Callie took a measured breath and delivered the light, polished laugh she’d perfected over the years. ‘I’m not interested in the past. My future is Sam.’
Hannah sighed. ‘Whatever.’
Callie looked to Neil. ‘We done in here yet?’
Neil smiled. ‘Almost. Maybe let the little girl talk, though?’
‘I’m eleven,’ Hannah said irritably.
Neil laughed ingratiatingly. ‘Of course.’
Callie was barely listening. Her gaze had drifted toward the door to the back room. Still closed.
She shouldn’t have expected anything else. Mae had always known when to disappear.
Neil’s voice came again, bright and brittle: ‘All right, are we ready for another go? Reset on the lighting. We’ll do that again from the start. With no interruptions,’ he warned.
One of the crew ducked under a heavy rig near the counter. Another stepped over a loop of cable. Well, tried to.
‘Watch that lead—’ someone started to say. Too late.
A foot had caught a light stand, and someone shouted, ‘Careful! Careful!’ as it toppled in slow motion, soundless for a moment before the crash came, metal against tile, glass shattering, sparks spraying like confetti.
People screamed. Hannah leapt out of her seat.
The fallen light flickered once and went out. Then a small flame caught on a nearby cardboard box that held extension cords.
And then the back door burst open.
Mae appeared, red-faced, lugging a fire extinguisher. She crossed the room in three strides, yanked the pin, and doused the baby flames in white foam.
The whole thing lasted seconds. Then there was just silence and the smell of chemicals.
Callie watched as Mae straightened slowly, the extinguisher still in her hands, panting slightly.
Their eyes met across the fine white spray still hanging in the air.
Everything else—the crew, the cameras, Neil’s open mouth—vanished.
For the first time in a dozen years, Callie Price and Mae Morgan were in the same room, looking right at each other.
Nine
The extinguisher was heavier than Mae remembered, her arms trembling with the effort of holding it upright. Someone coughed. Someone else was muttering about insurance. None of it reached her properly. Because Callie was right there. Her hair was lighter, her clothes more expensive, her face caked in makeup.
But those dark doe-eyes? They were the same.
Neither of them spoke for whole seconds. Mae realised she was still clutching the extinguisher like a shield.
‘You all right?’ she heard herself ask.
Callie blinked, as if pulled from a dream. ‘I—yeah. Thanks.’
Mae nodded once. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
People began to move again. The crew were cleaning the mess while Neil muttered about glass shards, someone opening the door to let in air.
Mae put the heavy extinguisher down. Her palms were slick with sweat. She wanted to disappear, to melt into the kitchen and pretend this hadn’t happened. But her body wouldn’t obey.
