Second take at love, p.2
Second Take at Love, page 2
A laugh of disbelief slipped out of Holland. “So you want to replace the truth about him and Gina with a salacious rumor about me being Nash’s one-night rebound?”
“It’s a lot better than what could happen if we don’t get ahead of this.” Frustration shadowed Burke’s grim expression. “Our movie is riding on Gina’s key audience, and they won’t go for her cheating on her fiancé. This movie could end up doomed before they even finish filming it. And trying to rehab her image over this mistake would take time and money we don’t have. The film’s budget is already tight, mainly because of Nash’s and Gina’s salaries, and it’s gotten even tighter because of the delay that probably could have been avoided.”
Holland huffed out a breath. The camera equipment issue had happened because of a miscommunication. It wasn’t an ideal occurrence, but anyone who’d been in the position of supervising multiple people had been through the experience...even Burke. Choosing Laurel as the director and handling the casting of the film were Holland’s choices. Was he doubting her decisions or trying to blame her in some way for their current problems?
As she considered those possibilities, her own frustration mounted. “I understand that we have an image crisis on our hands, but in Canada, I watched the dailies and viewed the raw footage from prior days of filming. Under Laurel’s direction, Gina and Nash are brilliant. Even with the cost of the delay, which Laurel has already cut down by adjusting the filming schedule, every dollar we’re spending on this project is worth it.”
She and Burke locked gazes for a few long seconds. This was their first disagreement as partners. How they worked through this problem would set the tone for the future.
He released a long breath. “Arguing about this won’t solve anything. The truth is, it won’t matter how brilliant the film is if a scandal takes us down. As partners, we need to be in sync. The ball’s in your court on this one. What do you want to do?”
Chapter Two
Holland stood with the rest of the passengers from her flight at the baggage carousel. After almost nine hours of travel, she was glad to finally be in Baltimore. Now she just had a two-hour drive to Tillbridge Horse Stable and Guesthouse near the town of Bolan, Maryland.
Close to three years had passed since she’d last been on the property directing Shadow Valley. Back then, the production of the movie had consumed much of her time. But when she had taken a moment to look up, the gorgeous view of sloping pastures and horses grazing in the distance had been like a mini vacation.
Over the last couple months, the anticipation she’d usually felt for the next big film project had started to wane. It had gotten so bad, she couldn’t concentrate. And when her mind would drift, often it would settle on her memories of Tillbridge.
A couple of weeks ago, when actress Chloe Daniels had called, and it felt like a sign.
Chloe had starred in Shadow Valley, and they had become friends. The actress was also married to one of the owners of the stable and guesthouse.
During their call, Holland had mentioned thinking about the property, and Chloe had suggested she make time for a visit. Feeling drained and at a loss for how to get her spark back, Holland had immediately started clearing her schedule so she could take a vacation.
That act alone, plus realizing Bolan was the perfect place to research her passion project, had given her a bit of a boost. For the next two weeks, maybe three, she would combine a little fun research with pleasure, and she couldn’t wait.
An alarm sounded from the baggage carousel. Luggage slid from a chute onto the spinning belt.
Someone nudged her arm. “Excuse me,” a woman said. “Can I offer you a ride?”
Holland’s firm refusal quickly morphed into happiness as she registered Chloe’s voice.
But Chloe’s appearance made Holland do a double take. Her friend’s eyes were swallowed by a pair of wide-frame glasses. A long black wig also covered most of her pretty brown face. Maybe she was trying on a look for an upcoming role?
Smiling, they shared a sisterly hug.
“What are you doing here?” Holland asked. “I thought I was meeting you at Tillbridge in the morning?”
“I wanted to give you my car tonight so you wouldn’t have to rent one. Hand me your backpack. I’ll hold it while you wade in and get your luggage.”
Holland retrieved her suitcase, and on the way out of the terminal, she canceled her rental car reservation.
Twenty minutes later, they got into Chloe’s blue four-door in the airport parking lot.
As Chloe settled behind the wheel, she stripped off the wig and glasses. Shaking out her own dark curls, she released a breath of relief. “I’m so glad I can finally take this disguise off.”
“Is that what the wig and glasses were about? I thought you were breaking in the look for a part.”
“No, thank goodness! I didn’t schedule personal security, and Tristan couldn’t come with me. The only way I could get him out of protective husband mode was to promise I would wear a disguise in the airport.”
Holland fastened her seat belt. “You didn’t have to do this. I really didn’t mind renting my own transportation.”
“I know.” Chloe secured her own seat belt and started the car. “But I couldn’t wait to see you. I’m also planning to pamper you as much as possible to remind you that you’re on vacation. You have a car to use and a nice suite at the guesthouse since you’re refusing to stay at my place. And you’ll be treated to some great meals.”
“Stop trying to make me feel guilty about not staying at your house. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but you just got home after weeks of being away filming your next movie. You and Tristan need to enjoy your time together, not look after a houseguest. And I’m not sponging off you for meals, either.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Chloe feigned a sad look as she pulled out of the parking space. “Dominic was really looking forward to cooking for you, but I’ll tell him the plan has changed.”
“Whoa! Not so fast. Dominic as in Dominic Crawford?”
“Yep.”
Dominic Crawford, television personality and founder of Frost & Flame restaurant, was her favorite chef on the planet. Eating his version of brown-butter lime shrimp with Carolina Gold rice grits was like consuming a bite of heaven. She ordered it whenever she visited his LA restaurant. Or at least she used to order it.
Chloe gave her a quick glance as she drove to the exit. “What’s that look about? I thought you’d be happy about Dominic cooking for you.”
“I am. It’s not Dominic. I was thinking about how much I missed eating at Frost & Flame. I made the mistake of introducing Nash to the restaurant, and now it seems like every time I’m there, he is, too. And he always makes a big show of stopping by my table.”
“That definitely sounds like Nash. So I guess the story I heard from the makeup artist on set before I left isn’t true—you and Nash aren’t rekindling your relationship.”
So the whisper campaign had already started. That’s how the false story was circulating. Resignation dropped like a rock inside Holland. Judgments would be made about her and Nash’s “reunion.” But on the flight, she’d made peace with her decision. The cast and crew, along with Laurel, were giving their all to get the movie finished. No one needed Nash and Gina’s mistake hanging over the set, tarnishing everyone’s hard work. Not to mention the added stress for Laurel. Enduring a rumor that she didn’t even have to acknowledge was a small sacrifice for Holland to make.
But Chloe was her friend. Holland wasn’t going to lie to her. “In a way, Nash and I are together...”
As Chloe merged with nighttime traffic on the interstate, Holland explained the Nash and Gina situation.
“So you’re making a sacrifice for the team and Nash.” Chloe gave a subtle eye roll. “It makes sense, but I hate that you have to get involved. Breaking up with him took an emotional toll on you.”
“But I’ve moved on.” Long seconds later, Chloe still hadn’t agreed. Holland added. “I’m not still grieving over him if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Chloe sighed. “What I’m thinking is that he shouldn’t have put you in this position in the first place. On-set affairs are always so messy, on the other hand, I’m not surprised Nash indulged in one, but Gina? She’s practically on every rom-com casting director’s wish list. Why would she put her career at risk? And then her engagement. Does her fiancé know?”
“I doubt it. A brokenhearted fiancé is probably too much for her people to handle right now, so they’ll avoid it. Or maybe Gina’s hoping he’ll never find out.”
“Hiding an affair from your fiancé to protect your image. I think that’s even worse than him finding out. I could never hurt Tristan that way.”
“You wouldn’t, because you value your marriage over your career.”
“It’s not just me. Tristan feels the same way about his responsibilities at Tillbridge. But my agent says someday that choice could stall my career.”
“Do you worry that you might regret making that decision?”
Chloe offered up a delicate shrug. “Would I feel disappointed about losing a part or an opportunity I really wanted? Yes. Would I regret making the decision? No. As much as I love acting, I love Tristan more. Not to mention, Hollywood is fickle. Too many wrinkles. Ten additional pounds, or consecutive movies that flop, and my star power goes down the drain. But I know I can always count on Tristan. He’s a good man and he loves me. What we have is forever.”
Holland took in what Chloe said. What she described with Tristan sounded wonderful. When things were good with Nash, she’d actually allowed herself to fantasize about what forever might look like for them. Dedication to her job and people depending on her had been the main hurdles in the vision. She’d struggled to see herself giving up what she was passionate about—the career she’d worked so hard to build—for a relationship. She just couldn’t.
“Well,” Chloe added, “the good thing is, while you’re here, you can forget about the Gina and Nash situation and just focus on you. Last time we talked, you said the research part of this trip involves historic houses. Are you interested in ones with an architectural significance or ones that are tied to a historical event?”
“I won’t rule them out, but I’m more interested in the backstories of the people who lived in them. There are so many unique stories about homes and the people connected to them that aren’t considered historical, but they’re still compelling.”
“That’s...interesting.”
From Chloe’s polite comment, she found the topic far from riveting. At least her eyes hadn’t glazed over like Burke’s had when he’d first heard the idea. But uncovering details that would catch someone’s interest was part of a documentarian’s job.
And Holland was up for the challenge. “It will be interesting. But first, I have to find the houses.”
Chloe tapped her finger on the steering wheel. “Now that I think about it, I may know of a place. I’m not sure where I heard about it, but if I’m remembering the story correctly, one of the locals was afraid to travel outside Bolan. He fell in love with a painter who came to town. They moved in together. To show him the world, she used the walls of their home like a canvas and painted the places she’d visited.”
Holland’s interest piqued. “Wow. That’s exactly the type of thing I’m looking for! How long ago was this? Are the murals still intact?”
“This happened a few decades ago, I think. But the murals aren’t the best part of the story.”
“What happened?” Impatience teased at Holland as Chloe’s attention shifted to changing lanes and accelerating past a slow-moving car.
“Her paintings encouraged the man to get past his fear. They left Bolan together.”
Excitement made Holland turn toward her friend. “Please tell me you know where this house is located and that you know the owners.”
“I don’t, but Tristan probably does.” Chloe glanced at her and chuckled. “You look like a child who just got an early birthday gift. Most people would call research work, but you really do consider this project the perfect vacation.”
“I do.” As Holland sat back in the seat, she didn’t hold back a smile. Nothing, including Nash and Gina’s Hollywood scandal, was going to ruin her vacation.
* * *
The next morning, Holland exited the glass double doors of the guesthouse carrying her backpack.
Green rocking chairs swayed on the porch of the two-story white building with green trim. The air was filled with earthy scents of rich dirt, freshly cut grass and, of course, horses.
As she walked down the steps toward the front parking lot, the floral midi skirt that was as blue as the sky that she’d paired with her peace sign T-shirt and her favorite brown boots slightly rose and clung to her legs.
Unable to resist, she paused taking in the view of horses grazing in one of the surrounding white, fenced-in fields. A sense of peacefulness settled over her.
On the way out, the clerk at the desk in the lobby had wished her a good morning. How could she not have a wonderful day in a place this beautiful?
A short time later, she was in her borrowed blue care. As she sped past modern two-story houses separated by acres of land, the map app on her phone gave her directions to the Oakview Road address Chloe had given her for the house with the murals.
She might have time to visit three homes today, the one Chloe had mentioned and two others she’d discovered on the internet. One of them supposedly had an interesting wine cellar. The other, some kind of maze in the backyard. But she was starting with the mural house. The story her friend had told her about the painter and recluse was so intriguing.
Miles later, older-looking clapboard homes sat back in the trees. A few of them had barns with horses or cows grazing in a nearby field.
The people in those places might have homes with interesting backstories. Or they might be able to point her in the direction of people who did.
Chloe had once told her that in Bolan, everyone knew everybody’s business. That quality, which some might find bothersome, signaled a possible gold mine to her in finding leads.
As she continued her drive, the landscape changed to mostly fields.
“In eight hundred feet, turn right on to Oakview Road,” the voice on the map app said.
At the unmarked intersection, Holland complied.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
What? This couldn’t be it. All she saw was wide-open grassy fields and clusters of trees...but no houses. Not even a barn or shed. Maybe the house was farther up?
Holland kept driving. As she reached a grouping of oaks and sycamores on the right-hand side, she caught a glimpse of a tall structure.
She made the turn down a gravel road, and as she rounded a curve, a three-story house came into view.
It had seen better days.
The white siding was worn and faded, and tiles were absent from the dark gray pitched roof. Spindles from the railing on the wraparound porch were also missing. Some of the gray shutters hung askew on the sides of the windows. Only one of the windows wasn’t boarded up, but the glass in the windowpane was broken.
But even in its sorry state, it had character and a presence. The people who had once lived there had probably sat on the porch conversing with family and friends or while keeping an eye on their children playing outside.
The multiple windows on the first and second floors would have let in warmth and natural light during the day. And the window below the inverted V of the roof most likely provided the best view of the landscape and sunrises and sunsets hovering over the tops of the trees.
Based on what Chloe had said, she’d assumed someone still lived there. This place looked as if it were possibly abandoned. Still, that didn’t diminish the story about the local man and the artist who’d once lived there or the murals. Hopefully some of the woman’s paintings were still intact.
Holland parked, took her camera from her backpack on the seat and got out.
Approaching the house, she snapped a few photos.
Aside from the camera clicks, the only sounds were chirping birds, rustling trees and the soles of her boots crunching on the gravel driveway that turned into grass a few yards from the house.
Shouldn’t the foliage have been more overgrown? Maybe someone was keeping an eye on the place after all.
Avoiding broken bricks on the stairs, she walked up to the porch.
The front door was partially open.
Curiosity over whether a mural was just behind the door got the best of her.
As she started to nudge the door, the hinges creaked. Aided by the wind, it opened farther, as if welcoming her inside.
Goose bumps rose on her arms, but the excitement of a possible discovery overrode unease. She stepped across the threshold, and the planks in the dull-looking wood floor groaned beneath her feet.
Light from a window that wasn’t boarded up and the rear French double doors illuminated the bottom floor. Wallpaper with a faded design of tiny red flowers was peeling from the walls.
A slab of plywood sat propped on the wall near the window that wasn’t boarded up. Someone had taken the wood off from outside the window and brought it in.
Holland called out, “Hello...is anybody here?” Sliding her sunglasses to the top of her head, she glanced up the staircase on the left.
Her voice echoed, hovering like the musty smell of neglect and particles of dust floating in the air.
She walked toward the back of the house, passing the large brick fireplace on the right. The kitchen farther back to the left of the French doors was stripped of appliances. The space across from it that had once been the formal dining room had a dark wood starburst design inlaid in the floor and a ceiling border with a floral motif.
