The next day I receive definitive proof Chinese lanterns are very poor wish-granting instruments.
I’m sitting in the middle of my usual Monday meeting—moved to a Tuesday to accommodate yesterday’s holiday—when Lionel Trumeau proudly announces, “With fast set construction here, and no more hiccups during the public space shootings, we’re going to finish filming earlier than expected and get back to our original schedule. If the weather cooperates, we should be able to wrap up the production in a month or less.”
The words sink into my gut like a double-edged dagger.
My face contorts. In pain? Horror? Disbelief? Maybe all three and plenty more.
Lionel narrows his eyes and asks, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I reply. “I mean, that’s great news.”
“Of course it is,” Lionel Trumeau says. “That’s why you look like you’re about to throw up.”
“No, really I’m okay,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m just overwhelmed with relief. Winthrop will be over the moon when I tell him.” I gesture to the room at large. “Good job, team. If that’s all from you, Lionel, we can move on to the art department.”
The director still looks sideways at me but agrees with a stiff nod. Better he thinks I’m impossible to please rather than sniff out the truth.
“Margaret,” I say. “You have the floor.”
The key scenic artist begins to speak, and I manage to sit through the rest of the meeting, resisting the urge to projectile vomit up my breakfast.
A month? That’s all I’ve left in Emerald Creek? I was supposed to get more! More time. More Travis.
It’s not fair. The thought of leaving sickens me inside. Bitterness sucks me into a black hole of despair until my vision literally blackens around the edges. I look from face to face. Everyone’s smiling and making plans. The room spins.
As soon as the meeting is over, I dash out of the barn. I make it to the line of parked golf carts, grab one, and flee to the safety of my office.
I storm inside, half hyperventilating.
I want to cry. I want to yell. I want to punch something.
But I don’t. I just settle for wiping the corners of my eyes with my fingers.
I need to get control. I need to focus. I need to pull myself together. And I need to tell Travis.
When I pull up into his yard that night, I don’t honk in greeting. It seems too cheerful a gesture for the bomb I’m about to drop on us.
I walk up the porch steps, and as usual, find the door unlocked.
I push my way in, calling, “Travis!”
A second later, he appears from the living room. He’s wearing a blue unbuttoned shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a pair of sweatpants. The mere peek at his bare chest is enough to set a zing of excitement loose in my body. But tonight I’m not here for sexy times, right?
“Hey, gorgeous,” Travis greets, looking me up and down.
“Hey, yourself. Is this a bad time?” I ask, half hoping he’ll say yes and tell me to leave so that we won’t have to have The Talk.
“No, I was just getting changed.”
“And you went for the bare-chest look?”
Travis waggles his eyebrows. “You like it.”
Maybe too much. I want to reply with another joke, but my lower lip treacherously trembles.
Travis is at my side in a few quick strides. “What’s wrong, Baker?” he asks as he hugs me to his chest.
His warmth, his comforting presence, and the fact that I’ve had to keep my feelings in check all day finally become too much and I sob my heart out, ugly crying into his shirt.
I feel the tension in his body. The need to ask what’s wrong, but also the will to leave me space and time to tell him when I’m ready. He holds me tighter but says nothing.
Travis’s strong arms feel so good on me that I never want to let go. But I have to. I’m not sure how long I cry, but it seems like forever. When I finally get a grip on my nerves, I pull back.
I sniff and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, saying, “I have to go back to New York.”
His forehead creases. “What?”
“I… I’m leaving early. A month, maybe less.” I pause, trying to calm myself. I’m such a mess, I’m sure he can’t understand me. “I just found out. I mean, this morning. I have a month left.”
Travis’s face crumbles as though he’s been hit with a body blow.
“A month?” he asks, his voice pitched with surprise.
I nod.
His gaze is intense, and I know he’s looking for answers. “It’s not what I want,” I admit.
“But you’re going to leave anyway.”
Going straight for the throat, I see.
I pull at the collar of my blouse. “It’s too hot in here. Can we go talk outside on the porch?”
Travis gives me a stiff nod and precedes me out the door.
We sit on the swing, contemplating the view in silence for a few crushing heartbeats until I can’t stand it any longer. I grab his hand and say again, “I don’t want to go, obviously. But I’ve racked my brain all day trying to imagine my life in Emerald Creek and I’ve come to the conclusion—which is crazy, believe me—that I could give up New York for you…”
Travis’s head snaps to me, his eyes burning with hope.
“Yes, I’d miss the city, the vibe, the energy, the buzz, the unlimited choices, and my friends. But I could live with seeing them less, maybe only on the occasional girl trip. I mean, if we survived a year in lockdown with video chats, we can do it again…”
“But…?” Travis asks.
“But.” I sigh. “I’ve spent years building my career, making a name for myself in the movie industry. And no matter how many times I try to rack my brain about it, I can’t find anything that would suit me in this town… professionally, I mean.”
“If I could leave my job and come to New York, I’d resign tomorrow. But I can’t leave my mom.”
“I know, and I would never ask you to.”
Travis squeezes my hand, his voice breaking as he says, “So what now?”
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I mean, this thing between us is so new I don’t even know what it is.” I kiss his knuckles. “But I know I don’t want it to end. I want to enjoy every minute we have while I’m still here.”
He stiffens at the implication, and drops my hands, his balling into fists. “And after that?”
“Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean we have to end things,” I continue, rushing to get everything out. “We can still see each other. We can still talk to each other. I’m not a fan of long-distance relationships, and I know you had a terrible experience before, but I can’t make a life-changing decision on the heels of a whirlwind summer romance…” I trail off.
“A summer romance? Is that what you think this is?” He flips a finger between us. “I love you.”
The air in my lungs disappears.
“That’s right,” he growls. “I love you. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but I love you, Samantha Baker. I love your brains, your kindness, your talent, and how you challenge me. I love your stupid shoes and your short skirts. I love the way you pout when you’re mad and the twinkle in your eyes when we banter. I love everything about you.”
I struggle to find my voice. “What?”
“I love you, and I don’t want to lose you,” he continues. “I don’t care where you work or what your plans are, I want to be with you.”
If I weren’t sitting, I’d be on the floor. “You love me?” I ask, as if I’d misheard him.
“Yeah,” he replies, his eyes flashing with fear and hope. “I love you. I think I have for a while, but I pushed it away because of your job. And I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”
My heart pushes the words out faster than my brain can process. “I love you, too,” I tell him. “I really do.”
I lean in and before our lips touch, I murmur again, “I’m in love with you, Travis.”
We kiss like we’re trying to inhale each other. Travis pulls away only to murmur against my mouth, “I love you so, so much.”
“I’m glad you didn’t growl it out this time.”
Travis smiles against my lips, and in the most tender voice whispers, “I love you.”
He runs a finger down my cheek and then kisses me again. I love the way he kisses me. I love the way the world disappears when I’m with him. I love him. I love him. I love him!
A sort of hysterical laughter bubbles out of me.
“What?” he asks.
“I might have to learn how to bake for real.”
Travis raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
“If I have to change careers, what else am I going to do around here?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “But we’ll figure it out together. We’ll take as much time as you need and we’ll figure it out.”
Travis kisses my cheek, my forehead, my nose, my chin, my forehead again.
Sighing, I lean against him.
“I love you,” I tell him again.
There’s a long silence and then, “I love you, too.”