“So … you’d shoot another series here? In Savannah?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. It won’t work if we shoot it in Omaha.”
“I didn’t know Apple did reality television,” Hattie said.
“They do now. And here’s the thing. It won’t be just a weekly streaming series. They’d want us to do a weekly podcast, and maybe some spin-off DIY videos as we progress. It’s called vertical integration. I’m gonna need a host, too, someone who lives and breathes historic preservation. And who really understands Savannah. Know anyone like that?”
“I do, but I doubt you could afford her.”
Mo touched her chin. “I hear she’s expensive, but worth every penny. So what do you say? Are you willing to dip your pen in the company ink? Will you work with me?”
“With you?”
“As a partner. You’d host and get executive producer credit. We’d have complete creative control with Saving Savannah, and a big-time budget. No more Rebeccas pulling the strings. Oh, and Cass could be your cohost on the show. They like the idea of having Tug on camera too if he’d be comfortable with that.”
“No L.A. designer? No phony romance angle?”
“Definitely no L.A. designer. And the only romance angle would be ours.” He kissed her again.
“What happens to The Homewreckers?”
“I own the franchise,” Mo said. “If, in the off chance it manages to survive the first season, and HPTV wants to re-up for another, they’ll have to buy me out. Unless, of course, you’re looking for a reunion with Trae Bartholomew.”
She shuddered. “No, thanks.”
Hattie reached for her wineglass and took a sip. “Can I think about it?”
“You really enjoy breaking my balls, don’t you?” Mo said plaintively. “I drive all the way here from L.A. to tell you my news, and you still need to think about it?”
“You drove here?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I’ll admit when I hit Amarillo I started having second thoughts. I pulled into a truck stop and got a solid five hours’ sleep. I was gonna stop in Oklahoma City, but then I got my second wind and just kept going.”
“That’s insane. Why would you do that? You didn’t even know if I’d say yes. I don’t even know if I’ll say yes.”
“I need you to believe in me, Hattie. Believe in us. Can you do that?”
She took a step away, needing some distance from this man who somehow kept drawing her into his schemes and his dreams.
“I wish I could,” she said. “But what if none of this works? Mo, I finally got to the point where I think I could be okay with my life as it is. Earlier today, Cass told me that all the clocks stopped in this house the day Hank died, and she was right.”
Mo looked around the room, at the bucket of mortar mix on the floor, and the box of tile on the granite kitchen counter. “The last time I was here you had plywood countertops. That’s progress, right?”
“Yeah. I’ll probably never not miss Hank, but I’m done grieving him. I’ve got my work, my dog, friends. And that’s enough for me. But it’ll never be enough for you. You’ll shoot a show and then you’ll be on to your next great project. And I’ll be here, alone, another broken clock.” She shook her head violently. “I can’t do that again. I won’t.”
He raked his hands through his hair, then grabbed her hand. “Okay, that’s it. You’re coming with me.”
“Where?” Hattie asked, alarmed, as he steered her through the living room, with Ribsy following behind, barking in excitement. Mo opened the door and pointed at the dog. “You stay here.”
They were on the porch and then standing in the driveway, where a silver Audi was parked. Mo opened the passenger door and the dome light flickered on.
Hattie leaned forward to peer inside. The seat was full of taped-up boxes. His messenger bag was tossed on the floor along with a jumble of tennis shoes. He pointed to the back seat, which was loaded with golf clubs, suitcases, a garment bag, more boxes, and a slightly wilted potted palm tree.
“What’s all this?”
“This is approximately half my life, or all of it that would fit. The rest is in storage. I’ve leased my condo to a guy, with an option to buy.”
He reached for her, sliding his arms around her waist. “This is me, telling you, Hattie Kavanaugh, that I am all in. It’s me promising you no more fake drama and no more stopped clocks. It’s me promising more bickering, more impossible deadlines, but also more fun. And more great sex.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then, finally, his lips found hers again.