Page 13 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)

“We love the whole struggling musician thing,” Maeve agreed, fanning out her hands. “When you told us about losing your record deal, my heart was absolutely breaking for you.”

“Audiences love an underdog,” Huey remarked, glancing at his colleague.

Maeve met his gaze. “ Love an underdog.”

“We wanted someone on the music scene to round out the cast. When Avery told us about you, it was like fate dropped you in our laps in the nick of time. Really saved our asses. I thought we’d have to go with that coked-up DJ for a minute,” he said, laughing through a mouthful of omelet.

Maeve’s eyes widened with dread as she sipped her second Bellini. “That was an HR nightmare waiting to happen.”

“Wouldn’t be the first,” he remarked sardonically, and the two of them snickered like they were reliving a wild story from the battlefield.

Lennon smiled tightly, trying not to make a face and encouraging herself not to read too deeply into whatever just transpired between them.

She’d gone too far to start having second thoughts or giving herself reasons to run the other way.

It was the entertainment industry; she’d dipped her toes in it enough to know things weren’t exactly a dream behind the scenes.

“So, anyway,” Huey continued. “We’ll probably want to get you beating the pavement, talking to music producers, schmoozing—you know, working the Arden Beach music scene. Really want to show that struggle.”

A piece of feta cheese caught in Lennon’s throat. She gently coughed. “Wouldn’t it be more interesting to show me making music or putting a performance together? Or maybe collaborating with others? Focus more on the art.”

Huey wobbled his head back and forth with an ehhhh sound. “I mean, sure, maybe a little bit of that, but people will get all the happy stuff with Avery’s wedding. We need drama to balance it out. Provide some contrast. Give ‘em someone to … relate to.”

The spaghetti and alcohol churned uneasily in her stomach. “I’m the sad story against Avery’s fairytale?”

They seemed to realize she’d taken offense to it and glanced at each other.

“You’re the one people get to see themselves in and root for,” Maeve clarified, leaning forward slightly with an encouraging lift to her voice.

The idea still sat uncomfortably in Lennon’s bones, but she knew she wasn’t in any position to argue about it.

And it’s not like it wasn’t true; she was struggling while Avery was living out her fairytale.

The idea of putting herself in that light in the public eye made her insides feel like the ball of pasta on her plate, but if that’s what it took to get her to the next level, so be it.

She was used to being vulnerable in her music on stage. She’d have to get used to being vulnerable as herself, too.

“Will I get to perform my music at all on the show?” Lennon asked.

Huey’s bushy brows furrowed a bit, and he inclined his head in a sort of half-committal nod/shake. “I’m sure we’ll get it in there somewhere.”

“Yeah, at least a little taste of it,” Maeve assured her, bobbing her dark curls.

That wasn’t the answer Lennon wanted to hear.

She was about to open her mouth to argue a case for showcasing her music on the show but then thought better of it.

She didn’t want to appear difficult on the first day.

The record label execs had complained about how vocal she was from the beginning.

If she was going to take any lesson from that, this was probably a good place to start.

Besides, Lennon had time to figure out how to finagle her music into the show. She’d have to get creative to make it worth their while.

They discussed some other things and informed her that the production assistant who had helped arrange her flights and accommodation would be in touch about all the other boring details, like her schedule and finding housing.

Lennon shook both producers’ hands as they stood up from the table.

“Thank you so much again for this opportunity.”

“We’re looking forward to having you on the cast,” Maeve said with a smile, bright white teeth popping against red lipstick.

“Let’s make some good TV,” Huey winked.

Lennon laughed nervously, wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into. Whatever it was, it was too late to turn back now.

Huey swept his arm out, inviting Lennon to take the lead while Maeve checked her lipstick in a compact mirror. The two followed her toward the door a few steps behind. In a split second, Lennon’s brain went from whirring about the show to coming to a complete stop, like a car slamming into a tree.

Through the glass doors, a young man with a tall, lean build grabbed one of the handles and swung it open.

He stopped to let an elderly couple exit, stepping to the side with a kind smile as he dipped his head.

Tufts of brown hair stuck out from the edges of his baseball cap.

They thanked him, beaming up at him as he held the door open for them to pass.

He said something that made them laugh, and they made him laugh in return.

His low, relaxed chuckle carried through the open door, messing with her insides.

As they walked off, he turned back toward the restaurant. He caught Lennon’s stare as he stepped across the threshold. He, too, stopped dead in his tracks, dark eyes melting into pools of surprise.

Her heart thumped in her chest, reminding her it was still there, beating— hard .

“Lennon,” Dylan said, the way someone utters a prayer. “Hey.” One side of his parted lips pulled into a smile.

“Hi,” she said on an exhale.

Dylan took her in. She suddenly became aware of herself.

Once again, she hadn’t been prepared—not for the conversation on the train or for the first time seeing him.

She pushed a loose strand of dark hair from her claw clip behind her ear, exposing the little music note tattooed by her left lobe, and ran her hands down the front of her black floral sundress, likely wrinkled from the plane ride.

The tight schedule hadn’t allowed her time to change after landing, so she had to wear something nice for the meeting but comfortable enough for the plane.

But then, Lennon got distracted by the way he looked.

The vintage graphic tee hugging his broad shoulders. The distressed jeans hanging off his hips. The scruff on his face and the smooth, golden tan flowing over the muscles in his forearms.

The lanky baseball player she’d left behind had gained muscle—and a short beard—in the years since she’d last seen him. The billboard hadn’t done him justice.

He was stupidly handsome. Her heart caught in her throat the same way it would when they were teenagers.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” Dylan said, drawing her gaze back to his.

“Oh—yeah. I got in this morning,” Lennon said. “It was a last-minute thing.”

“How long will you be here?”

“A few months at least.”

His brows rose slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Lennon nodded casually, feeling the exact opposite of casual. He smelled good, exactly as she remembered, like clean laundry and an earthy cologne he’d always loved. Silence stretched between them for a few moments, leaving them staring at each other. In that space, time collapsed.

She was the teenager again who thought she’d found her soulmate. He was her best friend. Her safe space. Home . A place she had been aching for and now was in front of her in vibrant, raw, living color.

“Who’s this?”

It took a moment for Huey’s intrusive voice to register. He and Maeve peeked around Lennon’s shoulders, eyes hopping back and forth between her and Dylan with a buzz of curiosity.

Time spread back out, the present sucking her back into place.

They were divorced. He’d broken her heart. She’d lost her record deal, and she was about to go on a freakin’ reality show to pay her bills and jumpstart her stalled music career.

“That’s Dylan Strickland,” Maeve said as though it should be obvious. “Pitcher for the Arden Beach Tidebreakers—one of the Stricklands.”

A shadow passed beneath his charming smile. No one else likely noticed it, but Lennon did. Her heart twinged.

“You two know each other?” Huey asked. Both producers came to stand on either side of them, creating a circle between the four of them.

“He’s my ex-husband.” It still felt weird to say. Lennon cleared her throat as a loaded glance passed between her and Dylan.

“You were married to a professional baseball player? Why didn’t you tell us?” Huey looked past Lennon to Maeve. “How did we miss this?”

Maeve shook her head, the wheels turning behind her eyes.

“It was a long time ago.” Lennon noticed some of the other patrons were beginning to stare. The space closed in on her. She gripped the strap on her shoulder, pressing the small handbag into her ribs with her bicep to stabilize herself.

She wanted out of that restaurant.

“Hey, uh, I’ve gotta run,” Dylan said, jabbing a thumb toward the door. “I’m just picking up a to-go order and have a training session to get to.” When Lennon looked back up at him, he was already focused on her, his eyebrows pulled slightly together.

Grateful for the lifeline he was throwing her, the tension in her body eased slightly. “OK. Good to see you.”

Dylan smiled softly. “You too.” He held her gaze for a beat longer before shifting his attention to the producers. “Nice to meet you both,” he said. He glanced at Lennon once more, then strode past them.

Lennon made a beeline for the door, anxious for the freedom of an open space. Outside, she stopped on the sidewalk—nearly colliding with a woman in a matching athletic set walking a French bulldog—and took in a deep gulp of air. She was barely on the exhale when the two producers flanked her again.

“What was that ?” Maeve questioned.

“What do you mean?” Lennon searched the street for a black Escalade.

Huey and Maeve shared a look like two conspiratorial teenagers giddy over a secret. “ That ,” Maeve reiterated. “The chemistry between you and Dylan-effing-Strickland, one of the biggest major league baseball stars in the country.”

“There was no—he’s just an ex.” The proclamation tasted wrong on Lennon’s tongue, but she tightened her jaw to give it solidity.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” The producers looked at each other again, this time like two adults who were aware of something the child between them wasn’t.

Her patience frayed. “I have a lot to do before filming starts next week, like find a place to live,” Lennon said, straining to keep her tone polite. “Are we all set here?”

“Why does that name Strickland sound familiar?” Huey asked, ignoring her. “You said ‘one of the Stricklands’—”

“He’s from a line of baseball legacies,” Maeve explained, “and he’s been in the tabloids a lot recently. Earlier this year, he was suspended from the team on the heels of that big scandal.”

His face lit up. “What scandal?”

“Dylan and some other players from the team got wasted at a party and crashed a boat,” Maeve said. “A bunch of people got hurt. They found drugs, too.”

“Dylan wasn’t doing drugs. And he didn’t crash the boat.

He was passed out before they pulled away from the dock,” Lennon interjected.

His stupidity for getting himself in that situation boiled her blood all over again, as it had when Erin first relayed it to her, but they at least needed to get facts straight.

“Oh, that scandal! I remember.” Huey’s eyes bulged. “That was him ?” The producers were back to having a silent conversation as Maeve nodded slowly. “Shit, I should get into baseball.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. The stress takes at least ten years off your life,” Maeve remarked.

“You think he’d be interested in being on the show?” Huey asked Lennon.

“What? No, absolutely not—”

“It’d be a great chance for him to tell his side of the story,” Maeve remarked. “Clear the air. Build his reputation back up. Get America back on his side.”

Was America not on his side? Lennon had avoided reading anything about the accident.

All she knew was what Erin told her, which included ranting about how the media had twisted and sensationalized the story.

The public turning on him was news to her.

Lennon assumed the backlash had been limited to behind-the-scenes drama within the baseball league.

The idea made her feel funny. Strangely … protective.

“People love an underdog and a comeback story,” Huey sang. “They’d fall in love with him.”

“How could they not? He’s so handsome, too,” Maeve said with an eyebrow wiggle. Lennon tried to ignore the warm knot low in her torso at the memory of him walking through the door. Maeve studied Lennon. “Your dynamic together would also be interesting.”

“I don’t think he’d be interested,” Lennon said. “And I’m barely going to be on the show, anyway—”

“We’ll bump you to a starring role,” Huey cut in with surprising directness. “That means a bump in pay and exposure, too.”

The flush of desire for what he offered was quickly squashed by Lennon’s disgust at the idea of selling Dylan out for her benefit.

Maeve cut in before she vocalized it as if smelling the reluctance on her.

“Think about it. Talk it over with Dylan,” Maeve said, preemptively holding off Lennon’s repudiation.

“You can let us know by the end of the day tomorrow.”

“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Huey told her. “It could save your career. And his.”