Next to him, holding his hand is a robust man probably in his mid-fifties. He’s the first overweight person I’ve seen in L.A., and there’s no hiding his receding hairline. The two of them seem like a mismatched pair, but by the way they’re beaming at each other, it’s obvious they’re in love.

“Warren, behave,” Will warns, rising to shake hands. “This is Miss Ivy Thompson, the muse who sparks my colorful imagination.”

“Ignore him, Ivy. My husband has a vampire fetish that’s pretty ingrained.” The older one, who I assume is Dave, takes my hand and kisses it. “It’s lovely to meet such a fine young lady.”

“No wonder you weren’t answering my texts, Will,” Warren scolds, sitting primly beside him. “I can see why you were distracted.”

“What texts?” Will appears puzzled. Not a good sign.

“The ones about the investor meeting us here. She’s coming directly from the airport,” Dave responds like he’s used to answering questions addressed to his husband.

“What’s her name?” I ask Dave in order to prevent Will from shutting me out of the conversation.

“See, that’s the thing. We don’t know. She wanted to keep things hush hush in case there’s a lawsuit pending. She works for a venture capitalist in New York. Her boss got wind of the project and had her contact us anonymously. It’s an unorthodox approach, but we investigated the firm and it’s legit. If they’re willing to pony up a few million dollars, we don’t care if they want to communicate with a secret decoder ring. Having a financial cushion is imperative with the risks associated with this project. But I think we’re going to bite the bullet and produce this film because what you’ve come up with so far is phenomenal.” Dave pats my shoulder before shaking out his napkin and placing it on his lap.

“You know that I wrote it?” I stare at him in amazement.

“Will’s not that smart,” Warren deadpans.

“Hey!” Will interjects.

“Honey, you are incredibly nice to look at, but you can’t even compose a coherent email much less an entire script. You can’t blind us with your charms, darling. You’re not that good of an actor.” Warren rests his chin in his hand to gaze adoringly at Will.

Will’s face turns scarlet. He’s mad, sure. But I know how he really is. He might be humoring Warren and Dave when it comes to advancing his career, but there’s no way in hell that he enjoys having a grown man ogle him in public. Will hates being considered a pretty boy. He must get hit on by guys all the time out here—but to have me witness it is another story. He must be ready to spit nails.

Warren’s iPhone chimes on the table and Dave picks it up, breaking the tension.

“She’s here,” Dave remarks. “Damn, I so wanted to order a soy latte before she arrived. I hate to talk business before my third cup of the day.”

“I’ll make sure you get it, Davey. Just hang in there a little longer,” Warren murmurs, patting Dave’s hand.

“Yeah, Davey. Hang in there. I assure you that what I have to say won’t take long.”

My jaw hits the floor when I recognize the voice of the person standing behind me. I make a move to turn around, but familiar hands land on my shoulders, anchoring me in place.

For the first time in his life, Will looks scared.

“You must be…” Dave begins.

“Lauren Price from LPR and Associates.”

At the mention of her name, Warren gasps, instantly making the connection, and I cringe as she digs her red fingernails into my jacket.

I should’ve known she’d be out for blood.

Eric

It’s mid-afternoon and still no word from Ivy.

I’ve left so many messages with the front desk that the receptionist told me to stop calling. I flooded Will’s inbox with emails. I tried Ivy’s cell number to check if her new phone was up and running, but it’s not. I’m at my wit’s end. Something’s up. I can feel it.

To take my mind off things, I decided to leave Ben in charge of the last two hayrides and asked my dad to ring up any purchases before locking up for the night. It’s better if I just go home. I’m only driving everyone nuts at the garden center, yelling at kids for getting underfoot and smashing a row of pumpkins after mistakenly throwing the tractor in reverse. I’m running on empty after what turned out to be a very long night. I couldn’t fall sleep, not without Ivy beside me. I’m used to having her pressed up against me. A balled-up pillow just doesn’t cut it.

Shep whines at my feet, and I give him a quick scratch behind the ears. He’s the only one who can put up with me when I get like this. He’s seen me at my worst, so this little episode is nothing for him. Ivy’s alive. She’s fine. I just have to keep telling myself that and calm the fuck down.

I’m able to function better if I stay busy and keep my mind occupied, so I head to the woodshed out back. It was my refuge from the world during those long and lonely months when I was working on the house. I started something new a little while ago and I want to make sure I finish it before Ivy returns. It’s part of the surprise I plan on giving her when she gets back.

I smooth a strip of sandpaper over the solid oak surface, making sure to remove any trace of a splinter. I test the rockers again and they move easily, not too little, not too much. All I have to do is apply the special non-toxic varnish and it’ll be all set—the crib for our baby.

I just wish I could forget what happened to the last one I built.

It was the night of Cassidy’s death. I was alone with a bottle of whiskey sitting in the bare bones of our house while the rain was pouring outside. I couldn’t believe that she was actually gone and that our baby would never get the chance to live. I was so mad I couldn’t see straight. I barreled up the planks serving as a temporary staircase and charged into the shell of a room that was to be the nursery. I trudged through a thick pile of sawdust and grabbed the crib. It was placed in the middle of the floor, awaiting the baby it would never hold.

Rushing back downstairs, I hurled it with all my might against the stone fireplace, dashing it to pieces. But that wasn’t enough. Even though it was July, I worked frantically to get a fire going in the hearth. It was dangerous to strike a match around so much untreated wood, especially with the wind raging through the chimney, but I didn’t care. I’d never get to bury my child. Cassidy’s womb would serve as its final resting place. I had to make some kind of offering to show how much I’d lost.

It didn’t take long to get a good blaze going even with the rain trickling down the eaves. I was like a madman, determined to finish the job. The elements of nature were not going to stand in my way. I was beyond them now, in a hell of my own making.

I picked up the broken shards of the crib and tossed them one by one into the fire. My chest constricted when I saw the border of flowers I’d engraved burst into flames. I was going to explain to our baby what I did for a living by tracing its pudgy fingers over the carvings of the rose and the daisy next to the tulip and the sunflower. So many hours of love went into the creation of that crib. I’d poured my heart and soul into it. That’s where our baby was going to dream sweet dreams and grow into a strong and healthy toddler. Cassidy and I were going to keep it beside our bed, ready to respond at the first hint of a whimper.

I cast a long shadow as I stood there and watched it burn. My tears mixed with the soot on my face, making me feel like a gravedigger of a different variety. I was accustomed to cultivating life and watching things grow. I had no idea how to handle being on the opposite end of the spectrum, glorying in the death and destruction of everything I held dear.

In that moment, I came to a stark realization. I needed a break. I was on the brink of diving into a deep, dark place I wasn’t sure I’d ever get out of. If I’d willingly jumped into the abyss, there’d be no saving me. I would have been lost forever. If I’d ended my life out of despair, I’d forever be separated from Cassidy and our baby, in this life and the next. I couldn’t give up on the possibility of one day being reunited with them in heaven. I’m not an overly religious guy but I knew I’d never forgive myself for going down a path of self-destruction, no matter how much I just wanted the pain of life to stop.