Page 97 of Over & Out

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Page 97 of Over & Out

“Nah,” Hopper says. “I pulled in a favor.”

I inspect the bottle now as he sits down across from me at the table, shoveling food into his mouth in giant bites, like he hasn’t eaten in years.

The wine is from a local vineyard, run by a famously reclusive winemaker. “This is one of the nicest bottles on the menu at the Rusty Dinghy. Mac had to pull teeth to cut a deal with them to carry it.”

“Yeah,” he says, his mouth full of egg. Somehow it’s cute and not gross. “Well, Russell and I go way back. He told me this would be your favorite.”

My jaw falls open, my fork clinking to the plate. “You know Russell? Wait, Russell knowsme?”

“He only knows what I told him. He asked me all these questions about you and then told me I should get you the pinot noir—but only this year’s.”

“How are you friends with him?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m here for it.”

“Listen, us guys with shit reputations are an exclusive club. We don’t share our secrets.”

I work my jaw for a minute, not giving up. “You bought a hat there.”

He laughs. “I did. But honestly? I filmed a movie in Vancouver a while ago and came up here during some time off. I found that place on my drive up and got to talking with him and, well, yeah, we’re buds. As much as you can be buds with Russell.”

I’m shocked by this. “Wait, you’ve been to Redbeard before?”

Hopper looks suddenly alarmed, like he shouldn’t have said anything. “I didn’t spend any time in town. I was just looking for a place to get away to for a bit.”

Something about that feels off. Maybe…“Have we met before?” I ask. “When you were up here last time?”

Hopper chooses that moment to choke on his egg. He coughs and coughs, going red in the face. I clap his back as hard as I can. “Hopper!” I exclaim. “Hey!”

“I’m fine,” he wheezes, reaching for his wine.

“Let me get you some water.”

“No, honestly, I’m good. Wine is great.” He throws back half a glass.

I narrow my eyes. “Wedidmeet before, didn’t we?” Suddenly it makes sense. “Did I serve you at the Rusty Dinghy? The place is packed in the summer, so I might not have noticed exactly who I was serving.”

His face looks pained.

I’m pretty sure I would have remembered Hopper, but maybe not if he had a beard and a hat on.

“Do you want to maybe go for a walk?” Hopper asks.

I lift my brows. He’s trying to change the subject. He’s embarrassed I didn’t recognize him. Maybe it’s even why he was such a dick that first day. I decide to drop it, since he’s clearly uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Hopper. It’s fine. We don’t need to go out there; it’s cold.”

“Honestly, I’d really like to take a walk with you if you’d be up for it. On the way over, I saw some Christmas lights. I wouldn’t mind looking at them again.”

“Are you serious?”

Hopper nods, smiling briefly, almost sheepishly. “When I was a kid—before all the acting—my mom and I used to drive around looking at lights on nights my dad got…well, the nights he wasn’t good company.”

That hits me a little too hard. I wish—or maybe the little girl inside me wishes—I’d had a mom who could have taken me out of the house those nights too. My dad wasn’t a violent drunk, but when it was bad, he wasn’t someone I wanted to be around.

“Okay,” I say softly. “That sounds nice.”


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