Page 126 of How To Plot a Payback

Dad on a stepladder with a drill in one hand, YouTube pouring directions from the speaker on his phone in the other.

Six months.

I could go home. For three months at a time.

I could plant a garden.

I could spend half my life there.

“How did you possibly get Goodwin to agree to this?” I say.

“Ah. Well, that was the easy part,” Finn says. “Detective dramas are easier to shoot without the live-audience aspect. And after I initially came to him with my idea and he fired me for even thinking such an insubordinate idea—”

“He sacked you?”

“Again,” he says, as if this is as routine as saying, “I get meatball sandwiches on Mondays.” He continues, “But the way I saw it—”

“How did you see it?”

“I saw that you were secretly miserable.”

I freeze. So I didn’t escape his notice that day.

“And frankly, you are too good a person, Lavender, to go around life secretly miserable if there is something I can do about it. So I did.”

I can feel it, my cheeks turning a rosy hue. “And how did he respond?”

“He cut my employee badge in half. Again.”

I wince, but he goes on with a wave of his hand. “But then . . . he read the script. And after that, he heard me out. And finally came to see that, at best, we have three more years in a sitcom staying where we are. But if we jump now, with this cast, with this crazy idea and the current hype we have behind us, we just might get another seven- to ten-year run.”

He takes the red folder from my hands, then slips a dark pink one into place. “Which brings me to the last little thing.”

His phone dings and he slips it out of his pocket, then briskly nods. “Bernie’s just been accepted to the short list as your dog on the show—”

“Neighbors?” I say lightly.

He corrects me with a guttural, “No. Neighbors,” and when I look at him like he’s gone mad, he adds, “I told you viewers love the comedic relief of a good animal.”

I look at the jumble of folders on my lap. All neatly organized and labeled.

“So this,” I say, motioning to them, “is where you’ve been? Dashing around writing scripts and talking up this madcap plan to Goodwin?”

“Pretty much. Except I was running around the country, actually. I left for New York on the red-eye to meet with Goodwin in person about this. It was too important to leave to a call, and too important to wait until he got back from his meetings.”

“Why?”

A don’t-you-know? look crosses his face. “Because you deserve someone looking out for you the way you look out for others, Lavender. You deserve someone who just wants to see you happy.”

I tug on my lip as my heart swells, and his blue-raspberry eyes linger on mine before a smile breaks forth, and he rubs his nose, saying quietly, “And I do hope this makes you happy. Again, and I can’t reiterate this enough, the choice is yours.”

“Y-yes,” I say, my voice cracking beneath the weight of the word. “Yes, I would like this. Very much.”

“Good.” He pats my hand, which rests on the folder atop my knee, then holds it, his large hand encompassing mine, before giving it a little squeeze. “Goodwin will be glad to hear it. We’ll get cracking on this right away.”

“Finn.”

“Hmm?”