Lucy unlocked the door and flipped the light switch. The bulb flickered twice before settling at half strength. We climbed the stairs to the second floor, opening the door to the studio apartment.
“It looks smaller than I remember,” she said, her breath coming out like a cloud in the cold.
“It is smaller,” I replied.
A double bed pushed against the far wall. Beside it was a tallboy and a nightstand. The kitchenette was against the wall, a small table for four nearby. The living room consisted of a bookshelf, a reading nook at the window, and a loveseat. There wasn’t room for a full couch.
Lucy lowered her suitcase onto the floor. “I guess we are sharing the bed.”
“That’s fine. We’ve shared beds before,” I mentioned.
“Yes, but that was during camping trips where I was mentally prepared.”
I smiled a little. “We will survive.”
Braxton set down the box he was carrying. “You want us to bring the rest?”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
A moment passed where no one spoke. Lucy looked around with an expression that mixed resignation and mild despair. I wrapped my arms around myself to stay warm. Dex examined the heater with cautious curiosity, trying to get it to start.
Then Braxton turned toward me. His voice was quiet, steady. “We will get you through this week.”
My breath caught for half a second. I nodded. “I know.”
Because somehow, when he said it, I believed it.
We went back for the rest of our things. It took three trips and a great deal of maneuvering around the film crew. By the time we finished, I felt like I had run a marathon in slippers.
Back in the kitchen, James was still doing a monologue for the cameras. He lifted a whisk dramatically and said something about elevating flavors for emotional storytelling.
One of the crew looked at me as I passed and whispered reverently, “He is incredible.”
I didn’t comment. I reached for a towel and brushed flour off the front of my sweater again. It still looked like a snowy ghost version of me. I smoothed my hair and felt a small clump of dried flour fall out.
Braxton caught my eye from across the room. His smile was small but warm. It made something settle in my chest that had not been settled all morning.
It was going to be a long week, but I wasn't facing it alone.
Chapter Five: Cold Comforts
Braxton
The kitchen looked even more chaotic by the time I slipped back inside. Jane stood at the prep counter with a posture I had already learned meant she was holding herself together by sheer will. Her shoulders were lifted slightly, her neck stiff, as if she was bracing for another interruption. A thin layer of flour clung to her hair, settling over her like pale dust. She brushed at it absently, and more drifted down from some unseen source above her head. It made her look softer somehow, even as she tightened the grip on her knife.
The crew hovered around James like bees around a sunflower, adjusting lights and microphones and shouting for better angles. Every time I thought someone had stepped out of Jane’s way, another person backed directly into her space again. She didn't snap. She didn't flinch. She simply stepped half an inch sideways and kept slicing. I admired her resolve. I hated that she needed it.
She caught my eye briefly. She tried to smile. It faded before it reached her eyes. I wanted to walk straight to her and offer my help, but the maze of cables and cameras made the path impossible. She looked away, and I knew she was doing everything in her power to stay composed.
Dex found me in the doorway before I could navigate the equipment.
“There you are,” he said quietly. “Come with me. Kitty has broken my spirit.”
“What happened?” I asked.
"She asked me to reorganize the reservation board and then she said she needed a solution for the ‘room discrepancy’ which I think is code for ‘we have accidentally created a small housing crisis.’.” Dex folded his arms.
I glanced back at Jane. She was reaching for a bowl someone had moved to get it out of the shot. “What do you need?”
