“Me too,” I say, but it’s a little scary to think about—what her life might be like. “Maybe you’ll need more security when you get back to LA. I could talk to Banks about that for you.”
“Maybe. That’s not a bad idea.”
I’m glad she’s open to it, but it’s not just the security issue. It’s the fame issue. “People are going to be obsessed with you.”
She comes over to me, takes my hands. “Which is why I’m so glad I have you and Grandma and our friends from here. Chloe and Bridget. Because at the end of the day, I’m just me. I’m just a girl from Darling Springs.”
“You sound pretty grounded about it.”
“Well, you did make sure I saw a therapist way back when. Years of therapy since then have helped,” she says as she pulls on a tank top over her sports bra. She’ll change into costume on set, she said. They’re shooting outside The Slippery Dipper today.
“Yay, therapy,” I say, upbeat and meaning it, because I’ve gone too. But something else, besides security and fame, keeps sticking in my brain. “For a while I thought maybe you were seeing New Chris.”
Her brow pinches. “And keeping it from you?” She sounds aghast at the suggestion she’d do that.
I shrug, a little embarrassed. “I believed you when you told me you weren’t involved with him, but I did wonder if you were just keeping it close to the vest.”
“I would tell you.”
“I know,” I say, chagrined. “But now that I’ve met him, I can see why you’re not dating him.”
She jerks her gaze back. “What do you mean?”
“He’s not really your type,” I say, trying to come up with the words to describe the movie star. “He’s very…intense. He’s all about eye contact and listening and gratitude.”
“Are you saying I don’t like nice guys who are grateful, or that I’m not?” she asks, but not meanly. Just curiously.
“Nah. He’s nice, but almost unreal.”
She nods as she grabs a hair tie from the bureau. “I hear you.”
“He seems very…actorly. Nice actorly, but actorly nonetheless.”
As she loops her hair into a bun, she asks with some concern, “Am I like that?”
I flash back to the way she squealed yesterday when I met her on set. “I don’t think so. I hope you keep that genuine enthusiasm for work. I hope it never gets old for you. I hope it’s always magical.”
“Me too. But I think it will be, Ripley. I do. I love acting in the way you love the farm.”
My heart floods with a burst of happiness. “I do love the farm.”
“And I want everyone to come to it after the movie,” she says.
“Me too.”
She flops next to me. “Ripley,” she whispers in a confessional tone, shifting gears.
“Yes?”
She reaches into her canvas bag on the bed and fishes out a lavender envelope, a nervous smile spreading on her face as she hands it to me. “Can you take this to William today? At the bookstore?”
I sit up straight as I take it. “Are you and William together?”
She brings her finger to her lips but doesn’t hide the smile that seems to take over her soul. “We’re…seeing each other.”
I’m giddy with excitement. “You and the bookstore owner?”
“Yes,” she says, drawing a deep, hopeful breath, but then shaking off her excitement. “But it’s new. It’s early. We’ve mostly written letters and talked on the phone while I was in LA. We’ve only been able to have a couple secret dates while I’ve been in town.”
