Page 80 of Landon & Shay: Part One

“Something like that.” The tone of his voice made it clear he didn’t want to dive deeper into the subject. “Maria means a lot to me. Even though she’s my housekeeper, she’s been there for me through some of the hardest days.”

“Housekeeper?” I asked, confused.

“Yeah. She comes over every Sunday. She has for the past forever years.”

“Landon, my grandmother hasn’t been a housekeeper for years. She opened her yoga studio about four years ago…” My heart skipped as I thought about Mima and what she always said she was doing on Sunday afternoons. “She said her Sundays were meant for a dear friend of hers.”

Landon went quiet on the line. I imagined his bushy brows pushed together, and the confusion swirling in his mind as the silence stretched across the call. “She isn’t a housekeeper anymore?”

“No. Not for a long time now.”

More silence. “I don’t get it…” he confessed. “I don’t get how she’s such a good person.”

“Yeah, neither do I.”

“Is that why you can’t sleep? Because you’re worried about Maria?”

“Yes.” I shifted around in my bed. “Why are you up?”

“Kind of what I do.”

“You need sleep, Landon.”

“I know, but just because you need something doesn’t mean it comes easily.”

True.

“I can stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep if that helps.”

“I don’t know if it will, but it’s worth a try. And Chick?”

“Yes?”

“Stop chewing on your shirt.”

I dropped the fabric from between my lips and shifted around a bit. “What should we talk about?”

“Anything you want…everything.”

So, that was exactly what we did. We talked about stupid things. Favorite things. Sports.

I didn’t have much to say about sports, but he shared his favorite teams. Even though he was from Illinois, he loved the Green Bay Packers. Even though he should’ve repped the orange and blue, his sports colors were green and yellow.

I called him a traitor, even though I knew nothing about football. He called me beautiful just because.

His favorite candy was Reese’s Cups. His favorite soda was Mountain Dew. If he could visit any state, he’d want to go to California. He was afraid of snakes and loved dogs.

His favorite movie wasHome Alone. “I love the part when he plays the movie clip and it says, ‘Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.’ I swear, when I was ten, I said that to anyone and everyone for a year straight. I still think it’s the funniest shit,” he explained, snickering to himself. I loved his laugh the most.

I gave him facts about me, too. How my goal in life was to see one of my screenplays made into a film or television series. How I dreamed of achieving the EGOT—an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony. Sure, it seemed like a farfetched dream, but if Audrey Hepburn could do it, maybe I could, too.

Even though I was nowhere near as talented as Audrey.

I told him she was my favorite actress. Her romantic comedies were some of my favorites and the reason I’d fallen in love with writing romances. I told him my favorite writers, too.

I told him so many things others probably found boring, but he listened and asked me questions about my dreams, my wishes, and my hopes.

“You can do it all, Chick. Youwilldo it all,” he promised. “You’re too damn stubborn not to.”

---