As I trudge back to my place to lock these papers away and get started on a long day of hard work under the sun, I spot Quinn in the pasture, lying on her back, snagging footage of the summer sun drifting through the gauzy clouds.
I don’t want my fake relationship to be part of her film, to discredit her and devalue the honest story she’s trying to tell. It hurts me to think that I’ll hurt her work with this lie once I get it in place and it inevitably gets out later. Once my fake relationship or marriage or whatever is over, the world will know, and they’ll wonder if Quinn knew too.
But then I look at the boots stacked against the house on the porch. The ones that Sadie wore for years but no longer fit. I can’t bring myself to get rid of ’em, because I’m a sentimental sap in blue jeans.
Those little boots are the reminder I need.
I don’t want to hurt Quinn Farley or her career, but I have to keep my baby girl. At all costs.
CHAPTER 8
MORE FILM STUFF, LESS DROOL
“You turnin’in already, honey pot?” Mabel asks, lifting the plate in front of me, returning it to the sink. “You’re practically fallin’ asleep over your dinner.”
I stretch my arms over my head, my damp hair feeling so good against my sunburned shoulders. “I’m exhausted. I feel like I worked on a ranch all day, and all I did was watch Landry work on a ranch all day.”
Mabel sets a huge Mason jar full of water down in front of me. “You need to stay hydrated in Texas, my girl. And sunscreen. Or long sleeves. I know you like those miniskirts, but your legs will look like a catcher’s mitt in ten years if you keep that up.”
“I’ll be back in the foggy breeze of the sweet Bay Area not too long from now, so thankfully I won’t getcatcher’s mitt legs anytime soon,” I reply, then thank her graciously for another wonderful meal. “That was delicious, Mabel. And I’m so glad I didn’t try and get a hotel in the next city. No hotel is as cozy as this inn.”
Mabel takes a seat across from me, pulling her icy silver hair into a clip. She’s still dressed in her work clothes—overalls and an old flannel—while I’m already ready for bed, in a tank top and tiny shorts.
“I’ll put the dogs up in my room if you’re fixin’ to sleep,” she says, always courteous, a trait that everyone in Sable Sky seems to embody. Small-town folk really aren’t like the people who live in the city and cannot be bothered by anything but their own wants and needs. It’s charming here, and the longer I’m here, the sweeter it gets.
I sip my Mason jar and shake my head. “I’m gonna look through today’s footage and make some notes,” I explain to her, “which is my normal process after a day of filming. I try to keep all of the plans and storylines organized so I know what to do each day, and at the end, putting it all together becomes this beautiful, rewarding process, instead of stress and creative constipation.”
“Sounds a lot like writing from an outline instead of writing off the cuff,” Mabel says, surprising me. She winks. “I didn’t always own an inn.”
I slap a palm to the wood tabletop as I beam at this woman with so many treasures up her sleeve. “Mabel Sable, you are a woman of secrets!”
She mimes zipping her lips, locking them, and tossing the key.
“But yeah, like that, you’re right.” Another long yawn and I’m on my feet. “I better get started or else I’ll crash out on my computer.”
Mabel winks. “Put some lotion on the burn, and sleep well.”
I hug her. “Thank you, Mabel.”
Back in my room, I pop my SD cards into my computer, one by one, and transfer footage from the day. Because I’ve already taken hours of footage, it takes a while to transfer, so I catch up with my mom and sister on FaceTime while I do.
“Yeah? What else is new?” I ask, feeling like I haven’t seen them in ages, when it’s really been just a handful or more days.
Mom sighs. “Oh, not much. Did Laney tell you she made the volleyball team?”
I sit up straight and squeal. “No! She did? That’s amazing! Put it on speaker,” I demand. “Laney,” I beam after she confirms I can hear her. “Congratulations!”
“I’m gonna be a setter,” she says, and my heart swells because she tried out last year and didn’t make it. She’s a great setter. I know because I pepper with her, and she kicks my ass.
“That’s amazing, Laney. I’m happy for you.” I mean every word, and though I’ve been enjoying my time in Sable Sky, and I feel like this will be my best film yet, homesickness washes over me for a moment when she lifts her ice cream sundae, adding, “This is how we’re celebrating.”
I smile and swallow against the longing in my throat. “Mom, you could’ve opened with that!”
Mom runs her fingers through her hair. “I was overcome with my haircut news. I’m sorry,” she teases.
The blue bar on my laptop screen disappears, and a folderopens, showing hundreds of thumbnails. “Hey,” I yawn, “it’s later here than there, and my SD cards just finished uploading. I need to go through some footage and make some notes.”
Mom salutes and Laney thumbs-up, whipped cream in the corner of her mouth. “Go, work, do your thing, Miss Moviemaker. Love you.”
