“She must really want to talk to you,” Chloe adds. “This is the second time she’s called you today, isn’t it?”

“You’re still talking to Stacey?” Mom echoes.

“I’m not.” I hit decline. Talking about my clingy ex is the last thing I need right now. I sit back, arm brushing against Chloe’s. “What are we playing?”

“What about that picture game?” Rory suggests. “The one where you draw something and then pass it to the person next to you and they have to write what they think it is.”

“That sounds fun,” Chloe says. “But I’m a terrible artist, which I’m guessing is part of the fun.”

“It is,” Rory assures her, and Mom passes out the game pieces. We get started and play for a solid half an hour, laughing so hard at some of the drawings our sides hurt. Everyone is having a good time and, dammit, I wish it could be like this all the time. We play one more round and then stop for dessert since Rory wants to try to get Adam to bed soon.

Mom made apple pie, one of Chloe’s favorites when we were kids. We crowd around the dining room table again to eat, and then Rory and Dean go upstairs to get Adam asleep. Mom, worried about her chickens, has Dad go out to make sure the fox isn’t back and has Jacob come with her to check that none of the chickens got injured.

Mason, Chloe, and I are in the kitchen, and I bring my plate over to the pie to get a second piece. “Do you want any more?” I ask Chloe.

“I do!” Her eyes light up and her smile splits her pretty face. “Even though I shouldn’t, I’m trying to cut back on carbs.” She pats her stomach like she has weight to lose, which couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t like a woman who’s all skin and bone. Everyone likes to eat, and denying such a primal thing is a turn-off. I, for one, am not going to deprive myself of anything when I want it.

Well, anything besides Chloe.

“One night of indulgence won’t hurt a damn thing,” Mason says, taking a seat next to Chloe at the island counter. “Giving in to what you desire is good for you.”

Chloe blushes and looks down, slowly shaking her head. She opens her mouth to say something and then her phone rings. “Oh, that’s my agent’s ringtone. If she’s calling on a Sunday night, it has to be important.” She hops off the barstool and goes to her purse, fishing out her phone. “I’ll be right back,” she tells us and slips out onto the patio to talk in peace.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I round on Mason.

“I told you, I’m making my move on Chloe. She’s smoking hot, and since you’re not emotionally invested, she’s fair game.”

“She’s not a game to be played.”

“If you like her, then admit it and I’ll back off.” Mason holds up his hands. “But since you already said all you want is to be her friend, why do you care?” His eyes pierce mine, testing me. “We both know that’s not true, and I can’t stand here and watch you strike out again and again.”

“Fuck you.”

“You should be thanking me.”

“For hitting on Chloe? No fucking way.”

“Admit it,” Mason goes on. “You want to be the one fucking her tonight.”

I open my mouth only to snap it shut.

“Your loss. Her tits look fucking fantastic in that dress.” He holds his hands up. “I bet they feel even better.”

Anger boils inside me, both at Mason for being a shithead just to be a shithead, and to hear someone talk about Chloe that way. I swing my fist at him, not actually wanting to punch my brother. Mason blocks my arm as I expected him to and tries to kick my feet out from underneath me. I grab him, trying to pull him down instead.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Hurt me?” Mason rams us forward into the kitchen table. “Go ahead and try.” He puts his foot between mine and knocks me off balance, but we both go down. “Admit it!” He tries to pin me down, a typical move he always did in our youth. I dodge out of the way and go to stand back up, but he grabs me again, wrestling me back to the ground. “Admit it!” He swats at my face. Now that we’ve started the fight, we’re going to end it, though neither of us wants to actually injure the other. But like hell, I’m just going to roll over and submit.

“Admit what?” I say through gritted teeth as Mason knees me in the gut.

“That.” He swats at me again. “You.” Somehow I get his shoe and start smacking him with it. “Love her!”

The fuck? He knows I’m in love with Chloe? This whole thing was a show just to piss me off, forcing me to admit it. My own brother fucking played me, and I’m not sure yet if I should be mad. Mason takes advantage of my hesitation and knees me in the stomach again, and I hit him once more with his shoe.

“Boys!” Mom’s voice rings out around us. “What the hell is going on?”

I let Mason’s shoe fall from my grasp and look up and see—shit—Chloe.

Chapter Twenty

Chloe

“Hey, Vanessa,” I say when I answer the phone. I close the sliding glass door behind me and am surrounded by the sounds of the night. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, and I’m so sorry to bother you on a Sunday night,” she starts. “I got a quick question for you before I pursue this any deeper.”

“Pursue what?” I walk along the patio, looking past the white picket fence at the barn. The lights are on, and I can hear voices coming from inside. I know Mrs. Harris still has chickens, but I’m not sure what other farm animals they have now that the kids are grown.

“I went out to dinner tonight and just happened to strike up a conversation with a producer. Of course you came up, and to make a long story short, they’re interested in getting you involved in an upcoming show. They’re putting a twist on medieval legends, based on a book written thirty years ago that ended on a huge cliffhanger. The author died before he got to finish it. Basically they want to say the writer of the Nightfall series is continuing the plot as well as tweaking the original to be up to today’s standards of equal representation.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yep,” she laughs. “It’s nothing formal at all at this point, but before I go forward at all, I wanted to see if it’s something you’d be interested in. It would require you to meet in person, probably weekly if not more. I know that takes time away from your novels. And if this does go through, they want to start in January.”

“Wow. That would be an incredible opportunity.” I look out at the woods behind the barn. It would tie me to LA, and I was just thinking about actually coming back home. For good. “Okay, I’m kind of interested to see the formal offer or contract or whatever, but not sold on saying I’m actually interested. Sorry for the non-answer.”

“Don’t be. It was a lot to dump on you, and trust me, it was not what I was expecting to take away from dinner tonight. I’ll get back to the network and we’ll go from there. How’s your write-cation going?”