a midnight picnic?”

  “I am.”

  “I’ll help.” She slides right in, picking a paring knife for the fruit. “It’ll be nice to have you back in the house tomorrow.”

  Vega’s still working in a quiet room. The crew will be back to spend their final night here, so I’ve got one more night in a cottage full of memories. Wanda is in the house tonight, like she’s been since she took over for me, but I’ve never really needed close protection here on the farm. Tomorrow, when the film crew departs, she’ll take off, too, and my bodyguard days will be behind me.

  So it goes.

  “I’m looking forward to my own room,” I say, but there’s wistfulness in my tone too. Yes, I can’t wait to return, but I did love sharing that small space and that one bed with Banks.

  “But it’ll feel odd with everyone gone.” Grandma studies the big kitchen. It’s clean and neat, like it was when Banks would stroll by in the morning. He must have cleaned up this afternoon. The thought makes my chest hurt.

  “I’ll miss the coffee cup fairy,” she says, then turns to me. “And you?”

  There’s no point in denying it after I told her everything that happened in the last few days. “I will.”

  She sighs thoughtfully. “Maybe tell him before he goes.”

  I scoff. “But he made it clear it was over.”

  She lifts a questioning brow. “Did he though?”

  “Um. Yes.”

  She sets down the knife. “Or did you do it for him so he wouldn’t have to?”

  “Six of one. Half a dozen of the other,” I say as I set Marcona almonds on the plate.

  “Is it though? He told you he fell in love with you. Did you tell him the same?”

  I freeze. She’s right. I didn’t say I loved him. And now I wonder if I should have.

  49

  AN EXTRA PASSENGER

  BANKS

  Emily helps me, so we’re done awfully fast. I say goodbye to Mom and my sister, then hop in my car and turn up Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 3. The second movement is fast and furious, and with that adrenaline boost, I drive to Prohibition Spirit.

  The scene of my big mistake.

  Or maybe it’s an opportunity. A do-over. A chance to write my future, moving on from the past.

  Inside the club, I quickly find Haven. Marcus too. I head over to the former Marine and clap him on the sturdy shoulder. “Thanks, man. I’ll take over now.”

  “You sure?” he asks, his tone serious since he takes his job seriously. “You need me for anything?”

  That’s a good question, but I don’t want to put the cart before the horse. “I’ll let you know if I do.”

  “You know where to find me,” he says, giving a crisp nod. It’s good to see he’s not treating me any differently now than he has in the past.

  I turn to Haven. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  She rubs her palms excitedly, her blue eyes twinkling. “Do I get to plot now? Should we grab a booth in the corner and come up with all the plans?”

  “Actually, I have one already.”

  She frowns, but it’s playful. In the privacy of the booth, I let her in on the scheme, and her eyes widen. “We need to go now. We can’t wait another second.”

  As we head to the door, though, Chris weaves through the crowd, flanked by his own security detail—a guy named Daveed, who’s the size of a tank.

  Chris reaches Haven, setting a hand on her arm. “Haven, did you say you’re going back to Lavender Bliss tonight? Vega is still there, and I desperately need to chat with her. Can I join you? I’d hate for guests to keep showing up all night long since none of us are staying there. Best for your sister if we all show up at once?”

  Ah, hell.

  I was looking forward to a quiet farm. But maybe it’ll be good, having other people there—a distraction so Ripley doesn’t spot me too soon. Yeah, I can make this work.

  Haven glances at me, making sure it’s okay. “Is that all right, Banks?”

  “Absolutely,” I say. “I’ve got room in my car for everyone.”

  Chris clasps his fingers together in gratitude. “I am in your debt.”

  He’s not really, but it’s amusing that he says so.

  We leave the party, and I’m not at all surprised that the major paparazzi are gone. They’ve probably realized by now there’s no money shot here. A couple of passersby lift their phones, but all they’ll get is two actors leaving a bar with their bodyguards.

  Haven and Chris smile and wave like it’s another publicity shot of co-workers, nothing more. I’m sure that’s how PR has coached them, and it’s wise in a world where there’s a camera in every pocket. Everyone’s the paparazzi now.

  Daveed and I quickly usher the actors to my car. Once they’re in, we take off.

  I check the rearview mirror religiously as I drive. No one seems to be following us. That’s good. Ten minutes later, we arrive at Lavender Bliss. My pulse spikes, and my heart clatters as I park.

  Chris and Haven go inside the farmhouse while Daveed waits at the gate, keeping watch. I dart around the back of the cottage, where Ripley can’t see me, and head quietly toward the cottage’s front door. On the way, I steal a glance at the main homestead. Through the kitchen window, I can see the woman I’m madly in love with hugging her sister.

  That clattering in my heart? It accelerates.

  Once inside the cottage, I shut the door. Just in time—a fifty-pound black-and-white pup charges toward me in excitement. Hudson jumps up and licks my face. He smells a little like satsuma oranges.

  “You want to help with my project, boy?”

  He whimpers happily in agreement.

  I tell him to sit. He complies, and I get to work. I’m nearly done when my phone buzzes with a text from Tyler. He’s following up on my questions about who works for News Site Ink and, by extension, VIP Vibes these days, and he’s found something all right.

  50

  TABLES TURNED

  RIPLEY

  Haven seems distracted. But she’s leaving tomorrow, and she’s meeting William back at her room later, so I don’t make a big deal out of her occasionally shifting her gaze around the farm.