Page 75 of King of My Heart

Nobody in town cared about her moving here.

Well, they did stare the first night we went to eat at the bar, and there were some whispers, but no one dared to come and ask us if Darwynn was now officially a resident of Hilton Beach. All the paperwork we filled out would immediately answer that question, but they didn’t ask.

Not even Theresa.

Tonight, we decided to stay in to watch a movie. It seemed appropriate for a rainy Friday night. Though, once we sat down on the couch, she convinced me to watch one of my films.

I had tried to fight it. “We could watch anything else, Darwynn. Literally anything.”

But she had just given me that look, the one with the slightly raised eyebrow and the amused smirk that always made me feel like I had already lost the argument before it had even started. “Caspian,” she had said, tone sweet but firm. “You spent years writing, directing, and acting in these films. How is it possible that I have seen more of them than you have?”

I sighed, already knowing she was going to win. “Because I don’t like watching myself on screen.”

“Actors are so strange,” she had muttered. “Well, I do like watching you on screen.”

And that had been the end of the discussion.

So now we were here, wrapped up in blankets, a bowl of popcorn between us, watching a film I had made nearly two decades ago.

I had forgotten so much about it. The way I had agonized over the script, the long hours on set, the stress of pulling the production together. It had been one of my biggest projects, and it had a big impact on cinema back then. Darwynn watched it like it was something new and magical like it was more than just a movie.

I noticed the way her posture had changed halfway through, her body tensed slightly, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. She was fully immersed in the story, and her breath hitched during a particularly intense scene. When I turned to look to her, I saw the unmistakable sheen of tears in her eyes.

I frowned. “Are you crying?”

She blinked rapidly, as if trying to pretend she wasn’t, and quickly wiped at her cheeks. “No.”

I smirked. “Liar.”

She groaned and buried her face against my shoulder. “Shut up.”

I chuckled, wrapping an arm around her, and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s not even a sad scene.”

“That’s not the point,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my shirt.

I pulled back slightly so I could see her face. “Then what is?”

She hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just…you wrote this. You made this. And it’s beautiful, Caspian.” Her voice was soft, full of something I couldn’t quite name. Admiration, maybe, or something even deeper than that.

I felt something tighten in my chest. I had heard compliments about my work before—even got a couple of awards, including Oscars, for it—but never like this. Never from someone who knew me.

I swallowed, turning my gaze back to the screen. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

She was quiet for a moment before asking, “Would you ever do it again? One last time?”

I shook my head. “You know I’m done with all that. It’s in my past.”

“Maybe you should revisit it,” she said immediately, with no hesitation.

I finally looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I think you still have stories to tell,” she said simply.

I sighed, shaking my head. “I don’t know, Darwynn. That part of my life is over.”

She didn’t look surprised. She just watched me, waiting. “You’ve been saying that for a while now.”

“Because it’s true.” I gestured at the screen, at the younger version of myself delivering a monologue I barely remember writing. “That was me then.”

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