I swear Brandon to secrecy about my living situation as I stand and straighten my shoulders, preparing to pretend my world hasn't shifted on its axis.
The sun is setting as I make my way past the driveway gate toward the guesthouse, my mind still running through today'sshot list. We're right on schedule, and if we can get approval to shoot at Honey Pine?—
"Sophia!"
A blur of motion is all the warning I get before Hazel crashes into me, her arms wrapping tight around my hips. The force of her enthusiasm makes me stumble back a step, and I laugh.
"You're home!" She beams up at me, and my heart does a funny little flip at her choice of words. Home. I glance instinctively toward the main house, where Grant is watching us from the patio. Instead of the awkward tension I half-expected, there's something soft in his expression that makes my chest tight.
"Perfect timing," Hazel declares, grabbing my hand. "It's pasta night. You have to stay! It's all he knows how to make." She whispers that last part, and I pull my lips together so a laugh doesn't escape.
I lift my eyes to find Grant again. The last thing I want is to intrude on their time together, but he's already pulling out another chair.
"Come on," he says, that polished smile of his making an appearance. "You've got to eat, right?"
"Well, when you put it that way…" I let Hazel pull me toward the table. The patio is strung with lights that cast everything in a warm glow, and the smell of tomato sauce and garlic bread makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loudly.
"Someone skipped lunch," Grant observes, sliding a plate in front of me.
"I neither confirm nor deny these allegations." I reachfor a slice of bread still warm from the oven. "Though I will say craft services was seriously lacking today."
"Dad never skips lunch," Hazel informs me solemnly. "He says it makes him hangry."
"Hangry?" I raise an eyebrow at Grant, who's suddenly very focused on twirling pasta around his fork.
"I have no idea what she's talking about," he says with dignity. "I am a perfect professional at all times."
The banter flows easily as we eat. Hazel bounces between topics with the delightful randomness of a six-year-old as she tells me all about the working volcano her class is building for the school's science fair and how her best friend Hannah just got a new golden retriever puppy named Pancake.
"Ok," Hazel announces when we're mostly finished eating. "Time for struggles and wins!"
"Struggles and wins?" I ask.
"It's our thing," she explains. "Every night at dinner, we each share one struggle from our day and one win. Even if it was a terrible day, you have to find one win. And even if it was a great day, you have to admit one struggle." She sits up straighter. "Want to play?"
I catch Grant watching me with something unreadable in his eyes. "I'd love to," I say softly.
"I'll go first!" Hazel clears her throat dramatically. "My struggle was that Charlie said my volcano ideas were boring, but my win was that our teacher said my design plans were really creative and different from the usual volcano projects."
"That is a win," Grant agrees. "And Charlie sounds like he might be a little jealous of your ideas."
"Your turn, Dad!"
Grant leans back in his chair, considering. "My struggle was having to push back some marketing meetings because we're behind on getting approval for the promotional materials." His eyes meet mine briefly. "My win was getting to see some really incredible dailies from Sophia's movie today."
The warmth that spreads through my chest has nothing to do with the yummy pasta and everything to do with the way he's looking at me. I duck my head, suddenly fascinated by my napkin.
"Sophia?" Hazel prompts.
"Ok, let's see…" I take a breath. "My struggle was feeling like we weren't getting anywhere with this one particular scene today. We must have shot it fifteen times, and it still didn't feel right."
I don't mention that it was a romantic scene with James or that, for some reason, I kept imagining someone else in his place.
"My win was…" I look around the table at the twinkling lights, empty plates, and these two people who've somehow made me feel so welcome. "My win was this. Right here. Coming home to…" I stumble slightly over the word. "To such a lovely dinner invitation."
The silence that follows feels charged. Hazel breaks it by launching into a detailed explanation of proper volcano construction techniques, but I can feel Grant's eyes on me. When I finally look up, the intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.
Later, after Hazel has gone inside to finish her homework, I help Grant clear the table. We move around eachother with an ease that feels dangerous, like we've done this a hundred times before, like we could do it a hundred times more.
