Page 38 of The Bodyguard's Fall

“My dad and I are actually pretty good now. I talk to him every so often. It’s been ten years. We’ve all moved on. I’m over it, but it’s still hard to…” I trailed off, feeling a disconcerting sting in the back of my eyes.

Tate kindly looked out the window for a moment while I composed myself. I had just pulled the blank notebook back on my lap when he spoke again.

“Alright, I’ve got an idea,” he said as he pulled into a parking lot in front of a store called United Ag and Turf and parked.

“What do we need here?” I asked, motioning to the store.

“We’re picking up a pallet of twine. Then I’m taking you to lunch. And then I’m going to help you write your screenplay.”

A knot formed in my stomach.

“Oh, we can just grab something through a drive-thru. I’m sure you need to get back.”

“I’m fine. I know a good place to eat here.” He gave me a pointed stare—a challenge.

“Really, we don’t need to⁠—”

“It’s for our cover.”

I gave him a look. “It is not.”

“Rawlins, I’ll keep a watch out the whole time,” he said softly.

The whole idea of sitting in an actual restaurant, complete with air conditioning and a waiter who brought food and endless drinks, felt so luxurious. So swanky.

So out in the open.

“Come on, Liv. I’ll even buy you an appetizer.” He said, eyeing me carefully and dangling his bait.

I tapped my finger to my chin like I was in deep thought.

“Playing hardball, I see. Fine. Let’s throw in a milkshake.”

It was no surprise that, eventually, the temptation of good food won out over self- preservation.

I finally smiled over at him. “I would have said yes at the appetizer. But you don’t have to help me with my work.”

“I don’t want to, but seeing as I’m a walking vision of romance, I guess I could give you a few tips on how to make a movie…sizzle.”

The word almost got stuck on his tongue, and even he struggled to keep a straight face.

“My boss is looking for swoony. Sizzle is on a different channel.”

He sighed. “Guess I’ll have to dial the sexiness down for TV.”

I tried to hold it back, as it would only go to his head, but the smile came anyway.

After our pallet of twine for the balers had been dropped by a loader onto the back of Tate’s truck, he pulled us into a restaurant called Cider and Smoke, touting the best grass-fed hamburgers this side of the Winooski River. Tate requested a corner booth and sat so he could see the entire restaurant, and I forced myself to pretend none of this was a big deal and that I could relax.

I couldn’t resist ordering the burger with a maple syrup-infused bun. Tate ordered a regular hamburger with double patty, extra cheese, and a basket of fries to share. The waitress got us settled with our drinks and promised the food would be out soon. Tate tore the top off his straw, slid the wrapper halfway down, and blew it at my face.

“Alright, Rawlins. What do you have so far?”

I made a face and held up my blank notebook. “You’re looking at it.”

His eyes widened a touch. “What are your plans for it?”

“Let’s start with my boss’s demands first—so you know what I’m working with.”