Though I started as a stuntman, the more famous of an actor I’ve become, the more producers have discouraged me from doing my own stunts, citing it as too much of an insurance liability. But I still insist. It’s my thing.
The fans love it, and it adds authenticity to the scenes. I think of Poppy giving me shit about being an action hero who failed to save the day in the elevator. I smile, and then I wince because it even hurts to smile.
Today was one of those days I wish I hadn’t insisted on doing the stunts when I signed on to film this. There wasn’t anything too risky. The director, producers, and insurance company would never allow that. But I’ve got bruises and sore muscles from being slammed against a wall a hundred times. And worse, it doubled the hours I had to be on set.
It’s been a month since Poppy arrived, and with each day, it gets harder to keep my distance. I’ve had to stop myself from calling her a dozen times today. I wanted to hear her say hello in her cheerful way and find out how her day is going with Belle.
But I didn’t. I even slowed down on texting, keeping our messages strictly confined to Belle. I’m worried about how much I crave her company.
I miss Belle, and that’s troubling enough since I don’t know how long I’ll have her. But I miss Poppy as well. And that isn’t something I’m prepared to handle. There’s been too much change in my life as it is.
I open the door to the lake house, frowning that it isn’t locked. Anyone could break in. I need to remind Poppy to use the extra locks I installed.
I walk into the quiet dark of the house, and my mood plummets. I’d known the time, known I would be too late to see Belle’s shy smiles and hear her chatter about the day. To have dinner like we’ve had a handful of times. But tonight, she’ll be asleep by now. The most I can do is to check in and risk waking her.
All day, I’d hoped I’d be done by late afternoon. Everything was smooth until the end, when there’d been last-minute rewrites.
My bag falls with a soft thud. I grab a glass and get ice from the ice maker. I turn at a sound, and every sense that had been tired a minute before goes on high alert.
“Hey,” I say, attempting a cool composure. My eyes aren’t sure where to look first. At long, pale, bare legs or red hair that curls wildly around her shoulders. She clutches a pale-pink robe that ends mid-thigh.
I avoid the dangerous areas and look into her eyes, then remember too late that those are a danger as well. They look more green than gold tonight. Ice from the ice maker overfills my glass.
“Oh, shit.” I bend to retrieve the small cubes scattered across the floor. I reach to get a piece that’s rolled under the bar and touch Poppy’s hand as she also reaches for it.
I look up to find her staring at me.
“Welcome home,” she says and drops the ice we both reached for into my palm before hopping up.
I stand with less dexterity, every bruise and muscle protesting, and try not to wince.
“Are you okay?” Her brow is knitted in concern.
“Fine,” I grit out.
“Do you want dinner?” she asks. “It’s just chicken, pasta, and broccoli, but I saved some for you. I also made whole-grain pasta.” She makes a face as if it offends her.
“Thanks,” I say, touched. “I appreciate it. But I ate on set. We were waiting forever for the rewrites to come through.”
She tilts her head. “Frustrating day?”
I roll my tight shoulders, trying to relax. I have nothing to complain about. I have a place to sleep. A job I mostly like, even if it can be a pain in my ass, literally. And I have a healthy daughter, even if I’m terrified of being her dad.
“It’s all good.”
“Belle missed you,” she says with a frown.
“Yeah?” She wants to say more, I can tell. I wait.
“I tried to keep her up as long as possible, but sleep won out.”
“Don’t do that. She needs her rest.” An emotion cuts through me, sharp and destructive as a blade.
“She wanted to stay up. I’m only sad she couldn’t quite manage it tonight.”
I clench my jaw and look away.
She lays a warm hand on my sleeve. It burns me through the thick fabric. “I told her you had to work. She was just disappointed,” she says softly, reassuringly, but also with gravity.
