“Sully rules the house here,” she admits, laughing at his dopey expression as his tongue lolls out the side of his mouth when I get back to scratching his ears.
“Have you always had setters?”
“Yes, we got the first one a couple of years after we were married. And then, of course, we had Cracker—the love of Ryan’s life when he was a teenager. They were inseparable.”
“I remember him telling me about Cracker,” I say absentmindedly.
Emily nods as though she wouldn’t expect anything less. “She supported Ryan through… well… everything.”
A lump forms in my throat. I know she’s talking about Adam, Ryan’s older brother.
“Dogs are amazing,” Emily continues as I hold Sully a little bit closer. “They can get us through anything. And they’re goofballs, which helps when you need a laugh.”
On cue, Sully gives me a big slobbery lick across the cheek, taking me by surprise and causing me to topple over backward as Ryan appears at the top of the stairs. He breaks into a grin as Sully stands over me, attacking me with licks.
“Come on through and let’s get you a drink,” Emily offers, pulling Sully back and holding out her hand to help me up. “It sounds like you’ve had quite a day.”
“A very unsuccessful one,” I confess.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ryan contends, coming down the steps. “We did get to sit in one of those cool movie director chairs.”
“What is your obsession with those chairs?” I ask, followingEmily into the kitchen, Ryan bringing up the rear. “Surely, watching Max Sjöberg in action beats sitting in a chair.”
“Did you at least get to speak to the great man at all?” Fredrik asks, having removed his oven gloves to put the finishing touches on a huge bowl of salad.
“Sadly no, but we’ll get the interview tomorrow,” Ryan says confidently.
Emily grimaces. “I hope they don’t let you down. It would be awful for you to have come all this way and not get any time with him.”
“Don’t worry, Mum, Harper would never let that happen,” he assures her. “I don’t want to know her methods, but it’s a well-known fact in the industry that Harper Jenkins gets whatever interview she wants.”
“A slight exaggeration,” I say, flushing and looking down at my feet.
“Ryan never exaggerates,” Fredrik insists. “If anything, he’s much too keen to play things down, always leaning toward the cynical. He gets that from his mother’s side—the Brits.”
“Would you like wine, Harper?” Emily asks, rolling her eyes at her husband. “White or red?”
“Whatever’s open.” I smile politely.
“She prefers white,” Ryan jumps in, opening the fridge and finding a bottle.
Emily shoots him a small smile, and I wonder how much his parents know about me.
“Thank you so much for having me this evening,” I say. “It’s so kind of you when it’s so last minute. I told Ryan I could easily find a hotel…”
“Nonsense,” Fredrik insists with a wave of his hand, Emily nodding in agreement as she passes me a glass. “It’s a pleasure to have you. Take a seat, anywhere you fancy.”
I move to the table at the far end of the kitchen, next to theopen French windows that look out onto a beautifully kept garden, which has a footpath winding down the middle, surrounded by various colorful flowers. At the bottom of the garden, next to a small wooden shed, is a blossoming cherry tree.
“Wow, your garden is stunning,” I observe, setting my glass down at one of the places nearest to the windows. “Are you both gardeners?”
“That would be me,” Emily says, ordering Sully to sit in his bed in the corner, before gesturing for me to sit down as she pulls out the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Fredrik is better in the kitchen. He doesn’t have the patience for plants. Do you have a garden in London?”
I shake my head. “No, but I did have some herb plants on my windowsill. They didn’t last very long. I wouldn’t say I’m a natural. I kept forgetting about them, to be honest.”
“Ryan’s very green-fingered,” Emily tells me.
“Mum always says this, despite the fact that the last time I helped out in the garden was when I was fifteen,” Ryan sighs, carrying the salad over to the table and then coming to sit next to me. “I think she hopes that if she tells me I’m a good gardener, I might find some interest in it. So far her tactic hasn’t worked, but she admirably persists.”
