I nearly choke on my spit as my sister bends over, roaring with laughter. Sophia looks up as a giggle escapes her lips.
"Hazel, Sophia will stay in the guest house. She's not staying with us in our house."
"Why? She might get lonely out there," Hazel replies. Then she whispers to Sophia, "The bungalow is kind of creepy, and it smells like chlorine."
Sophia reassures Hazel that she'll be fine in the bungalow and promises to come inside the house if she does get scared.
I break up the conversation before it gets any more awkward and walk Sophia over to the entry of sliding panel doors. It doubles as a pool house—hence the chlorine smell—and I replaced the regular entry for more of an indoor-outdoor living experience. I'll have to show her how to use the curtains because she'll definitely be exposed with all this glass. She's only facing my house, but that's precisely why I'll need her to use those curtains.
There's not much to show her. When you walk in, the dining-kitchen space is over to your right, and the living-bedroom space is over to your left. The coolest thing about this little hut is the oversized bathroom. It's nestled between the living and dining space and boasts heated tile floors, a huge soaking tub, a separate shower, and a little sauna off to the side. I even put in a little loveseat so you could sit down while you dry off.
"It's about seven hundred square feet, and while I don't have many guests stay here, I use it quite a bit to entertain. It's a great space to watch games and hold snacks when people come over to swim." I try to keep my tone casual and professional, though my mind keeps circling back to the fact thatSophia Ford is about to be sleeping less than a hundred yards from my bedroom.
"This is really nice, Grant. It looks so cozy. Thank you again. You're saving my life right now." Her smile does something to my chest that I'm not ready to examine too closely.
"I hope you'll be comfortable, and it's all yours. Stay as long as you need."
I walk over to the kitchen and open a few cabinets to show her where everything is, telling her that our housekeeper can stock the pantry and fridge with whatever she likes. I'm already making mental notes to have Josie pick up those fancy oat milk lattes I've seen Sophia drinking on set.
"Oh, don't worry about it. I'll only be a night or two, max."
Something in her casual tone makes me pause. A night or two? I force my expression to remain neutral, though my jaw clenches involuntarily.
"You should have everything you need, but if you don't, I'm sure we have it in the main house." The words come out a bit more clipped than I intended. Is she already planning to stay somewhere else? With someone else? The thought of her leaving here to meet someone else makes my stomach turn.
Not that it's any of my business. She's talent. I'm a studio executive. This is just a professional courtesy, nothing more—even if the sight of her standing in my guest house, bathed in the soft evening light, makes me want to tell her she can stay forever.
She's looking through the pantry when I see her stop and pick up a box of Slim Jims. She turns to me.
"I love these."
"I know."
"Thanks," she whispers, and for a moment, I think I catch something in her eyes—uncertainty? Anticipation?—before she looks away. "This is…this is really kind of you."
I should leave. I should absolutely walk out that door and maintain appropriate, professional boundaries.
I don't realize how close I've gotten to her until I feel her hair brush the side of my face and I close my eyes and breathe in her sweet summer scent.
I feel her move, and when I look down at her, a moment passes between us. Her eyes are taking in every feature on my face. I see her look from my eyes to my nose to my lips, and then her gaze lingers there before going back up to my eyes. My hand is still resting on the shelf to her side, where I've replaced the box of snacks, and I move to push a piece of hair behind her ear. Why am I doing that? I have no fucking idea, but I want to touch her. I want to put my lips on hers. She shifts closer, and her hands rise, but I can tell she's not sure where to put them, so they fall back to her side.
"Time to eat!" Hazel screams, breaking the moment between us, and I step away quickly and turn to leave the pantry space. "Come on, Dad. Come on, Sophia. It's taco night! Aunt Sarah made the combo for us—chicken, steak, and shrimp!"
"Oh, I'll be ok," Sophia says. "There's plenty here if I get hungry. I should really start figuring out what I'm going to do for housing longer term and call the adjuster. And I want to look through all the pics we took today."
The trip to Honey Pine Farms seems like ages ago. So much has happened since then.
"Might as well eat with us since everything is ready," I tellher. "And the offer stands. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need. No pressure, but…there's no need to rush off to other arrangements."
I try to keep my tone light, but I know some of my feelings must show through because her eyes snap back to mine, widening slightly.
"I…" she starts, then stops, seeming to wrestle with something. "Thank you," she finally says. "I'll…keep that in mind."
I nod and force myself to head for the door before I say something I shouldn't. Something about how I'd rather know she's safe here than wondering where—or with whom—she spends her nights. Something about how the thought of her leaving makes me feel slightly insane.
Before she can change her mind, Hazel grabs her hand and leads her to our house, where no other woman has gone before.
eleven
