“She’s your editor? Agent?”
“Personal assistant. Lupe is my editor and Vanessa is my agent.”
Dad smiles, looking at me in the way only a proud parent can. “You have people. Too many to keep track of.”
I wave my hand in the air. “It sounds fancier than it actually is.”
“And you’re still modest to boot. We’re all so proud of you, you know. Your picture is still up in City Hall.”
“That’s a horrible picture,” I laugh, knowing exactly which one he’s talking about. Small Town Girl Gets Big Time Publishing Deal is the headline of the newspaper article, with a hastily snapped photo of me holding up my book, smiling like a lunatic. Only Farisha knows I was drunk at the time of the interview and photo. She came over with two bottles of wine, with the intention of choosing one to crack open and drink to celebrate the news.
Of course we drank both, and the reporter from the Silver Ridge Times showed up an hour before I expected him to, though it’s not like an hour would have done me much good after consuming an entire bottle of Shiraz.
“Your most recent headshots are nice,” Dad says. “You look like your mother in a few of them.”
We both smile, hearts aching, and start to walk down the dock. “Maybe I’ll sneak in and tape one of my better photos over that horrible one.”
“The article is in black and white and your photos are in color. No one will notice.”
“See? It’s a solid plan.”
“How’s Charles?” Dad asks. He and Farisha are the only ones outside our little PR bubble who know the truth, and Charles was the one to break down and tell Dad a few Christmases ago after Dad misread Charles’s weird behavior as him being nervous to ask my father’s permission to marry me.
“Busy, but good. They’re wrapping up filming the end of the season and then he’s going right into production for that new action movie you’re excited to see, and yes, he already said he’ll make sure you get to go to the premiere.” I shake my head. “Walk your father down the red carpet once and he gets addicted. I’ve created a monster.”
Dad laughs and rests his hand on my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, Chloe. And I know your mother would be too.”
My eyes prick with tears and my throat tightens. I give a small nod, knowing if I opened my mouth to say something back, my voice would come out all squeaky. Balloon, Dad’s dog, yips excitedly by the gate when we come into view. The dog came with his name, given to him by a three-year-old boy. I’m not sure why the dog was surrendered to the animal shelter, but at five years old, he was used to his name and Dad didn’t have the heart to change it. Shortening it to Ball or Loon didn’t really work, so Balloon it is.
“Hey, buddy,” Dad says, picking up the little dog. I pet him, knowing he won’t calm down until he’s got his greeting in. Yawning, I go right into the kitchen and grab the bottle of Merlot from the counter.
“Please tell me Uber Eats or DoorDash has finally come to Silver Ridge.”
“What is that?”
I raise an eyebrow, letting Dad know I’m not amused. “So that’s a no.”
“Correct, kiddo. But Silver Pizza delivers. I don’t think they’ll put spinach or broccoli on the pizza for you, though,” he teases. Overly stereotyping me as a valley girl is a running joke between us.
“I just do tofu now. On a cauliflower crust.”
“I almost want to be there when you order just to see their faces,” Dad laughs.
“A normal pizza sounds really good right now, actually.”
The front door opens, and Balloon goes running through the kitchen, nails clicking against the wooden floor. A few seconds later Wendy comes bustling into the kitchen, carrying a tray full of baked goods.
“Chloe!” she coos, setting the tray down on the counter. She pulls me into a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you.” She pats my back and lets me go, looking me up and down. “And look at you! I swear you look younger than the last time I saw you. LA has been good to you!”
“It’s the Botox,” I admit with a laugh.
“Take me with you next time!”
“I’ll schedule us a double appointment when you guys come out next.”
“Oh please,” Dad huffs. “Neither of you need that. Especially you, Chloe. You’re only thirty-two.”
I bring my fingers to my forehead. “I had lines, Dad,” I say dramatically.
Dad holds his hands up. “Oh no, not lines! Anything but the lines.”
Wendy laughs and rolls her eyes. “What am I going to do with this one?”
“He’s your problem now, not mine,” I say, laughing as well. “You guys better get going if you want to make it to your reservation in time.”