Page 26 of Late Harvest

Emboldened by his pep talk, Bash leaned into the story. “Yes. As you know, I’ve been here in Virginia just over a week to meet my new nephew. I met a woman and she, well, she knocked my socks off at first sight.” Remember the CIA guidance you learned as research for that spy film—keep any fabrication as close to the truth as possible. “There was an instant connection.” Ok. True for him if not her. Fifty percent—close enough. “And, well, she’s been with me nonstop.” In my head, in my fantasies, and definitely in my spank bank. “She’s professionally accomplished. Smart—so fucking smart. She has this gorgeous dark hair that I want to touch all the time. Her eyes….they’re like the finest Kashmir sapphires, only better. And she commands respect and admiration wherever she goes. I’m not worthy of her, but I’m going to try to be, every day. She’s magnificent.”

“Well I’ll be damned. Has the playboy been tamed?” On the surface, the question was light-hearted, but Bash could hear the undercurrent of skepticism in Walt’s voice loud and clear. “I’ll be honest. There’s a big part of me that thinks you’re just fabricating a convenient relationship.” Bash’s heart plummeted, but then Walt’s voice softened, giving Bash new hope as he continued, “But as you spoke of her, I could hear the truth of it. You’re an amazing actor, Bash, but no one is that good.”

Bash took a steadying breath, each of Walt’s words yanking back the veil of performative living that had been his shallow existence to reveal the crisp beauty of personal truth. Walt was right. Everything he’d said at the end was true.

He had a massive crush on Arabella Remington. And nestled within that crush and his insta-lust was more. A shimmer of possibility on the horizon. A soul-deep recognition of the person who could change his life.

“No, sir. I’m definitely not acting. I have the sense,” he struggled to say the right words, “she’s going to give me a run for my money. But I know what I want.” This fucking role. “And I know she’s the key to my future.”

“I’m sorry to have to say this, but I’ll be watching you carefully, Bash. I don’t have to make a final decision for two months, though that’s cutting it close.” Bash could almost see Walter pacing as his voice escalated in volume. “You better not be yanking my chain, Bash. Because if I find out this has been some ruse on your part, I’ll rain holy hell on you. Losing the role of Bram will be the least of your worries.”

Bash pulled the phone away from his ear—to protect his abused eardrum from Walt’s resounding admonishment…and to calm his haywire mind. He waited a steadying beat. “Yes, sir. I understand. I respect you and your desire for the right attention on Paradise. When I tell you she’s something incredibly special, and that I think could be one of the most important people in my life, I’m one hundred percent serious. She’s…different, Walter. You’ll see. She’s like no woman I’ve met before. I’m—I’m going to marry her one day.” Marry her? Oh, Jesus…fuck. Why did his mouth always insist on working in advance of his brain?

Walt chuckled. “Yes, when you find that person, it blows any other pre-conceived notions of relationships to smithereens. I know it’s early days in your relationship with her, but congratulations, Bash. What’s her name? What does she do?”

A grin spread across his face.

“She’s an orthopedic surgeon. Her name…is Arabella Remington. But I call her my Scrub Angel.”

“She sounds like a keeper.”

Let’s hope so.

Chapter Eleven

Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?

—From Bash’s dad joke collection

Bash

Bash had no memory of going back into the barn. And judging by how out of breath he was, he’d clearly been in a hurry to get there. One moment he was a hundred yards away, kissing his dream goodbye. The next? He was back in the still-blessedly peaceful barn, in shock at the audacious curveball he’d thrown himself. Seeing his sister, he opened his mouth to talk, and couldn’t seem to find the words.

“Shiitake, Bash, what’s going on? Is something wrong with Mom or Dad?” Honor’s skin blanched with worry and Brinder stood, wrapping a protective arm around his wife, concern etched between his brows.

Bash was so discombobulated, all he could focus on was the significant height difference between his sister and brother-in-law. Honor had inherited the short stature of both their parents and the Wheatley side. Bash must have snagged in utero the gene for height that came from his maternal grandfather’s hearty Midwest stock. It always amused him how two people with the same parents could be so incredibly different. Genetics were a funny, random thing. He wondered, for just a moment, what⁠—

“Bash?” Honor’s voice cut through his mental gymnastics, pulling him back to the pressing matter of sorting through how he’d transform the surreal fake relationship he’d embroidered…into reality.

Fuck. What have you done?

Closing his eyes, Bash grabbed the back of his neck and filled his lungs with a deep breath from his diaphragm. Released it. Inhaled again. And released slowly. You can do this, Bash.

“You’re scaring her, Bash,” Brinder warned.

Bash opened his eyes and took in the small crowd around him. He drew in a deep breath and announced, “I’m getting married.”

Once the eruption of confused chatter settled, Bash explained his dream role, the call, Walt’s mandate, and his impulsive declaration—leaving out his Scrub Angel’s name. The barn’s occupants shifted into shocked silence. The only sound came from the speakers, Honor’s favorite band, Velvet Smoke, playing in the background. Even Ross—who, he’d quickly learned, usually had something witty or outrageous to add—was quiet as she rocked the toddler who appeared to have finally dropped into a nap.

Eventually, his sister broke the hush. “Fuck, Bash,” she breathed, her forehead creased in concern.

Bash’s eyes flared wide. “Did you just drop an eff bomb?” Yep, he was living in an alternate universe. How else to explain the bizarre nature of the past couple days?

Ross snort-laughed quietly. “Lalochezia.”

Bash instinctively reached for the box of Kleenex on the table and handed one to Ross. “Bless you.”

Now the women cracked up, minus Lila, who looked as bewildered as him.