Birds of California(75)

“I’m not exactly a perfect vessel?” Fiona didn’t flinch. “Whatever he throws at me, I’ve had worse,” she said, and Sam believed her. “And I’m not afraid.”

Erin nodded. “Okay then,” she said, digging her notebook out of her massive tote bag. “In that case, let’s get the bastard.”

Now Angel City’s ancient backstage speakers crackle, a burst of static making Sam wince. “One minute,” comes the half-garbled announcement from the stage manager. “Have a good show, everyone. Full house out there.”

Fiona grins. It’s the first sold-out run in the history of the Angel City Players. Claudia and Estelle are out there. Erin is in the front row. Thandie flew in from Paris last night just in time to catch the end of their final dress rehearsal, sneaking into the back at the last moment; Sam watched as Fiona hopped off the stage and ran up the aisle to meet her, the two of them wrapping their arms around each other and clinging. Neither one of them said anything for a long time.

Now Fiona digs into the pocket of her hoodie, coming up with what looks at first like a crumpled piece of paper and tucking it into his hand. “I made this for you,” she tells him quietly. “I thought I was making it for you, anyway. I think actually I made it for me.”

Sam squints at the gift in the darkness, realizing after a moment that it’s an intricately folded bird—its tail tall and proud and delicate, its narrow beak sharp as a blade. He shakes his head, not understanding, but before he can ask what it means: “Say it again,” Fiona tells him, her voice muffled against his shoulder. Sam’s heart stops deep inside his chest.

“Fiona—” he starts, but she’s pulling back now to look at him, her expression calm and steady and sure.

“Sam,” she says. “If you meant it, say it again.”

Sam doesn’t have to ask what she’s talking about. He’s said it to her half a dozen times in the last week, in the car and in the morning and in bed buried deep inside her; he’ll keep saying it as long as she’ll let him. He’ll keep saying it until she believes.

“I love you,” he tells her as the lights go down out in the theater, his voice barely carrying over the applause of the crowd. “Fiona. I love you so much.”

Fiona smiles like the dawn coming up over the hills at sunrise. Then she ducks her head and whispers in his ear. She squeezes his hand and they step out onto the stage together, taking their places side by side.





Acknowledgments


I’ve been lucky enough to publish a good number of books in my career, but in a lot of ways Birds of California has felt like the very first all over again. I’m so grateful to all the people who have helped make it happen:

My brilliant editor, Mary Gaule, whose keen eye (and encyclopedic knowledge of all things Los Angeles) made this book one thousand times better, and whose boundless enthusiasm had me excited to open the document every day. The entire team at Harper Perennial but especially Amy Baker, Megan Looney, and Heather Drucker for welcoming me aboard so warmly. Joanne O’Neill and Andrew Davis, I legit gasp every time I look at this cover. Thank you so much.

My inimitable agent, Elizabeth Bewley—I truly just adore you. Finally getting to work together was so, so, so worth the wait. Let’s keep doing it forever, okay great. And to everyone at Sterling Lord Literistic—you are incredible, and I feel so lucky to be a part of this amazing team.

Robin Benway, Bri Cavallaro, Brandy Colbert, Lauren Gibaldi, Corey Ann Haydu, Emery Lord, Jennifer Matthieu, Julie Murphy, Iva-Marie Palmer, Eric Smith, Elissa Sussman, and Sara Zarr for their friendship and good humor and insight. I can’t wait to eat large quantities of snacks at conferences with you all again one day soon.

Lisa Burton, Jennie Palluzzi, Sierra Rooney, Marissa Sertich. Always, always, always.

My family, for their love and encouragement and extreme generosity with childcare. My sister, for being the person I write every single book trying to impress.

Tom, Annie, Charlie + Avon: you are all my very favorite love story.