by Lizzie Shane
“Sometimes we hear what we need to hear.”
“I guess. It’s just weird. I don’t think she realized she was convincing herself that was what they said.”
“Maybe she wasn’t. Or maybe you both were, a little bit.” She rested her ear against his chest, her wine glass balanced on his stomach. “Are you glad you went?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He shifted his arms around her, holding her a little closer. “She was so nervous. Holding onto my arm so tight. I knew this mattered to her, but I was so busy thinking that I wouldn’t have done it that it didn’t occur to me that she didn’t want to do it either, she just felt like she had to. And I’m really glad I was there when she did. Or for at least this part of it.”
“You’re a good man, Ian Summer.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He snorted softly. “I’m a work in progress.”
She twisted to look up at him. “All the best people are.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“I understand I have you to thank for Ian’s presence yesterday.”
“Mrs. Summer!” Maggie whirled toward the voice, the rug she’d been shaking out slipping through her fingers. She’d been taking advantage of the sunshine in the back yard to smack the dirt out of the rugs from the screened-in porch—all the while listening for the distinctive sound of Ian’s truck, but she hadn’t heard his mother’s stealthy electric SUV’s approach. “How are you?”
“I’m good. I wanted to thank you for yesterday.” She did look good. Her eyes were clearer, even if her face was a little puffy, as if she’d been crying.
“I just watched Sadie…”
“I don’t know about that. My son can be quite stubborn. All I know is before you got here, he wouldn’t even stay in the room during lawsuit talk and yesterday he volunteered to sit through an entire afternoon of nothing but.”
Maggie picked up the rug, giving it a last gentle shake. “I know it was important to him to be there for you.”
Mrs. Summer nodded, studying her face. “Do you care for my son, Maggie?”
Maggie blinked, her jaw loosening. What was it with the Summer women suddenly interrogating her about her feelings for Ian? “I…” She cleared her throat. “He’s an incredible man.”
Mrs. Summer nodded, something about her expression closing slightly. “You must be impatient to get back to your life.”
Maggie released a soft, humorless laugh. “Not really.” When Mrs. Summer merely raised an eyebrow, Maggie confided, “Before I came here I was burned out. Exhausted. Sometimes I would just sleep for days. I get so tired I can’t get out of bed, and no amount of sleep ever seems to make me feel rested. But here, I don’t know, it’s different. I’m different.” She shook her head. “I like me here. I used to think I would feel good about myself if I were famous enough, or if a famous enough person fell in love with me, like it would prove I was good enough. But then I got that and it never felt like I thought it would. Looking for self-esteem in all the wrong places, but Ian makes me feel… I don’t know. I’m enough, you know?”
Mrs. Summer nodded slowly. “I heard somewhere that building self-esteem wasn’t about looking for something outside of yourself to make you feel good enough, but rather about doing esteem-able acts. Things that you would respect if you saw someone else do them, and then learning to respect yourself through those works.”
Maggie cocked her head. “I like that. I’ve never thought about it that way.” She’d always just waited for that magical moment when something would happen and she would finally feel worthy.
Maybe she’d been going about it all wrong this whole time. What were her esteem-able acts? What could she do that would make her look in the mirror and see someone worth admiring?
“Have you ever talked to someone?” Mrs. Summer asked gently. “About your depression?”
“What?” Maggie laughed. “I’m not depressed. How could I be? I have everything.”
“I’m not sure depression has anything to do with what we have,” Mrs. Summer commented.
“I’m not, though,” she insisted. What right did she have to depression? “Ask anyone. I’m the happiest person in Hollywood. I’m annoyingly cheerful.”
“You’re a very good actress,” Ian’s mother murmured. “I should get back. Ian and Sadie will be home soon. Would you like to come by later? Visit a bit?”
“I thought I might go to the Gull. Watch Ian’s show.”
Mrs. Summer nodded, her smile muted. “Take care, Maggie.”
“You too,” Maggie replied, watching Ian’s mother walk away and feeling like she’d just been in a scene where the screenwriters had some deeper meaning and she had no idea what they were driving at—but this wasn’t a movie and there was no director to help her figure out the subtext.
* * * * *
“I hear you have a date tonight.”
“What?” Ian looked up from where he sat at the edge of his bed, fumbling with the shoelace he was restringing through his boot, and frowned at his mother’s arch tone. The only place he had to go this evening was the Tipsy Gull and he was running late—again—so of course this would be when his damn shoelace would snap, and his mother would show up telling freaking riddles.
“Maggie Tate? I hear you two have been spending a lot of time together.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “Isn’t that what you wanted when you started your whole matchmaking scheme?”
“I wasn’t matchmaking. I just thought you seemed like you could use some company.”
“So I have company. Happy?”
His mother looked anything but happy. Her mouth twisted into a worried frown. “How much longer is she staying?”
Ian ground his molars, yanking on the shoestring. He should have just worn flip-flops. Then he could have been out of here five minutes ago and missed this entire conversation. “I don’t know.”
“Sadie seems very attached.”
Ian sighed, looking up. “Mom, if you have something to say would you just say it? I’m already late and I don’t have the time to figure out what you’re getting at.”
Her lips pursed irritably. “I’m just not sure it’s such a good idea to get involved with her. She has a very complicated life and a lot of issues she’s dealing with. Add in a family history of addiction…”
“Are you kidding me? You wanted me to fall for her. You practically threw us at each other.”
“I know. And that’s on me. It seemed innocent enough. I didn’t realize…”
“What? How damaged she is?”
His mother grimaced at his word choice. “It sounds like she struggles with depression.”
“And this surprises you?” Had she just conveniently forgotten the first sixteen years of Maggie’s life? Her entire family history?
She shook her head. “I just worry about you—”
“Don’t. It’s not happening again. I’m not getting attached to someone who wants the limelight more than she wants me. This is just temporary.”
“Is it? Does she know that?”
Ian stood, reaching for his guitar. “Stay out of it, Mom.”
He strode out of his bedroom, pausing to drop a kiss on his daughter’s head where she was hunched over her homework at the kitchen table. She popped the earbud out of one ear and he nodded at it. “Whatcha listening to?”
“The Stones.”
“That’s my girl.” He grinned. “Be good for your grandmother.”
He glanced at his phone to check the time as he jogged down the exterior steps to the truck he’d left parked diagonally across the driveway. Maggie was waiting for him, just like they’d agreed, standing in the shadow of the truck cast by the setting sun. She had her back to him, the gold in her hair catching the light as she moved in and out of the sun’s final rays. Her head was bent and a cell phone was pressed to her ear. And she hadn’t heard him coming down the stairs.
“Mel, stop. I’m not ready to go back,” she was saying into the phone. He went still on the bottom step as
she paused. “I don’t know!” she snapped. “Maybe never. Maybe I don’t want to be an actress anymore. Maybe I want to retire to Long Shores and just—” Another short pause. “Why does it matter what I do? Maybe I just want to be. Maybe—” She broke off, then shook her head sharply. “It isn’t irrational to want to be happy! This is what I want and you need to get onboard.” She jerked the phone away from her ear, stabbing at it with a finger.
Ian made a point of stepping loudly onto the gravel, speaking loudly as if he hadn’t heard a word. “You ready to go?”
Maggie spun, something flashing across her face before she forced a bright smile. “Yeah. Ready.”
She didn’t mention the call as he threw his guitar into the truck and climbed in—and if she didn’t mention it, he sure as hell wasn’t going to.
Was she really thinking of staying? She couldn’t actually be considering giving up her career and moving to Long Shores, could she? He didn’t want that. This thing between them had an expiration date. He’d been counting on that. If it didn’t…
“Is everything all right?”
“What? Of course.” He jerked, realizing he’d been sitting too long at a stop sign and pulled onto what passed for a highway around here. “Just thinking about tonight.”
They didn’t speak as he drove toward the Gull.
This was supposed to be temporary. A fling. She was Maggie Freaking Tate, for Christ’s sake. This wasn’t real. It was a moment. An interlude. A freaking fantasy vacation from his real life.
Then they arrived at the Gull and he realized the fantasy was starting to infect his real life. Every space in the lot was filled. Cars spilled out of the parking lot and lined the street on either side of the Gull, stretching a hundred yards in either direction.
On a normal Friday, the Gull would fill up as the night went on, the regulars coming in to occupy their usual tables. By the busiest part of the night, the lot would be mostly full, but there would always be a few scattered spots. It was never like this. And never before he even started.
“Shit,” Ian cursed under his breath as he circled the lot.
It could only be Maggie.
* * * * *
Ian was acting weirdly. He’d been stiff and distant all night—not that she could blame him. Things at the Tipsy Gull were…strange.
Maggie didn’t have routines in LA. She didn’t have places she went every week at the same time. Those kinds of rituals were a habit she’d gotten out of—because when people knew where they could find you on any given night it became a circus.
The Gull was a circus.
The noise level hit them as soon as they walked through the door. The people closest to the door saw them and went quiet, and that hush seemed to ripple through the room, carrying in its wake an even louder, more excited buzz of conversation. Part of her hoped that this was how Ian was always greeted at the Gull, that it was always this crowded at the start of the night and she just hadn’t seen it last week because she’d arrived later—but the tight expression on Ian’s face told her otherwise.
“I’m gonna get set up,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the din. “You good?”
“Yeah, of course,” she assured him, though the sheer volume of people made her long for one little security guard to hide behind. Ian moved toward the stage, guitar case in hand, and Maggie headed toward the back of the bar where she’d found a seat last time—though she wasn’t optimistic it would be available today. The bar was standing room only, and possibly veering toward a fire code violation.
A few people looked vaguely familiar as she worked her way through the crowd. Everyone smiled and edged out of her way, making a path for her, some offering greetings. She smiled back, making her way toward the back of the bar—where the stool she’d sat on last week sat empty, all on its own, like a throne that had been prepared for a queen. Or a shrine.
Maggie felt a little conspicuous, taking the last empty seat in the house as everyone stared at her, but she really wanted to sit down, order a drink to hide behind, and watch Ian’s show as if it was just another Friday. Moments later, when he stood in front of the microphone to start his set, Maggie expected the same hush to fall over the room as had when she was here before, but the noise didn’t entirely die down. The volume lowered, but the audience was buzzed more than rapt—watching Ian, watching her, talking amongst themselves.
He started with a Stones song—You Can’t Always Get What You Want—and Maggie tried not to read anything into the song choice as she watched him.
She’d been preoccupied the entire drive to the Gull, trying to figure out how to tell him that she’d been thinking all afternoon about what she really wanted out of life and she was pretty sure it was him. And Sadie. And Long Shores. She wanted this. The rest of the details she could work out later, but she didn’t want to lose what felt like her first chance at real happiness. He’d always made her feel brave, but was she brave enough to ask him for it?
The crowd settled down a little as Ian continued to play, though they were still rowdier than she remembered from the previous week. When he announced he was taking a short break, Maggie sat up straighter—maybe she couldn’t tell him exactly how she felt in the middle of a noisy bar, but she’d been anticipating this moment for the last hour, when he would come over and slide in between her stool and the wall and give her a smile.
Except he didn’t.
Ian didn’t make his way to the back of the bar. He stopped, chatting at one of the tables, and then sat down there. Maggie could barely see him through the shifting crowd. She kept waiting for him to get up and continue on to her, but then the crowd shifted again and she realized the waitress had brought his burger and beer to that table.
He was just hungry, she told herself. He’d told her he always ate after the first set. He wasn’t avoiding her. He wasn’t mad at her because her fame was contaminating his show. Everything was fine.
But it was as if Ian not coming over to her gave everyone else in the room permission to do so.
The first was someone she vaguely recognized from the grocery store. “Hey there, Maggie! Buy you a drink?” a woman with a beaming smile asked. “No? You good?” She followed Maggie’s gaze. “Isn’t Ian the greatest? Did you know he asked us to take down all those magazines with those rumors about you? That boy is so gone for you. How long have you two been seeing each other? I can’t believe you managed to keep it a secret. Nothing stays secret in Long Shores for long.”
“Oh, we’re not…”
“Not going public yet? I get it. You’ve gotta be strategic about when you make your first public appearance together. You could take him to your next premiere. Or the Oscars! I’ve always wanted to go to the Oscars. Is it really as glamorous as it seems from my couch?”
“It’s pretty glamorous,” Maggie admitted, wishing Ian would appear—and he did, only it was back up on stage. “Oh, look, he’s starting again,” she said—but the woman didn’t take the hint.
And neither did the rotating cast of locals who came up to her throughout the next set.
All of a sudden everyone seemed to know her, though she was certain she hadn’t met them all. They all asked about her and Ian. About Hollywood and her glamorous life. They were all perfectly nice about it, but it was like doing a press tour where no one had told her what kind of movie she was promoting. Was she supposed to admit that she and Ian were a thing? Deny it? She couldn’t tell anyone that she was thinking of staying in Long Shores because she wasn’t ready for that news to break, but everyone seemed to assume she was, even when she denied it.
It was impossible to enjoy Ian’s show. She could barely hear half of his songs as the crowd around her began to grow. She would have left, driving herself home and letting the Tipsy Gull return to normal—but she’d caught a ride with Ian. It had seemed so convenient when he suggested it, but now she had no escape.
He must have sensed as much, because when he did make his way back to her at the second break, the firs
t words out of his mouth were, “You can take the truck if you need to. I’ll get an Uber later.”
“Oh. No, I can get one.” She should have thought of that—would have thought of that if she hadn’t been in the habit of letting Mel do everything for her, including arrange her cars.
“Take the truck.” He pressed the keys into her hand. “I insist.”
“Okay,” she murmured, squashing down the little voice in her head that whispered that he wanted her to leave. “I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll see you later.”
He nodded—not kissing her, but then they weren’t doing public displays of affection so why would he? She just hated the tightness of his face. The stiff set of his shoulders. “Drive safe.”
She cleared her throat. “Thanks.”
“Hey, Eddie, can you walk Maggie to my truck? I’ve gotta start the next set.”
Eddie was a perfectly nice older man who told her what a fan he was of the Alien Adventuress movies as he escorted her to the truck—and Maggie put on the smile she’d been putting on all night. Playing the part of the woman who was perfectly comfortable with crowds, giving the fans what they wanted.
It was exhausting. She hadn’t been tired like this since she’d arrived in Long Shores. But she told herself it was just a fluke. Just one night. Tomorrow the sun would come out and everything would be good between her and Ian.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
On Saturday it rained. Not the kind of steady, soft rain they usually got in Long Shores, but a heavy roof-pounding downpour that made the gutters overflow and water fall from the eaves like Niagara Falls.
Maggie spent the morning restless, pacing the floors and wondering if she should go over to the Summer place. Ian hadn’t come over the night before when he got back from the Gull, not even to pick up the truck keys, texting her to just leave them in the glove box. Long Shores, where no one worried about car theft—and therefore she had no excuse to see him and make sure everything was still okay after last night.