Hannah pressed it back against her grandmother’s chest. “You will. Henry would have wanted it.” She swallowed around the sharp object in her throat. “I feel confident saying that now. Before . . . I wouldn’t have. But his songs helped me know him, understand him better . . . and family was his life.” She smiled. “This is a good thing, Opal.”
Her grandmother sighed, and the last bit of resistance left her. “He would have been so damn proud of you.”
“I hope so,” Hannah said, pressing a wrist to her burning nose. “Now let’s get the rest of those curlers out. You’ve got some cash to burn through.”
*
Half an hour later, Hannah was back on set, still hugged by the warm glow.
She wrapped her arms around her trusty clipboard, enjoying the feel of it against her chest, knowing today would be her last day as a production assistant. She’d been right to start at the bottom and learn the ropes, but that time was coming to a definitive close. Propping other people up was something she’d always do naturally, because she loved being supportive. But career-wise? It was time to support herself, too, and go after what she wanted next. To chase the high she’d gotten by creating art on her own terms.
The entire crew crowded into one half of Cross and Daughters. On the other side of the bar Hannah had renovated with Piper, lights beat down on Christian and Maxine, capturing their final scene in the movie. One that Sergei, true to form, had written into the script at the last second, wanting to maximize the new soundtrack. There had been no plan to shoot at Cross and Daughters, but thankfully, Hannah technically owned half the bar. She’d called Piper for permission, either way, and her sister would be stopping by shortly to serve drinks to the celebrating crew.
In the scene building to a crescendo in front of Hannah, Christian and Maxine were dancing palm to palm, happiness and hope slowly transforming their features. Their movements grew more joyful. Less restrained. It would be in slow motion, Hannah knew, and it would be a perfect way to leave the audience.
After two more takes, Sergei yelled, “Cut!” He hopped out of his director’s chair and high-fived the closest boom mic guy. “That’s a wrap.”
Everyone cheered.
Christian dropped character faster than a speeding bullet. “Who has my coffee? Hannah?”
She waved at him. Waited until he looked relieved, then gave him the finger.
His laughter filled the bar.
Still, she was in the process of taking pity on the actor and delivering his cold brew once more for old time’s sake when Sergei stepped into her path. “Hannah. Hey.” Did he seem almost . . . nervous? “I just wanted to say again how much grain the new score is adding to the film. It wouldn’t have been the same without the songs. Or this place.” He laughed. “You almost had as much to do with the movie as I did—and I’m the one who wrote and directed it.”
A nostalgic fondness for the director made her smile. “And you did a great job, Sergei. It’s going to be your best work yet.”
“Yes, thank you.” He hesitated. “You’ve already given notice, and I respect that. It’s obvious you’re ready for bigger and better things, but I’ll regret not asking one more time if you’ll accept a higher position. Since Brinley appears to be keeping her word about quitting, someone has to step in as music coordinator.”
A month ago, she would have had to pinch herself, thinking she’d been hit by a bus and was approaching the pearly gates. A huge part of her was thrilled beyond belief that she’d proven herself enough to warrant this kind of offer. She just couldn’t take it. Not only because she wanted to make things work with Fox, but because she’d loved working for herself. Discovering a band, being part of the process, coming up with a vision, and seeing it through. She planned to continue in her newfound leading-lady role.
“Thank you, but this is going to be my last project,” she said. “I don’t think I would have discovered what I really wanted to do without Storm Born. The experience has been invaluable, but I’m moving on.”
“And moving out of LA, too, I’m guessing.” His chagrin turned down the corners of his mouth. “For the fisherman.”
“Yes.” Once again, she had to suppress the scary doubt that marched into her stomach like stormtroopers. “Yes, for Fox.”
Sergei made an unhappy sound. “You’ll let me know if anything changes. Career-wise or personally?”
She wouldn’t.