The Husband Hour(52)
“I don’t know,” she said. Of course she knew! She was in love. “Maybe we should just be friends.”
“I don’t want to be friends. I love you. I never stopped thinking about you. I don’t have anything going on with any women in Boston. I just worked my ass off. And I’m going to continue to work my ass off because I want a lot out of life. And one of those things is you—by my side. As much as possible.”
She stepped into his arms. He kissed her face, not seeming to mind that she sobbed like a child. When she calmed down, he pulled back, tilted her face up to his with his thumb under her chin.
“Lauren,” he whispered. “I’ll never let you down again.”
I’ll never let you down again.
She reshelved the astronomy book, slipped quietly out of Ethan’s room, and closed the door behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Matt paused the frame.
Lauren looked beautiful on camera, her dark eyes big and luminous. She had the type of bone structure that was slightly angular in person but flawless on film. She’d worn her hair back in a ponytail that afternoon and dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans. There was something steely and fragile about her at the same time. From a filmmaking perspective, he couldn’t have cast anyone better.
“Rory’s mom was a widow,” she said, a lock of hair falling free from her ponytail. She tucked it back behind her ear. “And he worried about taking care of her. Once the money became a reality, there was no question he would go into the NHL.”
Matt forwarded through his reel, moving to an interview with Rory’s former sports agent. Jason Cavendish, a slickly handsome LA native, looked barely older than his athlete clients. It had been an expensive shoot, flying to Hollywood and staying at the Standard. They couldn’t film at Jason’s high-profile office building, so Matt needed a sharp-looking hotel suite. The day of the scheduled shoot, Jason had an emergency meeting, and it was postponed to the tune of another six-hundred-dollar night. But it was worth it for this bombshell: “The Kings didn’t make an offer once he was a free agent,” Jason said. “I don’t know where the press got that seven-figure rumor. But I sure as hell wasn’t about to correct them.”
Matt’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, was surprised to find Craig Mason.
He’d been wrestling with when and how to reach out to Craig, to send him the footage of Lauren. He’d decided to wait until he had more, but this call was an encouraging turn of events.
“Great to hear from you,” Matt said. “I’d been thinking of calling you myself. I interviewed Lauren Kincaid.”
That’s how these projects went sometimes. How many film-festival panels had he listened to where people talked about things falling apart, the film looking like it would never get made, and then all the pieces clicked into place. He could see the two of them sitting side by side at Sundance…
“Good for you,” Craig said. “But I just called to share some news.”
“News?”
“I heard something through the grapevine, and since I am rooting for you—you know that, right? Anyway, I want you to know there’s a feature film about Rory in the works.”
Matt felt a rushing whoosh as he lost his breath.
“Who’s making it? When’s it coming out?”
“I don’t know anything more about it.”
“Okay,” Matt said. “Well, I think this just shows I have a hot topic. It’s not a concern.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll keep an eye out for that. But in the meantime I’ll send you the Lauren Kincaid footage—”
“I’m afraid I have to pass,” said Craig. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, man,” Matt said calmly. He hung up.
And then he threw his phone against the wall.
Lauren pulled a photograph down from the wall of the restaurant and carried it to the front counter.
“Table three wants to buy this one,” she told Nora, glancing at the price sticker: $250. It was just a shot of a narrow house on the bay. Lauren knew the house; it was painted a pretty moss green but the photo was in black-and-white so it didn’t even have that going for it. She supposed summer visitors wanted to take any piece of Longport home with them.
“Great. I’ll wrap it up,” Nora said. “Hey, I wanted to ask you a few things. First, you’re coming to my Fourth of July party, right?”
“Of course.” Every Fourth, Nora hosted a huge barbecue at her own house on the bay. It usually started midafternoon and lasted until the sun began to set, at which time the guests would make their way over to the boardwalk to view the fireworks.
“Great. Bring your parents and your sister; the more the merrier. Also, would you be able to work nights in August?”
Lauren smiled. “You’re finally making the leap to dinner service?”
“I’m working on it. I realize I’ve been playing it too safe. The way these photographs are flying out of here—I should have thought of selling something higher ticket on the walls years ago. Makes me think I’ve been doing things the same way for too long. I just have to worry about staffing up midway through the season. Not the easiest task.”