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Delaney let out a brief, breathless laugh, her shoulders dropping. “I do, actually, in LA. But I like to cook. I’m a little out of practice, but I like to... I don’t know, stay grounded?”

The chicken was crisp-skinned and juicy, the potatoes roasted with oil and salt Delaney must have dug out of the root cellar. Claire ate at the long farmhouse table and let Delaney fill the space with talk about the script and the movie, about the two women in it and the ending she wanted.

When the food was gone, Claire poured the rest of the dark red wine into their glasses. They carried them into the living room.

Claire sat on the worn leather sofa, sinking back into the cushions. Her shoulders ached from three hours of mucking stalls and hauling hay, but it was a clean, familiar ache. Delaney curled her legs under herself on the opposite cushion.

“So are you more nervous or excited?” Claire asked.

“Both?” Delaney tilted her head, watching the dark liquid swirl in her glass. “I feel like there’s a lot riding on this. It’s Rebecca’s first project with her new company. I want it to be a success. Hopefully, the first of many for her.”

“And you.” Claire took a slow sip. “Is this the first of many scripts?”

Most of the actors Claire had ever met carried themselves like they owned the space, like the world had already agreed to revolve around them.

Delaney didn’t.

She sat tucked deep into the far corner of the leather sofa, her legs drawn up toward her chest, her bare feet tucked under her jeans. She held the wine glass with both hands wrapped around the glass bowl, the way a person held a hot mug of coffee on a cold morning, as if she were looking for warmth or just needed something solid to anchor her fingers.

“I don’t know,” Delaney said softly. “I don’t think so. I love acting, but I burnt out and forgot why I got into this industry in the first place.” She shifted, looking right at Claire with sudden, steady focus. “But enough about me. What about you? Rebecca told me that she used to manage you. Did you always know that you’d be a stuntwoman?”

The question settled heavily between them. Claire looked at her wine glass. She hadn’t talked about her early years in Los Angeles in a very long time.

Claire cleared her throat. “I wanted to be an actress.”

She hadn’t meant to say that. The words slipped out anyway, pulled loose by the wine and the way Delaney watched her like the answer mattered.

“Really?” Delaney asked, her eyes widening.

Claire took a sip of wine, buying a second. “Yes. I had small roles, and then when the opportunities came… You have to remember that this was a long time ago.” She sighed, the sound heavy in the still room. “Basically, I was told to keep my private life a secret and to find another actor to settle down with. To put on a show. That was the requirement back then.”

Delaney’s brows drew together. “But Rebecca⁠—”

Claire met her eyes directly. “Rebecca was doing the very same thing, and she encouraged me to be smart and do the same. It’s hard to imagine now, but that’s what it was like back then. Yes, things were changing but it was still a huge risk, and no one would have taken me on if I’d done it with a woman by my side.”

“So you became a stuntwoman,” Delaney said softly.

Claire nodded once. “Yes. I was paid to ride horses mostly, and I didn’t have to worry about being seen with a girlfriend. It was a good gig. It’s hard to find young women willing to put their bodies on the line for another actress, so I got plenty of work.”

Delaney leaned forward a fraction, elbows on her knees. The light from the lamp caught the warm highlights in her dark hair and the faint freckles across her nose. She looked young. Too young. And far too interested.

“But you left…”

Claire had reached the limit of her honesty. “Well, my body couldn’t quite keep up with the job.” She finished her wine in one swallow.

Delaney studied her for a long moment, hazel-green eyes steady. Claire waited for the pity, for the sympathy she’d come to expect. It never came.

“Well, I’m glad that you were the one to show me how to ride,” Delaney said instead. Her voice had gone soft, almost shy. “I was so nervous that first morning. I didn’t think we’d make this much progress, and I was afraid of delaying filming… But you were so patient and kind. I appreciate that.”

Something loosened in Claire’s chest despite herself. “You’re a natural. We’ve made a lot of progress, and you’re going to do fine.” She picked up her empty glass, needing something to do with her hands. “Thank you for dinner. I’m going to clean up and then go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Delaney got up off the couch and stretched, taking her time about it. “Goodnight, Claire.”

The word sounded different in her mouth. Softer.

Claire stood at the sink alone, water running over the dishes, the night pressing dark against the window. Tomorrow the trucks would come up the lane. Then this easy silence between them would end.

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