See you tomorrow, maybe? In the evening? I’m booked earlier.
Vance
Any time. Can’t wait.
I sat in my car outside Dorian’s bookstore, looking at that text, marveling at how fast everything was shifting. Tonight, I’d shared the most intimate parts of myself with a woman I felt a profound connection to. Tomorrow, I would begin the process of getting my daughter back.
I just hoped these two wonderful things in my life could find a way to coexist—and maybe even become something better.
5
LILA
The morning I was to meet the producers and go over the details of the project, I was so nervous I couldn’t eat the breakfast Mia had made for me. She’d gotten up early to make two perfect soft-boiled eggs with an English muffin and fresh berries. She watched me like a hawk, too, so I forced myself to eat.
“I know you’re scared, Mom, but this is an incredible opportunity.” Mia popped another English muffin into the toaster. “I wish I could go with you.”
“I’m sure, once we get started, they’ll let me bring you to set.”
“What do you know about the house they picked for the project?”
“Not much. Other than it hasn’t been updated since the seventies.”
“I bet it’s a mess. Perfect for you to really shine.” Mia grinned as she reached for the butter. “I cannot wait until we can tell our friends.”
“The producers said to keep it quiet until they announced it, which should be today.” My stomach roiled with more nerves. “Do you think they’ll have a full makeup crew and everything?What if I get there and they decide I’m not pretty enough for camera?”
“Don’t be silly. You’re gorgeous, in great shape. I’m sure they’ll have wardrobe and makeup.” Mia rubbed her hands together. “I literally cannot wait to hear all about it.”
“I’m sure I’ll have a lot to tell you.” And probably some things I’d have to keep to myself. Like the fact that I’d been thinking about Vance Prescott constantly since our beach date. That I’d replayed that kiss—each and every one of them—in my mind about a hundred times.
Despite Mia’s enthusiasm, I was nervous as a cat as she packed me into the car and waved as I backed out of the driveway. Despite my nerves, I was way too early to show up on set, so I stopped at the coffee shop to treat myself to a latte.
When the barista called my name, I grabbed my latte and turned to leave when I caught a flash of movement. Was it someone ducking behind a display? When I looked directly, there was no one there.
You're imagining things. Too many true crime podcasts.
The address for the house I’d be working on wasn’t familiar to me. According to the map, it was just a few miles out of town, up a curvy road to a hill that looked out over the ocean. From what the perky producer, Kenzie, had said over the phone, it was a house that would sell for millions because of the view alone.
I drove the steep, winding road until the GPS told me to turn right into a driveway. The house took my breath away before I even stepped out of the car. Perched on a cliff above the ocean, it looked like something pulled straight from a dream—or maybe a Nancy Meyers movie. Cedar shingles weathered to a soft silver,white trim that gleamed in the morning sun, a wraparound porch made for rocking chairs. Wild grasses waved along a winding boardwalk, the blooms of white hydrangeas nodding in the breeze.
I parked behind a production van and gripped the steering wheel, my palms damp against the leather.
This is for Mia. Don’t be a chicken.
I got out of the car. The familiar prickle between my shoulder blades had me looking around me, as if someone were watching me. I'd had that feeling all week. The sense that someone was paying too much attention. Twice, at the studio, I'd looked up from my laptop to find the street outside empty, but I could have sworn I'd seen a figure standing there moments before.
Now, I grabbed my briefcase and headed toward the house. The front door was ajar. I stepped inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Oh my. Gone was the breezy magic of the exterior. Inside, the house was … tired. Not messy, just dated. Wood paneling climbed halfway up the living room walls before giving way to faded yellow paint. Heavy floral curtains blocked the ocean view. The ceiling still had popcorn texture. The carpet was the color of over-steeped tea.
“There she is. Our star.”
A young woman bounced into the room, tablet in hand, wearing a blue bandana over choppy brown hair and about seventeen necklaces.
“Lila, it’s so good to see you in person.” Kenzie bounded over to extend her hand, holding it just a beat too long. “I’ve been following your work for years—since your design school days, actually.”
Something about the way she said it made my skin prickle, but I smiled. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”
“Your thesis project on coastal minimalism? Brilliant.” Kenzie’s smile was wide but didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I actually went to Parsons too. A few years after you.”
