Wait. He frowned at the shadowy outline of his gin and shook his head. None of that. No bad thoughts. It was pointless and unhealthy and unrealistic, since Abbie wasn’t perfect at all. No; she was sharp and sarcastic and occasionally harsh. She was hard to read, and he had a sneaking suspicion she lied a lot. She’d leaned into him when he’d said she was fuckable, but she’d shuddered when he’d told her he adored her. Unfortunately, while all those things made her technically not-perfect, they also made her fucking fascinating and—God, this train of thought was wobbling all over the shop.

On the kitchen table, his phone lit up and vibrated. Again. He checked the screen and saw it wasn’t Abbie—of course it wasn’t Abbie. Then he had a flash of recklessness and picked up anyway.

“What?” He was trying to stay quiet, so his voice came out an irritable rasp.

“Uh…” Kara sounded shocked as shit that he’d answered, but she quickly rallied. “Will. Finally, you picked up.” As always, a little time at home had made her California drawl strange to his ears. “What, did you come to your senses?”

“I was already at my senses,” he insisted, then frowned. Was that right? Did that make sense?

“Debatable, kiddo.” Kara snickered. “Listen. I know you’re home for the family Christmas right now—”

“No,” Will said firmly, and a bit wonkily. “I’m home for good. Hear me?”

“Are you drunk, Will? Never mind, don’t answer that. I know you’re home now, but how about in the new year, you come see me? We’ll have lunch and talk this through—”

“We’ve talked it through.”

She spoke blithely over him. “I’ve gotten a ton of scripts for you. Tons. It’s been a while, but you’re still hot with the teenage audience.”

“I hate teenagers,” Will said, which wasn’t true. But he wanted to see what Kara would do next.

Her response was smooth as shit. “You wanna go in a different direction? No problem. There’s this little indie flick about a beet farmer who’s searching for a godly woman and finds the devil instead—you wouldn’t be up for the lead, but there’s a supporting role as the beet farmer’s emotionally abusive uncle.”

Will frowned. “Uncle? I’m thirty-one.”

“Oh, yeah. The beet farmer is nineteen. Anyway, he finds this girl—”

“I don’t care,” Will interjected, which was the clearest he’d ever been, or rather, the rudest he’d ever been. He didn’t give a shit. It’d been months since he’d told Kara he was no longer interested in show business, and she’d been like a dog with a fucking bone ever since. “Okay? I don’t care. Stop it. I’m done.”

She scoffed. “You cannot be serious. All this over—what? A woman?”