Page 20 of Every Good Thing
“That’s more than double what Matt Kirby made starring in the first movie. He’s the actor who plays Jim Hunter,” Dot says for my benefit, though I know who Matt Kirby is. Before he was Jim Hunter, he played a detective in Nightshift, a police drama Mom enjoyed. She compared Kirby to “that adorable Matt Damon” and called them both “casually handsome.” I never argued.
A gentle smile finds my lips, imagining what she’d say about Hollywood magic and Matt Kirby descending onto her homestead, let alone the 500-grand. Mom loved TV, crime shows, and treasures.
“Well, the original Hunter was a low-budget film. No one expected it to become a mega-hit. The studio’s more generous this time,” Jaye explains before locking eyes with me again. “They understand your concerns regarding the support groups, too. They don’t want to displace anyone, either. If you agree, they’ll build a new structure with bathrooms near the pond as a bonus. And we’ll keep to a schedule during filming to share the spaces. You won’t have to turn them away. What do you think, Lena? Will you reconsider?”
My phone pings, and I glance at Trisha’s text. May and June are arguing over the tip jar again. *eye roll emoji*
I groan. Please confiscate the tip jar and separate them until I get back. OMW.
“Everything okay?” Jaye asks.
“Just issues with the children,” I sigh.
She looks confused. “I thought you only had one child.”
“Me, too. Look, I appreciate all that you’re trying to do, but—”
Dot yanks me aside, earning a stern bark from Penelope. “Don’t be so hasty, Lena.”
“I’m not shutting down Saddletree for your love life, Dot.”
Her hands go to her hips. “It could be good for yours, too. Talk to Ben first, at least.”
“I don’t need to talk to Ben. He’d hate it. Plus, there’s Ruthie. Do you want her having nightmares over the horror movie being filmed outside?”
“Are you fucking joking? She’ll be a badass for life with this kind of street cred. Besides, seeing behind the scenes and knowing how things work will make her less scared of shit.”
I shrug, knowing that’s probably true.
“A half mil, Lena. Ben should know before you refuse it. What’s the harm in asking for a little time to think? Come on. For me.”
Her hopeful gleam karate-chops my resolve. Dot rarely asks for anything except time with Ruthie and free baked goods. How can I refuse? She side-eyes Jaye, who sweetly tries not to listen by playing with the dogs, and Dot’s clear admiration sways me—she really likes this woman.
A deep breath and a quick step bring me back to Jaye. “You’re right. I need more time to consider it. And, um, since Dot’s my contractor and official property advisor, you should exchange numbers. She’ll have many, many questions on my behalf. Dot’ll let you know my final answer.”
A glance between Dot and me confirms that I’ve scored a lifetime of favors. Who’s the boss bitch now?
She bobs on her black Timberlands, back and forth, with authority. “Yep. I’ll handle it. While you’re here, Jaye, can you walk me through the studio’s construction needs for the project?”
“Absolutely. Join me for coffee and cinnamon rolls?”
Blushing, they leave me. It’s up to Dot now.
I pass the vegetable garden, well picked over and nearing its seasonal end. Jack Harvey helps me with spring planting—it’s a massive undertaking now. In exchange, I cater his monthly poker nights (Alice refuses to host on religious grounds).
It’s a rule of country life—we help each other out.
But there’s no one to help me get back on schedule.
Returning to work, I race to complete everything necessary to make my deliveries, gulping coffee between tasks like a marathon runner hitting a water station. When the lunch rush ends, I load my twenty-year-old Honda Pilot with baked goods and hit the road.
I don’t start to relax until I’m on my last delivery—Millie’s neon purple cupcakes for her girls’ night. I check the time. If I do a quick drop-off at Millie’s, I’ll only be a few minutes late to pick Ruthie up from preschool.
Or maybe I’ll make it on time. I press the accelerator, curving quickly around the familiar country roads.
My mind drifts into planning for tonight. I’ll set up the table on the back deck overlooking the pond with candles and soft music. I’ll make a pit stop to Publix for his favorite beer and make shrimp scampi. We’ll watch the sunset and talk—really talk. I’ll bring down his shields with funny stories and gentle questions. The more I imagine our reunion, the more I need it.
I miss him.
