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"I have a bakery in town," Lottie said, waving away the compliment. "It's what I do. Baking's the only thing I've ever been much good at."
"Well these are fantastic," I said. I washed down the last bite of the cookie and opened the folder I’d dropped on the table. "Okay, so this is pretty straightforward." I reviewed the existing contract with Lottie and went through the details so she'd know what to expect during filming. "Mostly, you just follow directions as they go through the house. You've indicated which rooms are off limits here," I pointed to the form, "so it should all be smooth. It'll take several hours, and then you'll be done. And actually, you really don’t need to be here unless you want to be, except to let us inside."
"You can hang out at my house," Helen offered.
"Not if you're just going to play video games while I watch," Lottie sniffed, clearly having experienced this type of hospitality before. "Plus, I want to be here."
"Suit yourself," Helen said, taking another cookie and biting into it with obvious relish.
"Okay, then we'll see you tomorrow," I said. "Any chance maybe the chinchilla could be like, in a cage, during filming?"
"Who, Apollo?" Lottie looked surprised. "Well, maybe. I can usually lure him with food. But Adonis and Poseidon and Pat are not so easily captured, I'm afraid."
"Pat," I repeated somewhat moronically, my head spinning.
"She's not godlike at all," Helen explained.
I took another cookie and searched for appropriate words, but found none. After a few seconds, I nodded, hoping that would indicate that we were finished here, and got to my feet.
"Perfect," Lottie said as we stood. "Here, take these with you." She produced a baggie full of gingerbread cookies from just inside the front door and handed them to me.
I accepted them, getting into my car with a wave, and had one in my hand as I drove away.
If all else failed, at least I had cookies.
10
Secrets in the Shack
Callan
Igot up to begin my day and found myself feeling strangely lighter than I had in the past months. I wasn't sure if it was the oddly homey feeling my house had now, all decorated for the holidays, or if it was the after-effects of the time I’d spent with my nieces the day before.
Or if it was something else.
My mind had circled around thoughts of April Hall as I had finished decorating the house after Cormac and the girls left. It had been strange, actually. I’d pictured her in the house as I’d finished hanging the garland on the mantlepiece, imagined us sitting together in front of the fire, thought of us looking at the twinkling tree on a cold night. It was like decorating the house had passed me through some kind of temporal warp into a Hallmark holiday movie. And while there were bits of my own holiday movie that were definitely too explicit for the Hallmark channel, I also found myself thinking how nice it would be just to have someone—maybe April—here, in this big house with me. Which was weird, because the whole point of buying a big house in the middle of nowhere was to be alone.
I knew it was probably ridiculous—I didn't really think April and I were destined to settle down and live happily ever after or anything like that. It was more likely that I’d been so wrapped up in myself and my injury and my failed career for so long, that now that I was finally establishing a new life, my mind was ready to populate it with other things. And April had popped up just in time to take a spot in my imaginings. Despite my fascination with her thick dark hair and the way her hips curved and swayed when she moved, I was pretty sure any woman who'd appeared just when she had would have given me a welcome mental distraction from my own misery. It wasn't April specifically.
Still, I thought, as I made coffee and took it out to the back porch, I probably owed her an apology.
But what about the ridiculous show? The last thing I wanted was to be on television at this point—even if it was just my house that would have to appear. It was always possible that this would turn into something unintended, that the media would take an interest in what had happened to the miserable has-been who’d once filled their newsfeeds and come to pick over what was left of me. I’d finally ducked low enough to avoid the cameras and reporters who'd hounded me for the last year, finally dropped off the radar to the point that they'd moved on to newer spectacles, fresher fare. But if I was suddenly profiled as the newest resident of Singletree, if the show mentioned me at all, there would surely be speculation about everything from my mental state to my grisly injury. And I’d had more than enough of that.
I knew I couldn't really apologize to April without giving her a firm answer about the show. I didn't really want to cost her a job.
Maybe there was a way…
That afternoon, I drove over to the inn, where I knew April was staying. I spotted the camera guys sitting in the lobby, which looked like someone had fired off a holiday cannon, covering every surface with snow, glitter, reindeer, elves, or poinsettias. I lifted a hand in response to the wave one of them gave me, and felt relief flow through me when I realized they were not going to come talk to me despite having recognized me again.
I limped up to the desk, smiling at the woman behind it. Her name tag said "Annabelle."
"Hi there, Annabelle," I said.
She wore a red apron with striped ruffles, and a green shirt beneath it. She also had a Santa hat on her head and round wire-rimmed glasses. Mrs. Claus, I figured.
"Hello," she said. "Can I help you?"
I wasn't sure if she knew who I was or not. Her bright blue eyes were narrowed slightly at me, as if she didn't quite trust me, but her tone was friendly enough. "Yes, please. I was hoping you might be willing to call a guest for me? See if I might speak to her for a moment?"
