Page 121 of Happily Never After

She glanced around the yard. Any time she left the house, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Was it paranoia, or was it ESA? Any one of these houses could hide a member of ESA, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Jeff stepped heavily down the rungs and waited while Claire pressed a button on her trusty projector—one of the few things that survived the warehouse fire since it had been at Luke’s house. Her laptop hummed, and the title menu of Luke’s favorite movie,The Departed, appeared onscreen. It was a little violent and depressing for her, but Luke could spend hours discussing every shot.

Rosie ran underneath the screen and sniffed it suspiciously. Winston trailed not far behind. Both wore doggie tuxedos.

“Well, shit. He’s mad for sure,” Jeff said, looking up from his phone. “He says not to go anywhere and that he’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“Perfect. Thank you. Do you need time to tune?” Jeff’s true passion, which he had told Claire about the previous day when she brought him some of Alice’s empanadas, was music.

He nodded and disappeared into a corner of the yard. Claire whirled around and re-checked everything for the fifth time. Edison bulbs stretched over a pair of Adirondack chairs. It wasn’t her finest work, but she no longer had a warehouse full of elegant props or generous wiggle room in her budget.

Her apology was intimate and cozy, but would it be good enough? Was it even a small step toward bridging the gaping hole between her and Luke?

Her phone buzzed, and her heart jumped. Was he calling to curse her out? She glanced at the screen. Brad’s name flashed impatiently. What the hell?

Her thumb hesitated over the button. She didn’t owe him anything. He had mercilessly fired her, humiliated her, made her question her entire life’s work. She sent the call to voicemail and set her phone on the picnic table. Suck it, Brad.

Someone knocked on the fence. Jeff jumped up, hand on his gun. He approached the gate and demanded that someone show their ID.

“It’s just pizza, man,” called the voice of the teenager from the restaurant down the street.

“He’s fine, Jeff.” She edged around Jeff’s suspicious stance and handed over a generous tip. “Thanks, Nate. How was your geometry test?”

“Nailed it. Got an A-,” the teen said with a smug smile. Braces peeped through.

Claire offered a high five and took the pie. “You’re killing it.”

“Flash cards. Who knew?”

Claire and the seventy-two blank index cards she always carried in her purse knew. She waved as the teen retreated to his beat-up Volvo. The tantalizing aroma of marinara wafted toward her as she carefully arranged the pizza box on the gingham cloth draped over the picnic table. She lifted the lid and exposed the pizza. It was a near exact replica of the apology Luke had sent her the previous spring—a pepperoni corgi, but this time with a bonus tiny cluster of pepperoni that looked like Winston.

She touched one hand to the recently unplugged crockpot that sat next to it. It was still warm, and full of chili. But not ordinary chili. This was Luke’s dad’s famous recipe, apparently made for many game days in his youth. George had reluctantly handed over the recipe the night before. But would it be enough?

Her phone vibrated. Someone was pulling into the driveway. Shit, he was here.

She climbed up the stairs to the deck and took a second to compose herself. Her stomach rippled with nausea. She wasnotgoing to cry. Shouting at him for leaving was also going to have to be off limits. They were going to talk this out like adults, and then maybe, if she was lucky, he would agree to come home.

She pulled the front door open, and he paused with his hand in midair. A pang of longing hit her, and she almost rushed into his arms. He was in a tux, hair slicked back.Damn it.She must have interrupted something important. A studio party, maybe? That wasn’t likely to put him in a great mood.

His eyes were stormy, brows drawn together.

“What the hell are you doing, firing the security team?”

Her hands shook, and she hid them behind her back. Fighting for control over her voice, she spoke. “I hired someone better.”

Good. She hadn’t cried or screamed.

“I did hours of research, checked references. These guys are the best.” He stabbed a finger at the SoCal Security car on the curb. “If this is about money?—”

Claire held up a hand. Her temper was threatening to flare. “It’s not about money. Mindy and Sawyer are moving in with me until I go back to Pennsylvania.”

“You—what?”

“I’m trying to take things seriously. It doesn’t get much more serious than paying a security professional to live with you. I hope you don’t mind. It should just be for a couple weeks while I figure out what to do next.”

He visibly deflated. “That…sounds like a good idea.”

Silence stretched between them. Crickets chirped, and a car door down the street slammed.

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