“Oh. No, I wasn’t planning—”
“Please?” Dylan said. “I could use a friendly face while I inevitably do everything wrong.”
Ramona looked down, tried to force Noelle Yang out of her head, but the more she tried, the more that was the only thing she could think about.
“Please?” Dylan said again, then twined her fingers back through Ramona’s.
Ramona stared at their hands before lifting her gaze to Dylan’s eyes. Those iceberg eyes, so clear Ramona felt like she was tipping into an icy pool, breath-stealing water closing over her head.
“Okay,” she heard herself say, and in that moment, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to say no to Lolli-Dolly-Dylan Monroe.
Chapter
Eighteen
Hours later, Dylanstood behind the counter at Clover Moon Café—an apron around her waist, her hair up in a high ponytail, frayed denim shorts tickling her legs—keenly aware that she’d really only trained with Ramona at the diner that one time, and also that she was on the verge of melting down.
The diner didn’t look all that different—townsfolk being paid as extras still filled most of the tables, pie still crowded the pastry case, and the air still smelled like coffee and french fries. The only differences, really, were the cameras everywhere, Gia barking orders, and Noelle currently adjusting Blair’s sleek gray suit on the other side of the bar before they started filming.
Oh, and the fact that Dylan was hyperaware that she wasn’t even last choice for the role of Eloise—she hadn’t been a choice at all. She hadn’t had time to properly process that information, what with asking out Ramona and all the havoc that had caused in the center of her chest, like a hurricane blowing in from the Atlantic. But now that it was time to do her job, she couldn’t think of anything else.
She kept glancing at Blair—who looked perfect and professional as Mallory for their meet-cute scene—wondering if she knew.
Blair huffed a breath. “Why do you keep staring at me?” Shedidn’t even glance at Dylan when she spoke, just kept her eyes straight ahead as Noelle tugged on a shoulder pad that didn’t seem to want to behave.
“I’m not,” Dylan said.
“You are. What, you need a little more attention?”
Dylan flinched. “What the hell does that mean?”
Finally, Blair deigned a glance. “Don’t be coy. It’s much less annoying if you just own it.”
“Easy, kittens,” Noelle deadpanned, a pin protruding from one side of her mouth.
“Ownwhat?” Dylan asked.
Blair just shook her head.
“You know,” Dylan started, even though her brain was telling her to shut up, “we might not struggle so much in these scenes if it wasn’t abundantly clear you’d rather swallow broken glass than engage in a romance with me.”
Blair laughed. “That’s not the issue, Dylan. I can do my job.”
“And I can’t?”
Blair closed her eyes, then looked at the ceiling. “Look, I’m not going to get into this right now.”
“Please, get into it.”
Blair turned then, disrupting Noelle’s work as she popped a hand on her hip. “You really want to do this? You really want me to say that you’re a spoiled, privileged brat who gets handed everything and still pisses it all away, while other people in this industry”—she pointed a finger at her own chest—“start from nothing, work their asses off, deal with racism and misogynoir and homophobia every single fucking day and still manage to do it with a modicum of respect for other people, still show up and know their lines and do their job like a goddamn queen? You really want me to say all that right now?”
Dylan’s whole face felt frozen, her mouth hanging open, her eyeswide. Noelle had frozen too, her mouth pursed and her arms folded as she waited for Blair’s tirade to end.
“I didn’t think so,” Blair said when Dylan said nothing. “Noelle, could we finish up somewhere else? I’m sorry for the interruption.”
“No problem,” Noelle said, and then the two of them moved off toward the front door.
Dylan stared after them for a few seconds. Blair’s words floated through her brain like puzzle pieces flung into the air, the letters slowly falling and settling into some semblance of meaning.
