Page 37 of Valentine Nook
“No, our family takes it in turns every year.”
“Who dropped out?” I ask with a chuckle, expecting him tosay Clemmie because I can see Clemmie being a person with expert powers of persuasion to get her out of things she doesn’t want to do.
He rubs along the back of his neck. “Um . . . actually, that would be Caroline.”
“Oh, I don’t recall Clemmie mentioning her. Is she another sister?”
“No, she would be my fiancée.”
I don’t know if I gasp or if Lando isn’t used to not having a fiancée yet, because he immediately follows it up with, “Ex-fiancée.”
I remember Clemmie telling me her brother had broken up with someone, but she’d made it seem like a casual girlfriend, not someone major. Someone he was going to marry. Someone he planned to spend his life with.
“I’m so sorry,” I say eventually, which is more of a reflex than anything because I have a weird reaction to hearing him say ex-fiancée.
It’s followed by curling in my belly, wondering if that means he’s single.
Lando shrugs.
It might be a small movement, a casual brush-off, but it thickens my throat anyway.
As if sensing Lando’s mood, Thunder maneuvers himself between us and nudges my arm hard enough that my coffee spills.
“Hey, what was that for?” I grumble, shaking my hand dry.
He does it again, only gentler this time, and I realize he’s trying to get the paper bag containing my donut.
“Do you not feed your horse or something?”
Lando grins, the last thirty seconds forgotten about, and tugs on Thunder’s bridle. “I do. But obviously not enough.”
“This is my celebration donut,” I say, opening the bag andtaking a deep inhale. It smells divine. “You can’t have it all, but I’ll share it.”
Jelly oozes out as I break it in half and pass it to Thunder before realizing I probably should have asked Lando if it was okay to give a horse a donut.
“Celebration? What are you celebrating?”
I lick the rest of the jelly off my fingers, wondering if I should tell him.
“Oh . . . um, I got an offer this morning for a contract.”
“Well, that does sound like something to celebrate. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. It’s a big deal actually. For me, anyway.” I pause and take stock. Think about what my therapist would say to me. “No, it’s a big deal for anyone. Not just me. It’s huge.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Forty million over five years,” I blurt from nowhere.
What am I doing? Why am I telling him this? It’s so obnoxious. It’s braggy.
His full mouth rolls into a line. “I don’t know anything about movies or your business, but if you’re happy, then it sounds like a good deal. And I’m certain you’re worth every single penny. Orcent, in your case. Very Hollywood, either way.”
I nod. It’s not a platitude. He’s not trying to be nice. He believes what he’s telling me. This almost stranger, who only shouted at me before today, thinks I’m worth it.
And his validation does something to me.Forme.
“Thank you.”
