Isabella didn’t even look up from the trolley. ‘For who?’
‘Mae,’ Callie said, and then over-corrected. ‘The… baker. Owner.’
‘Hmm.’ Isabella frowned at the schedule taped to the trolley. ‘I’ve not got her on my sheet. I’m down for you and Sam. Civilians usually fend for themselves.’
‘She’s not a civilian, she’s on camera,’ she said. ‘Doing some kind of baking lesson thing. It’ll look weird if I’m in full glam and Mae’s just… shiny.’
Isabella’s mouth curled. ‘If she’s not main cast, that’s not my problem.’
‘Isabella.’
‘What?’ Isabella finally met her eyes. ‘Once I’ve done you, I’ve got, like, eight minutes when Sam gets here. If your little village Mary Berry shows her face, I’ll throw some powder at her. That’s the best I can do.’
Callie’s gaze flicked to the doorway that led to the back kitchen. The swing door moved slightly, as if someone had brushed past it.
‘She has a name,’ Callie said, before she could stop herself.
‘There’s only so much room in my head for names,’ Isabella said. ‘The baker doesn’t make the cut.’
Callie swallowed. ‘Right.’
Isabella narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re very invested in this woman’s T-zone,’ she said casually.
‘I’m invested in everyone’s T-zone.’ It sounded stupid the second it came out of Callie’s mouth. She could only hope Isabella would drop this whole thing.
Though she was a bitch, unfortunately, she was aperceptivebitch.
‘Mm. Sure. Close your eyes.’
Callie obeyed. A soft brush swept over her lids.
Every time the oven door clanged, Callie’s fingers bit into her knees. She tried to focus on anything else: Neil’s notes for her, which included a moment where she was meant to act like she was struggling, maybe letting Sam step in and help her in a moment that would be hopefully sexy, yet brief enough to make a decent TikTok.
But she couldn’t stay on a thought. Callie’s mind kept dragging her back to the fact that at some point in the next half hour, she would have to look directly at Mae’s face again and act like… Christ. She didn’t even know what.
‘So,’ Isabella said lightly, ‘how do you know her?’
Callie’s eyes snapped open. ‘Know who?’
Isabella arched a perfectly drawn brow. ‘Your precious… maypole?’
‘Mae.’
‘Fine. Mae. The one that’s making you so bloody tense.’
Callie blinked. ‘I’m not… tense.’
Another clang. Callie’s shoulders climbed towards her ears.
Isabella’s lips twitched. ‘Sweetheart. I do makeup in daytime TV green rooms. I see cheating husbands, secret pregnancies, and closeted pop stars before nine in the morning. This is nothing.’
‘Good for you,’ Callie said tightly.
‘You still haven’t answered my question. How do you know Mayfly?’
‘We grew up together. That’s it.’
Isabella made a little humming sound that clearly meant,That’s absolutely not it.
