The Love Script, page 27
Was she sorry now that the media had admitted to their fault in the whole situation? The photographer who’d snapped the infamous photo in the first place had come forward, apologizing for invading our privacy. Then in the same breath, he’d mentioned how he had to feed his family, and photos were always worth money to those interested.
It wasn’t a system that would be fixed anytime soon, but I had made peace with it. I opened a new social media account, a professional one. One where I could share tips for hair and makeup. My personal photos, well, they were on my laptop for me and Lamont to enjoy. No need to share them with the world.
Focus on Monica. “Thank you for your apology.” The words came freely, and I realized that I actually meant them. The apology loosened something inside my chest and released tension from my shoulders.
“I only wish I would have said it sooner.” She shook her head. “No, I wish I hadn’t fired you in the first place.”
“It’s in the past. We can leave it there.” Because I didn’t want to revisit it. Not with a job as a key stylist in my future.
“Thank you for your grace.”
I gave her a genuine smile. We could all use a measure of grace on a daily basis.
“There’s just one more thing before I go.” She leaned forward. “Is it possible you would consider coming back?”
My mouth dropped, but she rushed on.
“Not simply as a stylist but also as a partner.”
“Partner?” I echoed.
“Right. You’d be my business partner and have equal share in the decision-making process.”
“As well as have a chair?”
“Yes.”
Why was my heart pounding so hard? Surely it was the surprise and not . . . intrigue at the possibilities before me. Still, the swallow I tried to take to moisten my mouth and let me speak seemed ineffective. “For real?” I squeaked.
She laughed. “Yes. Don’t give an answer today. But if you could have one by next Monday, that would be great.” She stood and ambled toward the door. “Thanks for talking with me.”
“Sure.”
I locked the door, then turned, leaning against the frame. What had just happened? I’d awoken this morning thinking it would be just more of the same. Instead, I had two incredible job offers, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
What was I supposed to do? I’d always thought a key stylist position was my dream, but honestly, running a salon didn’t sound too shabby either. Maybe it was just the allure of the offer and not really what I wanted. If I went for it, would Monica revert back to her old bossy self or truly treat me as a partner?
I needed to start praying. This was too much for my brain to handle.
“What happened?” Mom asked, coming into the living room.
“Monica offered me a job.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “Is that a good thing?”
“She wants me to be a partner.”
“Are you serious?” Her voice rose a couple of octaves.
I let loose a laugh full of unbelief. This was such a surreal day. “Not only that, but I got a job offer on a new show airing on prime time.”
“Honey, that’s amazing. Is it a steady job?”
“It’s the head stylist position, so I would be running the hair and makeup team.”
“So essentially both opportunities give you time to be in charge?”
“Yes.” I pushed off the door and headed for the kitchen. I needed coffee.
“Do you know what you’re going to do?”
“Nope.” I smacked my lips for extra emphasis and selected a K-Cup pod for the Keurig.
“Which opportunity interests you the most?” she asked.
“The key stylist is all I’ve ever wanted.” I grabbed the cup and headed for the table near the kitchen window. “But co-owning a salon sounds enticing as well.”
“Well, if the stylist position is what you’ve been working toward, shouldn’t you take that?” Mom grabbed the banana bread and held up the loaf. “Want a piece?”
“No, thanks.”
She cut herself a slice while I thought about the question.
“I’m just going to pray that God makes the decision for me. I don’t want to choose the salon just because it’s the new shiny object. And I don’t want to be so closed-minded by feeling like I’ve obtained my dream and choose that because I have tunnel vision. I want to pick the place God wants me to be.”
“Then I’ll pray He makes it clear for you.” She took a bite. “Want to go shopping today? Clear your mind?”
Mom must have forgotten how much I hated shopping, but I knew she was trying. “Um, shopping for what?”
She laughed. “Not clothes shopping. I was thinking of redecorating. Maybe updating the furniture. What do you think?”
I thought I was in shock. She remembered I didn’t like shopping for clothes? “That sounds like it could be fun.”
“Great. Grab your purse, or whatever you need, and let’s go. I’ll drive.”
Fine by me. I hadn’t gotten behind the wheel since the accident two weeks ago and really wasn’t too eager to do so. So far venturing out as a passenger was enough for me.
The sun shined bright in the August day, but it was a little hotter than I’d like. Still, it was nice to be out and about. Lamont said he’d come visit this weekend—Cannon Industries was being more lax about allowing their actors to travel on non-set days—and we’d get a new car for me. I had objected, but he sat me down and explained that he was loaded, and it made no sense for me to spend money I needed to save when he was capable of spending it and not hurting his balance.
I had to admit he made sense, so I finally agreed.
But now I wanted to call him and get his opinion. Only he was on set, so I shot him a text.
Nevaeh
Got two job offers. Key stylist position and partner at The Mane Do.
Lamont
That’s amazing, babe.
Nevaeh
I thought you were on set.
Lamont
Food break. Everyone was starving. They bought hoagies.
Nevaeh
Which one should I pick?
Lamont
What does your gut say?
Nevaeh
Pray.
Lamont
What does your heart say?
Nevaeh
Pray.
Lamont
Have you prayed yet?
I chuckled.
Nevaeh
Yes.
Lamont
Then wait on His answer.
I sighed. He was right. I needed to take the time to let God guide me. It was something I was working on. It’s the reason I had gone to church with Mom—still didn’t care for it, but I’d been able to worship and focus on God. Then I went back to Lamont’s church on my own. A few people actually spoke to me and congratulated Lamont on being honest. They’d even invited us to join their small group. I wasn’t sure if that was something Lamont wanted, but it was nice to be invited.
I probably would always be a little uneasy in a church space. Churches weren’t perfect and weren’t meant to be. Like my mom had told me, they were a place for sinners in need of a Savior and run by redeemed sinners. There were bound to be issues with that combination. But when I took the time to focus on the Lord and not my comforts, it made all the difference in the world.
Lord, thank You for two job offers in one day. I pray that I have the patience to wait on Your answer. I pray I have the ears to hear You clearly. And I pray that I always seek Your guidance first. Amen.
Epilogue
Tuck
It’s a shame I had to read about your engagement online.
Chris
I saw it on The Cheese. You?
Tuck
StarGazer. That’s a nice-size ring you got her. Piper wants to know why you didn’t get a diamond.
Lamont
My girl isn’t a fan of diamonds. Had to go with something that suited her.
Chris
The amethyst looks nice.
Lamont
She thought so.
Tuck
This is Piper. How did you propose?
Lamont grinned. Piper had taken to commandeering Tuck’s phone a lot more to interrupt their chats. But Lamont knew for a fact she and Nevaeh had started their own thread.
Lamont
You didn’t ask Nevaeh already?
Tuck
I did, but she’s not answering. Is she with you?
Lamont squeezed Nevaeh around the waist. “Piper’s asking about how I proposed. Want me to tell her, or are you going to text her?”
She sat up and glanced at his phone, then grinned. “You’ve got more messages.”
Chris
Yes, we all want to know.
Lamont
This is Nevaeh. He’s feeling shy so I thought I’d share how it all went down.
Tuck
I’m all ears, even Tuck, though he’s pretending not to read over my shoulder.
Chris
😂
Lamont
We decided to act like tourists for a day and went to Santa Monica pier. Apparently, he paid the Ferris wheel operator to stop with us on top. As we looked over the skyline, Lamont turned to me and said, “I don’t have a token, a shoe, or dirty cargo pants with a hidden ring. But I do have a heart that’s ready to love you and a ring I hope you’ll love a little less than you’ll love me.”
Chris
A token?
Tuck
While You Were Sleeping proposal scene.
Chris
How do you know that? Oh, wait, Piper, is that still you?
Tuck
No, it’s me, but that was her. She’s crying happy tears. What’s the shoe?
Lamont
Ever After
Chris
And the cargo pants?
Lamont
He’s Just Not That Into You. Geesh. It’s like you two never watch movies.
Tuck
Only the ones Piper makes me. I have seen Ever After but didn’t get that.
Lamont
I did.
Chris
Congrats, you two.
Tuck
Yes, congrats. From me and Piper.
Lamont
Thanks, fellas. From me and Nevaeh.
Acknowledgments
Each time I get to the acknowledgment part of the writing process, I feel so grateful that I have another one to write. There are so many people I want to thank, so please bear with me.
Thanks to my awesome agent extraordinaire. Rachel McMillan, you always know the right things to say when I’m panicking over a story. I’m blessed to have you in my life.
I would love to thank the ladies on my street team. Your help in naming characters and giving me names for some of the gossip magazines is so appreciated. Thank you to Ami Coote, Candy Holbrook, Jaycee Weaver, Gretchen Garrison, Debb Hackett, and Allyson Anthony.
Special thank you to Corrine Lussier and Carrie Schmidt for your invaluable advice on making this story better after reading the first draft. Your support and encouragement got me through days of doubting whether this story was good enough. I appreciate you more than I can say.
Thanks to my brother, Michael Scott, for letting me ask questions about LA and acting. Love you!
Of course, no acknowledgment would be complete without thanking my critique partners. Andrea Boyd and Sarah Monzon, you ladies are awesome, and I love you.
Many thanks to the entire Bethany House Publishers team. You guys blow me away. I’m so thankful for the editing skills of Jessica Sharpe and Kate Deppe, the design team, and everyone else who comes alongside me to make this story a success. Thank you for making my dreams come true.
Last, I’d like to thank my family. Glenn, thank you for putting up with me and my various moods over this story. I appreciate you listening to me vent and supporting me. To my boys, thank you for listening to my playlist in the background over and over until it annoyed you.
one
Ah, summertime in New York City. Could there be anything better? The greenery of the trees made me smile. Unlike others, I was a fan of the heat and thrived under the warmth beaming on me. I wanted to take a moment to soak it all in, but my mother expected punctuality, and I was already ten minutes late. I glanced down at my Apple watch. Okay, fifteen minutes.
As one of NYC’s top pediatric surgeons, my mom had to squeeze me into her fully packed calendar. But when she could, I considered it a win. I bumped into a man in a suit arguing on his Bluetooth and sidestepped a mom pushing her kid in a stroller. Finally, I broke free of the crowd and lengthened my strides.
Nonna’s came into view, and I sighed in relief. The Italian restaurant would most likely be packed at this hour, everyone attempting to grab lunch before heading back to their offices. Fortunately, it was a school holiday, and I didn’t have to worry about rushing. I bounded up the steps of the stone-marble building and through the automatic doors. An air-conditioned breeze welcomed me with a whoosh, and my arms pebbled with goosebumps as I headed for the hostess podium.
“Do you have a reservation?” The cool disdain on the hostess’s face would have put a damper on my mood if it weren’t for the fact that most hostesses in the city had that practiced bored look.
“Yes. It should be under Marie Bayo.” I smiled, hoping kindness would chip away at her bad mood.
She scanned the readout before her. “This way.” She pivoted on her heels and strolled through the busy dining room. As if Moses led her way, the other waitstaff moved, making the aisle clear for her procession. The restaurant was filled with families, businessmen, and couples bonding over Italian dishes.
A nervous energy filled my gut as I followed the hostess to the second dining area. Mom only ate here when she wanted to share important news. No matter how hard I’d tried to think of what she could possibly want to talk about, my ideas fizzled.
The hostess came to a stop and motioned toward a table for two, then made her way back up to the front of the restaurant.
My mother stood, a grin covering her face. “Brielle, I’m so happy to see you.” She wrapped her arms around me.
“Me too.” I returned the hug, resting my chin on her shoulder, and soaked up the contact. Two months had passed since I’d last seen her, but the time seemed to span further. She pulled back and kissed my cheek before breaking the hug altogether.
We stood the same height—five feet five inches—though my mother’s flats put her at a disadvantage to my wedges. Our thin eyebrows (courtesy of great threading), pert noses, and full lips resembled each other’s. But my mother had a great chestnut color to her skin, and mine resembled a lovely shade of espresso. Our long hair did hold the same wave, though mine was black and hers dyed a light brown shade she spent hundreds on in the salon.
I lowered myself into my chair and spread a maroon cloth napkin across my lap. “So what’s the big news?”
My mother’s dark brown eyes flashed before she gave me a no-no signal with her pointer finger. “First, tell me how the end of the year is going. How are your students?” She smiled, the crow’s feet around her eyes crinkling.
I shook my head at her diversion tactics but complied. I loved talking about teaching—the joys and pitfalls of eighth grade civics. “They’re antsy, ready for school to end. Hopefully the Memorial Day holiday will ease some of their jitters.” I sighed. “I can’t wait for our summer vacation.”
Mom laughed. “You just like the beach.”
Understatement of the year. The ocean was my happy place, and our yearly vacation to Martha’s Vineyard centered me. I couldn’t wait to return.
“You do too.” I rested my elbow on the table, propping my chin on my hand. “Have we done enough small talk now? We could have discussed our vacation over the phone.” Not that I didn’t appreciate seeing her face-to-face, but I wanted to know her big news.
A grimace stole across Mom’s face, lines framing her mouth. Her brow wrinkled, marring her smooth skin.
Unease churned my stomach. “What is it?” The words seemed to stick on the unexpected lump in my throat. Was she ill? Her features held no signs of sickness. No pallor. No jaundice. But who was I kidding? I wasn’t the doctor, she was.
“I have a story to tell you, Bri, and I need you to listen without interruption.” Mom licked her lips. “I promise to answer all the questions you have at the end. Can you do that for me?”
I nodded, my heart knocking against a wall of fear. Was it worse than being sick? Was she . . . dying?
“After graduating high school in Jersey, I came to New York to get a college education. To become a doctor. I’d dreamt of being a doctor since I was a child. I used to pretend to heal my dolls and stuffed animals.”
Where was she going with this? I’d heard this tale more times than I could count. My mother enjoyed retelling the story as an example of the importance of perseverance and hard work. It was why she’d encouraged me to be so passionate in my studies growing up. It turned out I didn’t have the fortitude to work around blood like she did, but teaching fit me.
Before she could continue, our server appeared with two glasses of water and their complimentary bread-and-oil platter. He took our drink and entrée orders, then moved on to the next table.
My mother’s gaze met mine. “My studies were all I thought about until I met your father. He didn’t see my dedication to my degree as an obstacle but a challenge.” She paused and reached for the bread plate in the center of the table, dipping a breadstick into the small saucer of herb-infused olive oil.
Her languid movements got under my skin. I wanted her to jump to the point, but no one could rush Marie Bayo.
“Your father believed we could be together and still have enough time to devote to our courses.” A wistful smile curled her lips. “He passed me notes in the classes we shared, took his meals with me, and studied in the library simply because I was there.” She blinked. “Before I knew it, I had fallen in love with Tayo Bayo.”
Her nostalgia and the rhyming of my father’s name brought a smile to my lips. I used to wish my mother had carried on the tradition with me instead of naming me Brielle, but once she told me it meant God is my strength, I’d fallen in love with my name.
