Author’s Note: This is a scene I cut during developmental edits. It didn’t really further the romance, and the plot point of having Joan try to convince Ian to hang out with his castmates doesn’t really go anywhere because Joan doesn’t *want* Ian to hang out with them more. She likes him right where he is ;-). However, I liked having another scene with Della (I think she’s a cool character). And Ralph pops up, so that’s always nice. Anyway, here’s a little deleted scene for your enjoyment.

(This has not been edited or proofed. Beware)

*Joan*

I wasn’t expecting the knock on my door at 5:13 a.m.

My coffee had just finished brewing, and I’d only just pulled on my warmest running clothes. It was only supposed to hit the mid-twenties today, temperature-wise.

Pulling open the front door, I found Hollywood director Della Stewart on my porch. Surprised didn’t even begin to cover it, but I made sure to keep my expression neutral.

She smiled warmly. “I apologize for intruding, but I was hoping we could speak. I ran into your father, and he assured me you were an early riser as well.”

“Of course.” I held the door wide. “Come on in.”

“Thank you.” Della nodded politely. “I’m sure this is unexpected.”

Unexpected was an understatement. I had no idea what the woman was doing here, why she could have possibly sought me out.

“Coffee?” I offered.

“Thank you. That would be lovely.”

I got her settled with a cup of black coffee at my kitchen table and joined her a moment later with my own mug.

“How can I help you, Ms. Stewart?”

“Please call me Della.”

She’d removed her heavy winter coat and hung it on the back of the chair, but several thin scarves were layered around her neck. Her long gray hair was plaited in a loose braid, and she wore a winter beret that suited her far more than when Eloise Carter had tried to pull off the look.

“I was actually hoping to get your opinion about a situation with the cast,” she said.

“My opinion?”

“Yes. You see, very soon we’ll have a break in filming. I was hoping to problem-solve now so that when the crew returns in January, I’ll be able to address these issues.”

“What’s the problem?”

She took a sip from her mug. “Straightforward and direct. I like that about you, Joan.”

When I offered no response, she smiled and went on, “Typically, a production is very much like summer camp. The cast and crew build a rapport over months of filming. They get to know one another through proximity, and they bond over their shared experiences. It’s beautiful to witness. As the director, I’m a bit removed from all that, but it’s something I often see with co-stars. However, things have been different on our set. Ian is . . . distant. He rarely interacts with his peers, often retreating to his trailer in between takes. He doesn’t attend events after hours or spend his downtime with the rest of the cast. I’m . . . concerned that he isn’t getting the full experience on this production. Filming is going well. His performance has been phenomenal, and his chemistry with his co-stars is good. But I think it could be even better. Do you have any thoughts? What could I do to encourage Ian to be more present? To make him more comfortable?”

Nothing about Della’s tone was accusatory. She did, honestly, seem concerned. In this moment, she was a gentle mother, worried over one of her ducklings.

“Why would you come to me to help solve this . . . problem?” I asked, genuinely curious.

Della’s smile was knowing. “Because you’ve seemed to capture his attention.”

Any warm feelings I had for the woman vanished. If I could have taken the coffee mug back without offending my own mother, I would have.

“I did not mean to insult you, Joan. I’m grateful that Ian has made such strong friendships here in Kirby Falls. And of course, I’m aware of the situation with his nephew.”

I fought the urge to push away from the table in irritation. “He isn’t a situation. He’s a little boy, and he needs Ian. That’s where Ian’s been focusing his energy. He’s not about to go out to a bar with his cast mates when his nephew is at home waiting for him.”

“Of course.” Della nodded. “Family is so important. But perhaps there can be a bit of compromise.”

I shook my head. “Why are you having this conversation with me instead of Ian?”

Della set her coffee on the table and smiled sadly. “Because if I brought this up with Ian, he would think he’d done something wrong and overcorrect. He’d throw himself into making amends and spend all his time trying to seem like a team player. I don’t want that. I know how important his relationship is with his nephew. I don’t want to send Ian into a tailspin. I thought if the suggestion came from you—like I said, only for a compromise—that perhaps he wouldn’t respond in absolutes.”

I stared at her, considering.

She was right. If Ian thought for one second that Della doubted his commitment to the film, he’d course correct so hard that he’d burn himself out trying to do everything for everyone.

I now saw George most days. Save for the weekends when I was busy selling Christmas trees on the farm. But during the week, George was with me for most afternoons. Sometimes Sophia was there, and sometimes she wasn’t. They focused on his schoolwork in the mornings.

Ian had been finding ways to slip away. He’d been joining George and me for lunch nearly every day. And he’d been making it to most of our morning runs, too.

We’d been spending a lot of time together. I should have realized it wouldn’t go unnoticed.

This role was important to Ian. I knew because he’d told me. We’d had conversations about the production. How it was a much smaller budget when compared to Ian’s other projects, but he’d wanted to work with Della. He valued her process and vision, and respected what she did and how she did it.

Plus, he was a producer on the film, which was a big deal to him, career-wise.

One day, a few weeks ago, as we’d sat on a picnic table and watched George hop across the bounce pillow, Ian had confessed that he’d love to direct someday. But he didn’t know if it would ever happen. That he might never be taken seriously and always be seen as superhero material. That was another reason he’d wanted this role. So he could work with someone like Della, whose gritty, artistic films were often nominated during awards season. Ian hoped to expand his portfolio and diversify, be seen as more than an action star.

I’d learned a lot about the movie they were making in my own backyard. Ian’s character was a blue-collar mechanic, a small-town guy who got caught up in a murder mystery plot after he and his sister discovered a body in the woods. He’d used a lot of technical terms and Hollywood jargon to describe it, but in the end, he’d told me to “think of Fargo, but with less snow and southern accents.”

I knew they’d be wrapping up production in Los Angeles following the location shoot in Kirby Falls. They needed studio space to film some of the interiors they didn’t have access to here. But the majority of the movie took place outdoors.

Ian had explained how they shot scenes out of order, which seemed wild to me. And that was why things like continuity were so important. Like how they trimmed his short hair weekly and kept six of the same shirts in wardrobe, just in case.

The more I’d learned about the film, the more I’d realized just how demanding the work was for everyone involved. Ian liked to downplay a lot, but he had dialogue and blocking to memorize, and so much going on behind the scenes that it had to be stressful.

But he never let on if he’d had a difficult day or an early start. He never seemed exhausted or frustrated with his work. George and I only ever saw cheerful, happy Ian.

The man was a professional. He’d admitted that his least favorite part of being an actor was when everything wrapped. Promoting and dealing with the press took a toll, requiring his time and attention in a way that acting on screen did not.

Curious, I’d asked if he wasn’t famous enough to get out of the boring interviews and jumping through all those hoops. And he’d said he didn’t think anyone was famous enough to avoid that stuff.

“I believe,” Della said, pulling me from my thoughts, “your opinion holds significant weight with Ian. Perhaps if you expressed interest in meeting his colleagues or visiting him on set, he might find himself more willing to be physically and emotionally present for our little film family.”

That . . . wasn’t going to happen. But I could encourage Ian to go out with the cast when they invited him to dinner. I could offer to have a movie night with George or read his bedtime story to him. Ian might be more open to joining the crew if he knew George was happy and taken care of.

“I’ll think about it,” was all I said.

“That is all I ask,” Della replied gratefully. She moved to stand. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your valuable time.”

She shrugged on her jacket and moved toward the back door.

I joined her on the porch.

“Thank you for allowing me to interrupt your morning, and for your input. I value your judgment, Joan.”

A clattering sounded in the distance. We both turned in the direction of my neighbor’s yard. The goat was meandering through a pile of trash, looking for something to eat.

I sighed.

“That poor animal,” Della murmured. “Perhaps we could use it for the film? I bet Baxter would love having a goat on set. Do you think your neighbor would sell it to me? I’m certain we could find a good home for it after filming.”

Surprise had me staring. But Della was still watching the goat nose at the garbage on the sad excuse for a lawn.

“He won’t,” I admitted. “I’ve tried. But that was kind of you.”

Della smiled. “All creatures deserve a home worthy of them.”

I thought of animals and people alike, always in search of somewhere to belong.

Then I nodded in agreement. “Yeah. They do.”