Maria:I wouldn’t say I’m happy as can be, but I’m okay
Maria:So if you’re trying to get me to admit that I’m struggling by pretending YOU are, please don’t worry
Peter:Sweetheart, I’m not trying to do anything but tell you I miss you like fucking crazy
Peter:I don’t care whether you’re fine
Peter:Well, I do, you know I do, but what I’m attempting to say is that I don’t want a several-month separation more than once a year
Peter:Whether you can handle it or not, I can’t
Peter:I may be a broken shell of a man, but I’m YOUR broken shell of a man, and I need you near me
Maria:Want me to fly out tomorrow evening for a quick visit?
Peter:No
Maria:No?
Peter:I already booked my flight to you, Maria
Peter:I’ll be there tomorrow night
Peter:If you have time to pick me up from LAX, please do, I need to have you in my arms as soon as I possibly can
Peter:I love you.
Maria:Jag älskar dig också, Peter.
Maria:Your blue cupboard is gleaming right now. You know that, right?
Peter::-)
Epilogue
Every time he and Maria visited Alex and Lauren, Peter had to marvel anew.
Holy fuck, they lived in a fuckingcastle. With a moat. And stables. Andturrets.
And somehow, the whole ridiculous structure managed not to especially stand out among its Beachwood Canyon neighbors, since all those homes—estates—boasted different architectural styles. As his SUV wound up the twisting mountain roads, he’d paid particular attention today. He’d spotted a sprawling Spanish colonial home, a few midcentury modern houses, starkly modern properties with endless walls of windows, as well as a tree house that had evidently consumed vast quantities of steroids.
No gates. Some tourists. Plenty of personality.
Several for-sale signs.
During a cast chat last week, there’d been a lot of discussion about how settled all of them were—or weren’t—in their current homes. And before long, it had become clear that most of his costars, or maybe all of them, intended to move closer to Beachwood Canyon. Even Marcus, who lived with April in San Francisco, had expressed interest in either renting a guesthouse near Alex or investing in a second property.
Over the years, the cast had become more than professionalcolleagues. They’d become dear friends. In a very real way, they’d become a family. Other than Ian, because fuck that guy.
During the entire texted conversation about homes and guesthouses and possibly moving en masse to Beachwood Canyon and its surrounding neighborhoods, Maria hadn’t written a single word.
Neither had he.
That didn’t mean he hadn’t been thinking.
Yesterday, when he’d quietly emailed Ramón and Nava about their living arrangements and inquired as to whether Beachwood Canyon might suit them better, he’d thought more.
And now, as he sat sprawled on one of Alex’s oversized sofas with Maria tucked close and so many people they loved milling around them, he was thinking yet again.