Starting a business from scratch is tough. There are so many initial costs and investments that need to be made in order to get it going. I had to buy the land. I had to purchase an inventory. Most things I can grow myself, but not everything. I’d love to increase the size of my staff, but I can’t afford the payroll taxes accompanying every new hire. I pay Jack under the table whenever he can moonlight for me, and my dad does the books for free in his spare time. Things are tight, but I’m hanging in there.

I guess the last time around I was so consumed with Cassidy’s deteriorating health that I wasn’t paying attention to how expensive having a kid really is. Cassidy’s parents helped out with a lot, and I had a little nest egg after I sold my grandma’s farm. It was going to tide us over until life got back to normal, but it never did.

Now I kind of wish I hadn’t built this house right away. I didn’t have to have the finest quality wood for the closets or the top-of-the-line bluestone for the fireplace. I could’ve kept things simple, but I didn’t. Building this house was what kept me alive after Cassidy died. It was my love letter to her, and I wanted nothing but the best inside and out. I was consumed in finishing it, wrapped up in the project for months. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I sawed, hammered, and drilled until my fingers bled, blowing through what little I’d inherited from my grandma in the process. I didn’t sock any money away for a rainy day. Instead, I used it to hide out from the world.

So I feel like a dick since I can’t provide for Ivy and the baby the way I want to, the way they deserve. Sure, she likes working with Will on the screenplay. She’s doing what she loves and what she’s good at, but the chances of it turning into something are slim to none. There’s not a lot of money in independent filmmaking. The budgets are a fraction of what is spent on major blockbusters. Some indies are even bankrolled through fan contributions on fundraising websites. Investors are lucky to break even since the audience for these types of movies is relatively small. The only chance of hitting it big is by building a word-of-mouth following at one of the major film festivals. Only then does an independent film have a shot to break into the mainstream come Oscar time. At least, that’s how Ivy explained it to me.

I’m not even sure if Will is giving her credit for her work or if she’s just writing under his name. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s using her for all she’s worth, not expecting to pay her a dime if the movie’s successful. She hasn’t signed any type of contract, and while there’s an email trail of correspondence between the two of them, he’d probably deny that she had any involvement if the project takes off. He’ll most likely pay her a small lump sum to keep her quiet and that’ll be it. He’ll pocket the rest.

I feel like I’m sending Ivy into a den of thieves to get bamboozled by a bunch of Hollywood bigwigs. She’s a young girl with an extraordinary amount of talent. She doesn’t have an agent. She doesn’t have a lawyer. All she has is me. And it would gut me if they take advantage of her out there. Yeah, Will’s paying for her flight and her hotel room, but that’s about it. The whole thing doesn’t sound too promising.

I haven’t read the script yet. Ivy won’t let me until it’s done. She says she feels weird about me seeing her unfinished work. But I read all her articles in the Independent Gazette and she was fine with that. I was always stoked to see her byline whenever I opened the paper. It was cool to actually know the writer. Check that—love the writer.

I look at her now as we get inside my truck to drive to the airport. I can’t help remembering our first ride together, bringing a container of gas to her stranded car after it had died on the dirt road leading to the garden center.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I’ve already kept you waiting for forty-five minutes. You must have a million things you have to do.” Ivy glances at me anxiously.

“True, but I want to,” I respond, giving her a wink. “It seems like your day’s been bad enough as it is. The last thing I’m going to have you do is lug this heavy container out there by yourself. C’mon, get in.”

“But you already gave me a pair of shoes. I can’t keep taking without giving something back in return.” She pouts as she hops up next to me on the seat. I take a second to enjoy the moment. A girl hasn’t ridden next to me in quite some time.

“Are you forgetting that the whole thing was my dog’s fault? We’re even as far as I’m concerned.” I crank the ignition and the engine roars to life. Shep, hearing the sound of the truck, comes running with the heel of Ivy’s shoe in his mouth. “See what I mean?”

She takes one look at Shep and loses it. She’s laughing so hard that she’s practically crying. There’s something about her laugh that makes me want to join in. We’re cracking up as Shep gets more and more annoyed that I’m taking someone else for a ride and not him. He jumps up on the passenger door, hanging his paws over the window, making us laugh even harder.

“Oh, the poor thing. I stole his seat.” She reaches out to give him a scratch behind the ears. He usually doesn’t let people touch his head, but he seems to like Ivy. And I kinda like her too.

“C’mon, boy. Get down. We can’t stay here all day.” Shep heeds my command, lowering his tail. I don’t often yell at him, but his manners today have been atrocious even though Ivy’s been cool about it. I know I wouldn’t mind staying parked with Ivy from now until eternity. But I don’t think she’d appreciate that. She’s been sweet and polite, humoring me and my crazy dog, but she probably can’t wait to get out of here.

“Bye, Shep!” Ivy waves to him as we pull away. She reaches back to look at him over her shoulder and her hand unexpectedly lands on my leg. “Oops, sorry.” Her face flushes as she quickly pulls it away.

I can’t speak for a full five seconds. My dick immediately went hard at her touch. Her fingers were so tantalizingly close. I clear my throat and try to change the subject. “I can’t believe Lauren sent you all the way out here just to pick up a disk. I could’ve dropped it in the mail.” At the mention of Lauren’s name, Ivy’s face drops, but it buys me some time to collect myself—not like that’s going to help matters as I catch a whiff of her perfume. I clutch the wheel until my knuckles turn white. She has no idea what she’s doing to me right now as the bumps in the road cause her breasts to bounce against her camisole.

“No, it’s okay. I had to run an errand at the movie theater first, but that was a bust,” she shrugs, and I nearly come undone at her choice of words. Ever since I laid eyes on her, all I can think about is sex—and what it would be like with her.

“Why, what happened?” I try to appear interested, and I am, but she’s so damn distracting. The way her body moves. The way she touched me. The way she smells. All of my senses are heightened.

“I was supposed to pick up the payment for their ad, but I struck out. Now Lauren’s going to go nuclear on my ass because the whole upcoming edition revolves around the film festival. It might be too late to change it.” She fiddles with her skirt as I pull up alongside her car.

“Yeah, I heard they’re not doing so well over there. People around here are so used to watching movies at home. The theater’s only been open for a few months. We had a pretty bad winter and no one wanted to make the trek into town on those cold and snowy nights. But now that summer’s here, they need to be reminded that it’s there.” I lean back, straining against my jeans to reach for the wallet in my back pocket. “I’m a huge movie buff and I don’t want to see it fail. I like being able to see a film on the big screen. There’s nothing better. Tell me how much they owe the Gazette and I’ll foot the bill. The arts need as much support as they can get.”