Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

25

“I’ll talkto her tomorrow about coming up with a schedule,” I tell Brynn, trying like hell not to act as nervous as I feel.

“Why can’t I be here, too,” Brynn asks with a pout. She gives her overnight duffle bag a kick and then scowls at it.

“You love staying at Ms. Sharon’s.”

“Yeah, but I want to be here instead. I want to watch. I won’t even be in the way. You know I won’t.”

I shake my head.

“No. We’ve talked about this. You’re staying at Ms. Sharon’s while they’re filming. That’s final.”

“But what if Sav can only give me lessons on her lunch breaks?”

“Then I’ll call Ms. Sharon and you can walk back on the lunch breaks.”

“What if she can only do it at night after shooting?”

“Then I will come get you and bring you back here after filming.”

She huffs. “But I wanna watch—”

“Brynnlee, the answer is no.”

Not only will there be a ton of expensive equipment around here, but this movie has scenes that Brynn isn’t old enough to watch. She’s mature for her age, but I’m not about to let her watch sex or murder scenes just because her idol will be starring in them.

My gut twists. I’m especially not looking forward to the sex scenes.

“Go on,” I tell her, and she huffs again before picking up her duffle bag. She starts to stomp down the front porch stairs, but I call after her. “Forgetting something.”

She sighs loudly, then grumbles, “Goodbye, I love you see you later.”

“I love you more,” I say to her retreating back. “Be good for Ms. Sharon.”

I lean on the porch railing and watch as she drags her feet the whole two blocks to Sharon’s. When she reaches the house, Sharon steps out onto the sidewalk and sends me a wave. I wave back, then Sharon shuffles Brynn into the house.

Once Brynn and Sharon are out of sight, I walk the couple of blocks to Main Street. When I turn toward our small coffee shop, I notice a familiar man staring angrily at the sign painted on the large window. I step up next to him and take it in.

For the most part, Main Street looks the same, but a few of the businesses have been altered slightly for filming. Names and logos changed, fresh paint, etc. The coffee shop is one of them.

What used to be Oakport Sugar and Cream is now Buongiorno Bakery, and instead of the usual logo displaying a happy pink pig lounging in a teacup, there’s a plain white outline of a coffee bean and a croissant.

“This is your doing,” Joe Shultz grumbles before taking a drink from his cardboard coffee cup. Even the to-go cups have been changed.

“How so?”

He flicks irritated eyes to me before looking back at the window sign.

“You had to go and build that million-dollar house and now all these Hollywood folk want to take over our town.”

I raise a brow at the sign, but I don’t look at Joe.

“Movies have been filmed here before, Joe,” I remind him. “Blame the studio up the coast.”

Joe shakes his head and his nose twitches.

“Those were romantic films. Comedies. Not this explicit baloney crap. Not with that devil music making band girl.”

Devil music making band girl? I almost want to laugh. Something tells me Savannah would get a kick out of that one.

“They’re only here for a couple weeks, Joe. Two tops. In and out, and it’s good for the economy of the town.”

Joe snorts into his coffee, but doesn’t say anything else, so I walk into the café without another word. Mary Lynn, the lady behind the counter, sees me walk in and smiles, then gets to work making my coffee. She’s already setting it on the counter by the time I reach it.

“He’s been out there for thirty minutes just starin’ at the sign on the window as if everyone in here can’t see him doing it,” Mary Lynn says with a grin. “‘Bout refused his coffee when he saw the cups.”

I shake my head. Joe Shultz needs to find a hobby.

“Did the studio contact you about tomorrow,” I ask her, and she nods.

“We’re fillin’ the order now. They’ve got us doing baked goods for the cast and crew for the next two weeks.”

That’s what I thought. They’ve got the café covering breakfast, and two different local restaurants alternating lunches and craft service foods. The film being here really is good for the town’s economy. Joe’s just an asshole.

“I want to add six of your blueberry streusel muffins.” I take my wallet out, but she throws up both hands with a scowl. Mary Lynn’s been trying to refuse my money for years. “Put ‘em in a box by themselves, though, and write ‘Ziggy’ on the top of it.”

“Ziggy?” she repeats curiously, and I nod. She waits for me to explain, but I don’t.

“Okay, sure,” she says with a smile.

“Thanks, Mary Lynn.”

I take my coffee in one hand and drop a twenty-dollar bill in its place before turning and heading back to my house.

On the walk back, I let my mind sift through the memories I usually avoid. Memories of Savannah and me when we were young. I think of blueberry streusel cake and laughter, and the thrilling feeling of doing something wrong for the right reasons. The thrilling feeling I’d get when it came to anything that had to do with Savannah. I’d have stolen a hundred blueberry streusel cakes just to see her smile. Walked through fire to keep her safe.

Everything about her being here has me conflicted.

Brynn is my priority now. She has to be.

But Savannah Shaw has always been a part of me in a way no one else ever has. She took up residence in my heart when we were fifteen years old, and she’s stayed there. I can’t fucking get rid of her. I used to think I didn’t want to. Her memories were the ones I’d visit anytime things got so difficult I couldn’t breathe. Every time I felt fucking lost or trapped, I’d think of her. I’d think of how I’d had her once. How I’d loved her. Held her. How part of her would always be mine, and it always managed to soothe some of the ache.

I did that for years, until I couldn’t anymore.

Responsibilities can be daunting. Sacrifices are painful. I question every decision I’ve ever made, except the ones I’ve made for Brynn. I love my daughter. I’d lay down my life for her. In a lot of ways, I have.

I just can’t stop wishing I could have them both. Brynn and Savannah.

I can’t stop wishing I could have my blueberry streusel cake and eat it, too.

* * *

The trailers start to line the streets around five in the morning.

I’ve been up for an hour already. They’ll be mostly filming in the outdoor space—our deck on the back of the house overlooking the waterway, the side yard, and the portion of our backyard that stretches out to the beach. The kitchen and dining area are directly connected to the deck, which is why the set at the studio was built to look just like mine. They film what they can on the set at the studio, but for the shots that require the beach-like backdrop, they’ll be in my house.

She’llbe in my house.

I’m not ready, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, but I can’t back out now. If for nothing else, we need the money. When the location scout for the movie approached me and asked to use my house for the film, I was all set to tell them no, but then they told me how much they would pay, and I caved. Use the house or lose the house, and I worked too fucking hard on this house to lose it.

I let the crew in shortly after the trailers arrive. I’m told that if the weather holds, they should be able to get everything filmed in two weeks. There are several beach scenes that take place at the beginning of the film, and then a few at the end when Savannah’s character returns home with the sister she saved.

Paul’s character should already be dead by that point. The death scene is one that needs to take place on location elsewhere, so unfortunately, I don’t get to see Sav kill him off, but I’d pay to see the film just for that part alone.

For the next two weeks, the outside and part of the inside of my house will resemble a set on the backlot. Film equipment will line every free area, and people will be rushing about with headsets and clipboards. My original plan was to try my best to stay out of the way, but now that I know Sav will be here, I’m not sure if that will be possible.

As I slip out the side door with the sunrise and walk to my truck, I hear her laughter carry on the salty breeze. It’s throaty and full. She’s always laughed with her whole body. The kind of laughter that makes other people want to be in on the joke. I stop walking and let my eyes drift toward the sound, finding her immediately.

She’s talking to her security guard about something while playing with her dog. She’s not wearing her wig, so her silver strands sparkle with the rising sun. Instead of getting into my truck and going to the office, I change direction and walk right to her.

Savannah hears footsteps and turns her beaming smile on me, but the smile disappears when her eyes land on my face.

“What are you doing here?” She stands back up from where she was crouched with the dog. “You working on these sets, too?”

“Something like that,” I say slowly.

I drag my eyes from Savannah’s face to Red’s and give him a nod in greeting, then put my hand out to pat the head of the dog that’s now sniffing my feet and legs.

“The guitar lessons,” I say, cutting to the chase. I thought she’d be easier to talk to without the wig. I was wrong. “Would on the lunch break or after shooting work?”

“Oh. Um, yeah, I think so.” She looks at Red. “Have they given you the schedule for the day?”

Red nods. “Lunch should work. You film kind of late tonight.”

When Savannah looks back at me, I don’t miss the hint of excitement in her eyes.

“I don’t know the exact time for lunch, but if you’re going to be here, then you can just have her meet me at my trailer?” She points across the street. “They brought mine.”

I turn in the direction she pointed, then look back at her.

“Remember what I said. Don’t venture off set. Stay within the barricades. I don’t wa—”

“I know, Levi. No paps. No photos. No association with big, bad Sav Loveless. I got it.”

We stare at each other for a few breaths. Her eyes are hard, giving nothing away, and I’m working to make sure mine match. When I feel my skin start to heat under the pull of her attention, I break eye contact. I take my hat off, run my hand through my hair, then put my hat back on. I give the dog one last head scratch, give Red one last nod, then address Savannah one last time.

“She’ll see you at lunch, Ms. Loveless.”

I turn to leave, but she’s always liked to fight for the last word.

“How’d a straightlaced Pastor’s kid end up such a grumpy dick, Cooper?”

I turn and look Savannah over one more time.

What do I tell her? That she broke my fucking heart, and my pile of shit just keeps getting deeper? Do I tell her I’m jaded and guarded and she’s part of the reason why?

No.

“Loss will do that to you,” I say flatly.

Then I turn and leave.