It was close to 9:30 by the time Riley returned to her apartment. She'd spent the last five hours thinking about what to do next with her life, how to extricate herself from Clint's financial hold, and how to see the triplets on her own terms—and theirs—without Paige and Clint interfering.

So Riley decided to go to the Library Cafe and talk to Allen about what Clint's terms had been when she became a business partner. It had been right around the time she got out of drug rehab, and at that time she'd let Clint take care of the specifics. But how much had Clint loaned him? What were the terms? Would she be able to take over Allen's share, and thus no longer be indebted to Clint in any way?

It wasn't as if Riley had done nothing but take Clint's money all these years. Though she hadn't gone to a traditional college, she might as well have done the equivalent of one when it came to coffee and running the Library Cafe. It was how she knew the difference between Arabica and Robusta, fair trade, shade-grown, and why dark roasts, light roasts, and French roasts were just not the same. It was the reason she was quite picky when it came to different varieties of coffee that the Library would carry, and not just settle for what was easier to purchase in bulk. They could, but it was her decision not to. It meant that coffee and espresso at the Library Cafe sometimes seemed overpriced, but only because a macchiato—or, at least, a real one at that—was a perfectly brewed espresso with a sliver of foamed milk and absolutely no sugar or syrup.

She did her fair share to run the shop, putting more hours than she should, spending days off there when she should be doing something else. She worked the hours she was supposed to and hardly ever took a day off. She trained the baristas on the job, after work, and only had the ones who'd proven themselves to know their coffee behind the espresso machines.

But she'd also hidden behind her job all that time in the hopes of forgetting what had happened between her and Gareth, how they'd both messed up. Her, when she lost it in that movie producer's party, and him, long before, when he slept with Paige and fathered her three boys.

In the back office, Riley and Allen came to a tentative agreement. Until they'd finally sit before a financial adviser who was not Clint, Riley would buy Allen out by the middle of the following year. She'd figure out the specifics later. She knew that she had half of what she needed sitting in mutual funds that she could withdraw and the other half, she'd simply take out a loan. Then she'd figure out how to repay Clint's initial investment.

It could work. It could not. But Riley knew that she had to start learning how to do things on her own. She'd relied too much on other people to do things for her, that it was time that she learned how to do the same things herself. She would have kept thinking about the same questions all night if her phone didn't ring just then.

"I didn't hear from you all afternoon," Ashe said, his voice worried. "Are you alright?"

"I am now," Riley said, smiling and forcing all thoughts of Clint, Paige, and triplets from her mind. She was going to see this as a new start, even if it was nothing but a mere phone call. She had to. If Ashe's appearance in her life told Riley one thing, it was that new beginnings were always around the corner, even if sometimes they took the appearance of Hollywood's latest boy toy and a stuck elevator. But then, it could be worse.

"Have you had dinner?" he asked.

Riley's stomach growled as if response, and she realized she hadn't eaten anything since the light lunch they had at the Village before ending up at the park. It was so like Ashe to call and check up on her since he'd become familiar with the way she ate, which was only whenever she remembered, and that if left to her own devices, she'd be inhaling coffee all day and call it a balanced diet.

"No, I haven't," she replied. "But I'm too tired to go out, Ashe. It's almost ten."

"It's never too late to eat, Riley, especially if you haven't eaten anything other than the salad you had for brunch," he said. "I made some dinner. Well, it's actually more like a dry run for Thanksgiving."

"Would you like me to come over?" She asked, hoping that he'd say no and tell her he'd be on his way. Riley was feeling guilty for spending too much time at his apartment anyway, leaving poor Miss Bailey alone all the time.

"No, stay where you are," Ashe said. "I know you need your time alone so I'll drop off dinner and head back home."

"No, you don't have to do that—"

Her doorbell rang then, and Riley got up from her couch, wondering who would come over at this time of the night. Was it Paige, needing to talk? As far as Riley was concerned, she was done talking. Besides, why hadn't Frank called to let her know she had a visitor? Or maybe it was Wayne come over to say hello. But as she peered through the peephole, she grinned and opened the door.

"What if I had said no?"

Ashe shrugged. He was standing outside her door with a paper bag tucked under his arm. "Then Frank would have to be the royal taster and tell me whether I did well or not. I don't think he'd have minded. And if not Frank, then I'd be eating it all on my own, and my trainer would not be happy. I'm supposed to be ripped by the New Year and Josh will probably put me on a protein shake diet come Christmas."

"But you are ripped," Riley chuckled.

"Not enough," Ashe made a face. "I just saw a picture of the one-piece suit I'm wearing for the next movie I'm filming in April, and it's so fitting you can practically tell my religion."

"Guess I'll need to rescue you then," Riley laughed, making way for Ashe to step inside and deposit the paper bag on her kitchen counter.

"I'm serious. I was just going to drop these off for you, Riley," he said. "I didn't plan on staying."

"Shut up, Ashe, and come here," Riley said, and Ashe stepped into her arms, enveloping her in a deep embrace. She listened to the sound of his heartbeat through his jacket, feeling herself settle down, the warmth of his body grounding her.

"I do want company, yours most of all," she said, holding him. "And since you're bearing gifts, I'm not about to refuse them. We can even talk about this religion thing later on, and if you want, I can even check."

"That's not such a bad idea," Ashe chuckled, kissing her on her forehead before disentangling himself from her arms. "But do let me present you the dinner entree before we get too caught up with whatever religion I practice."

As he began unloading the plastic containers from the paper bag, Riley saw how proud he was to show off his creations. His face took on a boyish glow as he named each dish, setting each container on her kitchen counter. There was shepherd's pie in a glass container covered with foil and still warm, sautéed green beans and Brussels sprouts with herbs in another glass bowl and this time with its lid included, and grape and almond frangipani tart in two small foil pie dishes.

"You went all out with the menu," Riley laughed, opening a bottle of red wine to compliment the meal. "I'm speechless. You really can cook."

"Thank goodness I had my mum write down her recipe for the pie to the letter. The rest, I went online, and all I had to do was follow all the directions," he said. "Besides, I have to be busy when I'm anxious."

"And why were you anxious?" Riley couldn't help but chuckle. Thank goodness he didn't have her drama. His abs would be soft by Thanksgiving.

"Because I didn't know how you were doing—if your meeting with Clint went alright, or not. And then you sent a text instead of calling me, and you only really text me when you're upset. So I cooked," he said, doling out a generous serving of each dish on her plate, except for the tarts, which he was reserving for dessert. "At first, it was just the meat pie, but then I figured I might as well make some vegetables, too, in case you weren't into lamb, because you know it's not shepherd's pie unless it's lamb."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Ashe said, handing the full plate to her. "I just hope everything turned out alright."

Riley didn't know whether he meant his cooking or her meeting with the Caldwell's. But the specifics of his question didn't matter. Not at that moment. There was a time for everything, and right now, Riley wanted that moment just to be about her and Ashe.

"I guess we'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

She took a bite of the shepherd's pie and made a sound that made Ashe furrow his brow, probably unsure whether the sound she just made was a good sign or not. Then a bite of a Brussels sprout roasted whole but glistening from still-warm olive oil and herbs.

"Well, I'm waiting," he said, and Riley couldn't help but giggle. Whether he was doing it intentionally or not, Ashe always knew how to make her smile.

"Well, the food is perfect," She smiled, touched his face from across the kitchen counter. His stubble scratched her fingers. "As for everything else, I'm sure it'll all work out just fine. It'll just take some time."

* * *

After dinner, as they snuggled in bed, Riley told him what happened. She told him about Clint and about the triplets, about how Gareth was their father. She told him about running into Paige and her nephews before she could get out of there.

"I can't make those children pay for something that they didn't do," Riley said. "I've always been with them for every holiday, every birthday, every monthly dinner. I'd love to see them again though I don't plan on seeing them at their house, at least not yet. But for now, maybe I'll see them at the park. They go to preschool close to the cafe, and I can see them then."

"You can always have them come to my condo. I don't think you'd want to be standing around in the park during winter. Besides, next year I'll be having my niece over for a month, and I'm certain she'll need a few playmates."

Their conversation shifted back to Clint, though this time, Ashe wanted to know how Collette had been involved. She was, after all, his manager, too, and the news of her involvement troubled him.

"She didn't recognize you in the limo that night."

"That's because I never actually met her," Riley said. "Clint said that she was supposed to escort me to LA, but she dropped the ball. She had me moved out of my apartment with the help of other people, and then she left me twenty grand and considered her job done—but not before taking eighty grand of Clint's money for herself. As far as she's concerned, I'm just that crazed fan she met at that party."

Ashe was thoughtful for a few minutes. "That certainly does not sound good at all. It's disturbing news actually."

"Well, it's done, and I just want to move on. I'll see my nephews before Christmas, but for now, I need time to think things over regarding Paige, move money around, so Clint isn't involved anymore and start doing things I've always wanted to do. But enough about me," Riley said as she turned to look at him, lightly resting her chin on his chest. "What was that phone call about? The one you got just before I left to see Clint? You said it was urgent."

"It was," Ashe said. "Gareth walked off the set last night, and they haven't heard from him since. He checked out of his hotel and just left. Collette's going crazy and Isobel's mad as hell. I don't know if they had a fight or not, but since they haven't officially started filming yet, they want to offer me the role of Brennan again."

"What if you say no?"

"Then the project is shelved," Ashe replied. "Indefinitely, though it doesn't mean another studio can't take a stab at it."

"Do you think Gareth's okay?" Riley asked, as Ashe reached for his phone and scrolled through his messages. Whatever happened to the Conley Brennan biopic was not her concern, not unless Ashe decided to take the role.

Ashe shrugged. "I don't know. But I texted him and told him to call me if ever he needs to talk to someone. I don't intend to convince him to return to the set if he doesn't want to, but neither am I taking over the role. I just want to make sure he's alright."

"For you to worry about Gareth means that you must know him well enough to worry about him," Riley said. "You've never really talked about how close you guys are or not."

"We worked together for months, Riley. Of course, we're friends, just not as close as I am with Ben and Lance. But he's a nice lad—from another lad's point of view, of course. And I owe him, too," Ashe set his phone down on the bedside table and pulled her closer to him.

"What do you mean?"

He sighed. "Gareth and I were in the middle of a reshoot for Sentience when Hazel caught a cold—which turned into pneumonia. It was one of those last-minute things that Faraday, the director, came up with. Put both actors on the top of some rock so he could have a camera do a 360-degree shot before moving in for a close-up. It wasn't an important shot, but Faraday wanted it anyway. By the time I returned to Base Camp, Collette had told me that my mum had been calling me for the last six hours but because we were at an area where there was no reception, she couldn't reach me."

He frowned then. "Now I'm wondering if she even tried. By the time I rushed back to London, courtesy of a private jet Abe had provided, Hazel had been dead two hours. They left her body undisturbed on the bed so I could hold her one last time," Ashe took a deep breath as if he were fighting back tears. "Do you know that the shot Faraday insisted on shooting lasted barely five seconds onscreen? Six fucking hours of setting up and getting there, and Gareth and I standing in the freezing cold for a shot that could have been accomplished in front of a green screen. Six hours I would have traded for anything just to hold Hazel one last time, and let her know I was there for her."

"I'm so sorry," Riley said, regretting that she'd even asked the question. She realized then that in deference to her past with Gareth, Ashe had somehow kept his friendship with her ex-boyfriend away from her. Or at least not talk about it.

"I swore I wasn't coming back to work, not for anything," Ashe continued. "When Sentience was first screened at Cannes, I was a no-show. Everyone was livid, but nothing would have made me come back. Unless they could bring Hazel back alive, I wasn't about to return."

"What made you come back?" Riley asked.

"Gareth," Ashe replied. "He flew all the way to Yorkshire. Rented a car and somehow found out where I lived by bribing a barmaid with a date if she told him where I lived. And when they arrived, they found me shoveling manure at the farm."

"Why would you be shoveling manure?"

"Because that's what I do when I'm home, petal, and you will, too, when I take you there for Christmas," Ashe chuckled. "It is still a farm, and my dad makes no exceptions. When I'm home, I have to do the same things I used to do before I became—what he says—world-famous. Threatens me every time that he's going to charge people to watch world famous Ashe Hunter shear sheep or shovel manure. Not that I complained about it then. I needed something to do to get my mind off Hazel's death. We all did."

"So Gareth talked me into coming back, even if it was just for the publicity since it was on my contract anyway. He was right, of course, for if I didn't come back, it would have been a huge breach of contract, and then I'd not only have my agent livid at me, there was my lawyer, too, who'd managed to negotiate a back-end deal for me for the first time. Ten percent of gross. Reign Studios would have sued me for everything I had," Ashe said, pushing a lock of hair from Riley's face, his gaze softening. "But then who was to know that I'd meet this girl who has the power to make my day brighter just by being herself?"

"If I ever end up with a swollen ego, I'll just have you to blame," Riley giggled.

"Stop it," Ashe said, nudging her playfully before his expression turned serious, "which means, Riley-I-am, if it weren't for Gareth Roman, I would have never met you."