The phone rings again, and I sigh.“I’ll see you at the Nest.”
He nods, and I turn away, stepping toward the edge of the sidewalk.My spine locks on instinct, the same way it used to every time I had to remind him, more than once, more than twice, that our no-strings fling ended eighteen months ago.
I hit talk.“Hey, Blane.”
“Well, if it isn’t the elusive Grace Buchanan.”His casual tone fills the line.“How’s Montana treating you?”
“Cold.Mountainous.Full of cows.”
He laughs—a loose, charming chuckle I once found disarming.Now, it grates, working itself into nerves already worn thin.“Sounds exotic.Toby and I talked… I’m coming to your rescue.You still need me?”
I didn’t know Toby was sending help.Relief and dread arrive at the same time.I cringe at his phrasing, at the way he makes it sound like a favor, like this is about us rather than the job.Of all the photographers Toby could have called.
But I get it, Blane does both: writing and photography.If he’s not working on a story, he’d be the perfect choice.
So I steady myself and shift into business because that’s what this is.“I need footage of Maddox Hartley—practice at the high school to start.I’ll clear it with the principal, get release forms for the students.Shots of the town, a few locals on camera, Hartley himself.A racetrack would be ideal.”
The ideas come faster than I can organize them, and history with Blane aside, I do need the help.I’ve already been here two weeks, and at this rate, doing it all alone, I’ll be here well into the new year, blowing past the deadline.
I’ve got a month to finish this, and having Blane here will speed things up considerably, even if I wish it was anyone but him.
“The sooner the better.”
“Sure thing.”His voice dips, warm and practiced.“And we can catch up while I’m there.Share some meals, for old times’ sake?”
“Blane.”I press my thumb into the space above my eyebrow, turning away from a couple passing on the sidewalk.“You’re with Sarah.”
“Yeah, but she’s not the jealous type.”
“Right.”I grit my teeth.“Because she doesn’t know.”
“Grace—”
“Let’s stay on topic.”I cut him off before he can say anything to make this worse.“When do you arrive?”
“Day after tomorrow.I’ll text you the flight details.Where are you staying so I can make arrangements?”
I pause.“It’s a long story.I’ll figure it out and text you.”
“Mysterious.”He sounds delighted, which is the last thing I need.“Can’t wait to see you, Gracie.”
He’s the only person who calls me that.It used to sound sweet.Now, it sounds like being reduced to something small and pliable, which is the last thing I am.
“See you then.”I hang up before he can push another button.
I stand there for a moment, phone in hand, the cold working its way through my jacket in slow, determined increments.
I don’t know what I was thinking, getting involved with a coworker.No.That’s a lie.I know exactly what I was thinking.Or not thinking.
Buffy had just left LA, and I was reeling from the loss.Lonely and hollowed out, reckless in the way grief makes you when you need the noise to stop.Blane was loud enough to drown it out for a night or two.But forgetting isn’t free.I’m still paying for it in regret and awkward sidesteps.
I pocket my phone and walk toward the Nest.
As if I don’t already have enough on my plate, now I need to figure out where to put Blane—and fast.There’s no way in hell I’m asking the Hartleys, even if they have room to spare.
Which means I have a day to solve the problem of Blane.
Chapter17