you’re willing to forgive him, that’s all that really matters, right? I’m assuming Ian would be pissed at first, but his relationship with you is worth more than that. Besides, if Sam was the one who talked to the press all those years ago, then he’s the reason you and Ian have a relationship now. He’ll get over it.” With an easy shrug, he finishes off the last of his oatmeal.
But would he? I think about seeing him outside the greenhouse, the way his eyes seemed so flat, his lip curled as we stepped out together. Was it something as simple as my estranged father being jealous that there’s clearly a man in my life, or did he hear? I have no idea how he’d react to that history. Would he understand Sam’s motivations and why I’ve agreed to give him another chance? And if not, how would that make me feel? Now that things seem to be changing for the better, am I willing to risk a good relationship with Dad for a chance with Sam?
Or am I just projecting my fears that I’m making a terrible decision? No matter how good things are with Sam, I can’t completely escape the nagging thought that going back to him makes me mildly spineless.
I blink back to the table when Nick pushes back from the bench, stacks his plates together, and sets the empty bowl on top.
“You heading out?” I ask.
He checks his phone out of habit, and laughs when he sees that—of course—there’s still no signal. But our brains are already detaching from this place. His unconscious gesture reminds me that tomorrow I’ll have reception and Spotify and texting again. I could weep.
Nick slips his phone back into a zippered pocket on the side of his shirt. “Listen, you have my numbers. Use them if you need someone to listen, or talk to, or hell, even if you just want to hang. I’m going to miss you, woman.”
Nick rounds the table, and I stand, wrapping him in a warm hug. A pang of sadness slices through me. After weeks here, the end really seems to have snuck up on me.
“I was right about one thing,” he says, looking down at me. “You were definitely fun. And if I don’t see those sidekicks of yours before I head out, tell Charlie and Trey it was good, all right?”
I lean into him again. “I will. Take care of yourself, okay? I can’t wait to work together again.” And I mean it.
He winks and bends to pick up his things. “See you, Tate.”
I watch him drop his dishes at the kitchen and say goodbye to the staff before I take my seat again. My food sits mostly untouched in front of me, but I don’t have much of an appetite anymore. I feel a bit drained all of a sudden. The most intense role of my life, the bubble of this set, the turnaround of the last few days with Sam . . .
I dump my garbage and set my dishes on the counter, thank the staff for everything, and head for the door.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“Hey, Dad.”
Impeccably dressed and handsome as ever. His jeans are perfectly worn, his thick sweater the same whiskey color of his eyes. “I was looking for you.”
Anxiety sends a flash of heat down my neck. Did he agree to Christmas plans without really thinking it through, and now he’s come up with some excuse?
“Hey. Yeah, I was just headed to find Charlie,” I say, pushing open the swinging door. “Wanna sit outside for a few?”
“Actually, I came to see if you wanted to have lunch.”
I wince. “I just ate.”
He smiles, and I try to compare it to my catalog of Ian Butler Smiles to figure out if this is one the world has never seen before. “We could drive into town first, walk around? Spend a little time together before we head home.”
I glance around the dining hall. Nobody is watching us; this doesn’t seem to be for show.
“Sure,” I say, facing him again. “Let me go grab my purse?”
The drive to the restaurant is quiet. He suggested having the driver take us, but I talk him into letting me drive his sleek black Tesla. Dad drums his fingers on his knees, staring out the passenger window. We spend the first five minutes of the hour-long drive with a tinny country station covering the heavy silence.
But finally Dad breaks the ice. Thank God, because I had no idea how