A Brand New Ending
Kyle had just walked in the door when she bumped into him in the hallway.
“Perfect timing,” he said. “Want to eat on the porch and get some air? It’s pretty mild.”
“Wow, a whole twenty degrees? I could wear my bikini.”
“Thirty. And yes, please do.”
She laughed at his wolfish leer. “Sounds good. I’ll get the papers and some plates if you set up the heater.”
“Why don’t we eat first, then move on to work? I need to decompress a bit.”
She studied him, but he looked innocent enough. “Okay.” She grabbed place settings, two bottles of sparkling water, and one of the giant afghans in post-Christmas red, then stepped outside.
He’d positioned the table and chairs in front of the heater and begun to set out the lunch. They took a seat on the matching rockers, and Ophelia shook out the blanket to cover their legs for extra warmth. Then they ate.
The afternoon was cold, crisp, and clear. The heater crackled and spit warmth. Pure white covered the ground, and the mountains peeked through the clusters of bare trees. Woodsy paths led off in various directions toward a winter forest that seemed enclosed and embraced with magic.
A smile rested on her lips as she looked at the beloved land that her family had tended with hard work, sweat, and dreams. Besides welcoming and serving guests, they’d rescued hundreds of animals over the years, placing them in good homes and saving them from abusive situations.
“I missed this,” Kyle murmured in the winter hush. “The quiet. The beauty. I finally feel like I can take a deep breath and just be.”
Curiosity struck her harder than the need to keep her distance. “What is your life like now in California?” she asked. “Is it what I remember?”
A sadness clung to his aura. He took a bite of his fries. “Yes and no. The social obligations are still insane. But back then, it was new to me, and exciting. I was beginning to carve out a name for myself, and producers and agents were taking notice. As I began getting the bigger projects, I started to notice how many new friends I’d collected. For someone who reveres being alone in order to create, I found myself surrounded by endless noise and demands.”
He stared at the landscape, seemingly lost in his thoughts. “My work kept getting diluted. I was told to chip away at some of the emotion I built into the characters, and to focus more on plot. More action and violence and excitement. I figured after I had some big movies on my résumé I’d get to pick my projects, but it didn’t work like that. I was churning out scripts that began to look all the same.”
“That end-of-the-world movie made tons of money,” she commented. “It opened Memorial Day and broke records.”
Suddenly, his gaze swung to hers. Intensity vibrated from his figure. “Did you ever watch it?”
She shifted her weight. “Of course.”
“What’d you think?”
Startled, she searched for the right words. Watching his work unfold on-screen had been surprisingly difficult. Knowing she couldn’t be with him during such an important part of his life had ripped at her heart. “It was very exciting.”
His lip twitched. “And shallow, right? No characterization or bigger goal to really save the world. No true-love story to glue it together. It had two big stars, a lot of buildings blown up, monsters attacking. It was a huge box office success and should’ve made me proud. Instead, I felt like the biggest failure. I refused to attend celebration parties. I became a hermit for a while, delayed my next project because I felt emptier than I ever had.”
She’d seen the seeds of that type of compromise in the beginning, but he hadn’t wanted to listen. Frustration seethed in her tone when she spoke next. “Then why did you keep doing it? If you knew your creative soul was slowly dying, why did you keep selling out? For money? Fancy cars and houses and clothes? Did you like the women? The attention? What was it, Kyle?”
He jerked back at the rapid-fire questions. His face hardened, and a wall slammed down for a moment, barring her entry. This was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted to spend time with him. The endless questions still haunted her, echoing in her mind, over and over.
Why had he chosen his career over their marriage?
Why had he agreed to become hostage to everyone else’s vision of his future?
And why had he allowed her to leave without a fight?
“There was a lot to consider,” he said stiffly. “I wasn’t a kid any longer. I had responsibilities.”
Her shoulders sagged. There were no answers here. And maybe she had no right to judge. He was the one who’d made his Hollywood dreams come true. She’d been the one to give up and go home to run the family inn.
Yet it had been the only decision left.
“Why are you really back here? You could’ve locked yourself up in some exclusive resort and gotten the quiet you needed to write. Why do you need to remember your past to write this story?”
He shifted in his chair and avoided her gaze. “I need to connect with my old self to get past the barriers I’ve built,” he said. “I’ve been dead for a year, and I’ve finally broken through. Being back here is the key.”
“Okay, but I still feel like I’m missing something. Why do you need to write this particular love story here?”
He paused, as if assessing whether he should tell her the truth or duck the question with further excuses. Frustration simmered. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and kept her gaze trained on him, willing him to answer. Finally, he dragged in a breath and met her stare head-on.
“The story is about us.”
She blinked. “What? You’re writing a story about what happened between us?”
He nodded. “Yes. The story has haunted me. You’ve haunted me. I’ve felt as if I need to write and explore what happened between us. I wanted to come home in order to do the story justice.”
Her throat tightened. Pain cut through her, sharp and relentless. “Is that why you wanted to connect with me again? So I can help you write your big movie and have it feel realistic? Am I just another tool to get you to the next rung of success?”
He sucked in his breath and leaned toward her with a fierce urgency. “No, Ophelia. I swear it on my life. This story has been inside me for a long time, and I finally found the courage to write it. The only reason I want you back is because I’ve never gotten over you. It’s completely separate from the screenplay. You have to believe that.”
She searched his face.
God, she wanted to believe him. The truth seemed woven into his words, but she didn’t trust herself anymore. Her defenses were shaky, and he’d hurt her before.
Another question tumbled from her lips before she could stop it. “Have you loved anyone after me?”
He didn’t hesitate. His answer came as quickly as her question. “No. My relationships have been brief, and empty. Work took your place.”
She nodded. “And now that work no longer does the trick, you’ve come back here.” Anger simmered within.
How could she possibly trust him when he was so desperate to write the perfect screenplay? His work would always come first.
“I won’t go back on our agreement for you to stay, but I also won’t let you use me as part of your research.”
“You’re more than that. Every day I spend here, every moment I get to hear your voice or study your face, I’m reminded that you were the only woman I’ve ever wanted.” His gaze caught hers. “I’m reminded of how you were the only woman I’ve ever loved.”