A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2)

by Jennifer Probst

  But right now, he reminded her of the old Kyle.

  If he asked again, would she be able to fight him? Maybe not. Because nothing had ever been as good as being loved by Kyle Kimpton.

  He seemed to sense her struggle and allowed her to retreat. The knife flashed as he expertly attacked the potatoes. “I never looked at it like that. Age changes our perspective. The things we imagined we hated are the same ones to fulfill us now. Quite a conundrum.”

  “Ah. Pulling out the big writer words, huh?” she teased.

  “Just making sure you haven’t gotten lazy with your vocabulary,” he said.

  “Smart ass.”

  He grinned and placed the meat into the marinade to season. “What time do the troops come?”

  “An hour. They like to have a cocktail and pick on cheese and crackers before we serve.” He started laughing, and she glanced up in puzzlement. “What’s so funny?”

  “Remember that big party we went to at that producer’s house?”

  “We attended too many; they all blur together,” she said.

  “No, the very first one. The producer with the fetish for naked Greek statues—remember they were all over his property? He said he wanted me to write for him, and we had to meet the team.”

  She gasped. “The party with all the cheese!”

  He broke into more laughter. “Yes—the cheese. We were so excited—thought we’d be feasting on caviar and crab cakes and champagne—”

  “And we were starved because we’d skipped dinner.”

  “We started looking around frantically for the cocktail servers, but there was only drinks and a table filled with cheese,” he said.

  “And crackers! I thought Hollywood despised carbs, but there must’ve been a hundred different crackers and cheeses laid out—and nothing else.” She shook her head.

  God, they’d been so young.

  “I can’t believe we drank all that champagne on an empty stomach.”

  “Well, no one was eating the cheese! We would’ve looked gauche if we began tearing into the stuff. It was only there for show.”

  “And then I got sick.” She groaned at the memory. “The bathroom was so nice, too. Chandeliers and carpeting and pure marble counters. But all I saw was the fancy toilet.”

  “I felt terrible. I should’ve demanded a PB and J for you.”

  His serious tone made her laugh harder. “I felt terrible for you. Besides holding my hair back as I puked, we had to leave early. You missed the opportunity to schmooze with the team.” She’d been racked with guilt when he hadn’t gotten that job, always believing she was at fault.

  His voice was whisper soft. “I didn’t care. I had everything that mattered.” He paused. “I had you.”

  The breath stuck in her lungs. On cue, the air tightened and hummed with a wicked surge of electricity and awareness. Her entire being ached to cross the kitchen and walk into his arms. It would be like going home again.

  Would he still taste like coffee and peppermint? Would his body still fit against hers in perfect symmetry? Would his lips and tongue still plunder her mouth with the same passion and intimacy, building her up toward a shattering release?

  Yes.

  But it was too late. She had to keep reminding herself that their time had passed and that, sometimes, there was no going back. If she tried, she might get stuck again—and she’d never be able to survive a second heartbreak.

  Ripping her gaze away, she concentrated on mixing the eggs and butternut squash with the flour mixture, carefully blending wet into dry.

  “I found two lawyers that may work for the divorce,” she said, keeping her tone light. “I’ll send them over. I left messages for them to call me back Monday.”

  “Are they in California?”

  “Yes. My research shows we can do most of it through the mail, with some conference calls.”

  He didn’t answer, just spent long moments concentrating on his task.

  She shifted her weight and spoke again. “I know you’re working on the screenplay, but this is important. We need to have things in motion before you leave. So if you don’t pick a lawyer quickly, I will.”

  He grunted. “I don’t know what the rush is. Not like we’re looking to marry someone else. Right?”

  She ignored the warning in his voice. “This time I want the official papers in hand. As long as we both work together, there shouldn’t be any reason the process won’t go smoothly. I mean, for all intents and purposes, we’re divorced. We just need to file the paperwork and make it legal.”

  “Is that how you look at it?” He regarded her intently, hip cocked, his shirt emphasizing the carved muscles of his chest. One stray golden lock fell stubbornly past his eyebrow. Those lips tightened in irritation.

  She ignored his body language and plunged ahead. “Of course. I’m viewing it like a bankruptcy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A bankruptcy. Let’s say you lose all your money and become destitute. Your credit is wiped out, and you have to deal with the emotional fallout of shame, devastation, and wondering what you could have done differently. You go to court, file the papers, go home, and move forward. After a few years, you rebuild your credit and become financially stable again. If you’re contacted by a lawyer and told the actual bankruptcy papers never went through so, legally, there was no bankruptcy, does that change the outcome? No, because you’ve already gotten past the hard stuff. You’ve already grieved over having no money and left it behind. It’s just paperwork that wasn’t filed correctly. Emotionally, it means nothing. Get it?”

  Her eyes widened when he carefully placed the pan down and stalked across the room. She had no time to retreat, no time to emotionally prepare. Within seconds, he was just there, towering over her, pinning her hips against the countertop, raking his gaze over her face as if memorizing every one of her features for his dreams tonight.

  “Wanna know how I see it?” he drawled.

  She cleared her throat and frowned. “No. Why are you so close? Go back over there.”

  “See, I may have gone through all the emotion of losing my money, but somehow, deep inside, I still hoped the whole thing was one big mistake. I still dreamed I’d get a second chance at getting it right.” His hand lifted as if to stroke her hair, then fell back to his side. Sexy scruff clung to his jaw and outlined his lips like a frame for an erotic picture. “So when I get that call that there was no bankruptcy, my ass is going out to purchase one sweet red sports car.”

  She tried to pretend his close presence wasn’t bothering her. “That’s not a good idea. It’s the type of action that got you in trouble in the first place!”

  His lower lip quirked. “Yeah, but now I know exactly how to drive it. Now I know how to pay for it.” His breath whispered against her lips, and her body shuddered with want. “I learned my lessons. It’s not about want or greed or impulsiveness.” She stared in total fascination, transfixed by those simmering green eyes. “It’s about care. Love. Patience. This time, I can get it right.”

  The ground tilted under her feet. Helplessly caught in a spell, her body craved closer contact, ached for his touch—just one time. She moved an inch closer, her arms lifting to grip his biceps for balance. He muttered something under his breath, then lowered his head and—

  “We’re here!” a voice shouted from the other room. “We’re early, but we figured we’d come help you. No arguments this time!”

  Kyle stepped back. Ophelia’s arms fell to her sides.

  “Are you in the kitchen?” Mia called out again. “I brought some cream puffs from the Market so you don’t have to make dessert and—oh, Kyle. Hi! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you already have help.” Mia swung her gaze back and forth, as if sensing the tension in the room.

  Kyle had retreated. He didn’t fully turn to face her, just called out a hello from behind the counter.

  Ophelia suspected why.

  Pasting on a smile, she gave Mia a hug. “You didn’t have to bring
dessert—I was going to bake that apple crumble you like.”

  “And you have a weakness for cream puffs, and I wanted to bring something you love today. Kyle, were you recruited to help, or did you volunteer?”

  “Volunteered all the way. A real man knows his way around a kitchen. Too bad you got stuck with Ethan.”

  “I do other things that are more fun,” Ethan shot back from behind Mia. “You probably just peeled potatoes anyway—or did you actually prepare something?”

  Kyle grunted. “Wait till you see my meat. I’ll hear your apology then.”

  “Your meat never impressed me, dude.”

  Mia burst into laughter. “Do you always descend into adolescence when you get together?”

  “It’s Kyle’s fault. Ugh, why are you listening to Broadway crap? Alexa, play Radiohead.”

  Her Echo halted the stirring ballad of “All I Ask of You” from Phantom of the Opera and began belting out loud guitars and low, whiny song lyrics. Kyle began banging his head as he finished up the potatoes, and Ethan dove into a disturbing imitation of Guitar Hero moves.

  Mia gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll set the table while you finish up. Harper’s on her way.”

  “We’re starving,” Ethan yelled above the music. “Harper better get here fast—we had no time for lunch driving back from Manhattan. I hope you have a ton of cheese.”

  Ophelia pressed her lips together and met Kyle’s glance across the room.

  Then they both burst into laughter.

  In under an hour, they were seated at the carved pine table, passing around steaming platters, bread baskets, and wine. Mia forked up a piece of buttery quiche and let out an appreciative moan. “Superb,” she announced.

  Kyle gave a snort. “Still not going to beat my meat and potatoes. I’ll take a poll of everyone’s favorite dish after dinner to see who wins.”

  Ophelia shook her head. “Just as competitive as ever. Do you still throw a tantrum when you lose?”

  Ethan laughed. “She’s got you there, man. You didn’t talk to me for three days after I kicked your ass in that 3K race.”

  “And you accused me of hiding tiles when I won our Scrabble tournament,” she pointed out. “Mom used to say—”

  “‘Take a breath and take it outside if you’re gonna be a sore loser,’” Harper cut in, grinning. “Remember when Kyle insisted I screwed up the envelope in Clue when he announced Colonel Mustard did it, but he was wrong and got eliminated?”

  Kyle groaned. “Really? My first family dinner back in a decade and you’re giving me shit over some dumb games?”

  “Got a lot to make up for,” Ethan said, sliding a piece of pork onto his plate. “Do you pout when your characters don’t do what you want?”

  Kyle gave him the middle finger, and they all laughed.

  “How’s the writing going?” Mia asked.

  “It was slow at first, but I’m starting to break through. It takes me a while to really get into the guts of the story, then it’s easier to tweak and revise.”

  “What is it about?” Harper asked.

  The words popped out of Ophelia’s mouth automatically. “Kyle never shares the details of the story until the first draft is done.”

  “How come?” Mia asked.

  “This may sound weird, but if I talk it out too much, the story loses its mystery and I stop wanting to write it. Made that mistake with a few ideas that died on the vine. My muse probably strangled them to death—she’s a demanding mistress. Doesn’t like me to tip our hand too soon.”

  “Remember when you told me that amazing conspiracy plot where the best friend’s lover—”

  “Was the killer?” Kyle finished. “Holy crap, that would’ve won me an Academy Award. But I told Ophelia the whole thing and then, no matter how hard I tried to write it, nothing came. I worked on that thing for six months and couldn’t dredge up a decent scene.”

  Mia leaned forward in obvious curiosity. “So you’ve been writing since you were very young?”

  “Yeah, sometimes I feel like I was born with a pen in my hand. Been writing as long as I could remember.”

  “Figured he’d make it big,” Ethan said, pride carved on his face. “He won a national writing award in high school, and always had his sights on the movies. Mr. Fancy Pants.”

  “Fancy, huh? I remember you showing up for some of those parties dressed in your sparkling duds, too. You were quite the beefcake in Tinseltown.”

  “You did not just call me a beefcake.”

  Mia grinned. “Oh yes, he did. You don’t happen to have any pics of Ethan in his Hollywood finery, do you, Kyle?”

  Ethan shot him a warning glare. “No, he does not.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He whipped out his phone, scrolled through a few screens, then passed it around the table, ignoring Ethan’s murderous glance.

  Mia clapped a hand over her mouth. “Are you wearing a white tux, babe?” she murmured. “You look so . . . Redford.”

  Harper hooted with laughter. “He looks like he’s going to prom!”

  Ethan muttered a curse and ripped open a biscuit with leashed savagery. “Oh, you just wait, Kimpton. I got some stuff to show on you—and all bets are off.”

  “Now who’s being a sore loser?”

  Mia gave the phone back and stroked his shoulder, soothing her beast. “I think you looked hot.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ll show you later how much,” she whispered, causing a chorus of groans around the table.

  Ethan grinned and relaxed back in his chair, shooting Kyle a sympathetic look.

  “Can you at least tell us the genre?” Harper asked. “’Cause I love the twisty stuff you write, plus the car crashes. They’re spectacular.”

  “Thanks! This one is a bit more mainstream than my other stuff,” he said. “I’m trying something different.”

  “Psychological thriller? Sci-fi?” Harper asked.

  His aura screamed unease, making Ophelia even more curious about the real subject of his screenplay.

  “It’s a love story,” he finally said.

  “Oh, like a funny chick flick?” Mia asked.

  He looked up from his plate, his jaw clenched with resolution. “No, much deeper. Bigger.”

  Harper nodded. “Like Nicholas Sparks? Where someone dies, or a great love is lost, and the audience files out in hysterics?”

  “Sort of. But no one will die.”

  “Good. I hate sad endings,” Harper said. “Will there be a dog or a horse in it as a best friend? Putting a rescue animal in a movie could be huge for the publicity of shelters.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Kyle said with a smile.

  “Why do you want to change genres?” Mia asked. “Do you feel like you need to do something different? Or is there a reason why you want to tell this particular story?”

  Suddenly, his gaze swiveled and crashed into Ophelia’s. Heat blasted her veins, and her family faded to the background under the sheer intensity emanating from him.

  His voice was a deep rumble of sound, but even as he answered Mia’s question, Ophelia knew the words were meant for her. “I’ve been dead blocked for almost a year. Each time I tried to write a new screenplay, I couldn’t deliver. I was unable to write anything until I sat up in bed one night and knew I had to write this particular story—a story stripped down to the bone. No villains or car crashes or plot twists. Just a movie about two people falling in love and losing each other, and how that type of loss can affect a person’s entire life.”

  “Will they get together in the end?” Mia asked.

  Kyle paused. “I don’t know yet. I have to follow the story to figure out the ending.”

  Mia nodded. “Well, don’t forget one important thing that too many people overlook, especially with second chances.”

  “What?” Kyle asked.

  Mia gave them both a pointed look. “Forgiveness. Nothing can be truly resolved without it.”

  Silence fell.
/>   Ophelia tried to hide her shaky fingers by fiddling with her napkin.

  Was Kyle writing a story about them? And how did she feel about him penning that particular tale from his own viewpoint?

  Questions whirled in her mind, but she forced herself to pin a smile on her face and redirect the conversation.

  “Well, that sounds interesting. Harper, how was the auction? Did you pick up any new horses?”

  “No, thank God. All the horses got picked up and went to good owners. Anyone know when Chloe is coming for a visit? Chloe’s Pride misses her.”

  “Who’s Chloe?” Kyle asked, adding a generous portion of seconds to his plate.

  Mia broke into a joyous smile. “She’s the New York City mayor’s daughter. I was his PR representative. Over the summer, Chloe stayed here at the inn and helped with the horses. She’d gotten into some trouble at college and was mandated community service on the horse farm. I was her guardian.”

  “That’s how Mia and I met,” Ethan said, giving her a wink. “She came to Gardiner in these sexy heels and stole my heart.”

  Mia punched his arm. “Liar! He thought I was a spoiled, silly city girl who couldn’t cut it on the farm. Of course, I didn’t think very highly of him, either, so it was an epic battle.”

  “But you fell in love with me, and we both won,” Ethan said.

  Kyle made gagging noises. Harper cracked up.

  Mia rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Chloe will be here in a few weeks. She can stay the night and have dinner with us on Sunday.”

  “That’d be nice,” Ethan said. “She already texted me about her new boyfriend. Did you see his pic on Instagram? I want to meet him.”

  Mia gasped. “I didn’t see it yet! I can’t believe she shared that with you first!”

  Ethan shrugged. “We’re tight. Alternative music lovers unite.”

  Kyle shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “Damn, dude, you’ve changed. Thank God it’s all for the good. Now, are we going to vote or not? What was your favorite dish?”

  Ophelia groaned. “Is this really necessary?”

  “You’re just afraid of losing.”

  “Oh yeah? And what do I get if I win?”

  He seemed to ponder her question with seriousness. “If you win, I’ll do all the cleanup tonight.”