Not the answer I expected, so I straighten, on alert as I switch to AirPods and Bluetooth. “So youareinvolved with New Chris?”
She snort-laughs. “Oh god no.” She takes a pause. Blows out a breath. “Buuuut.” She says it like it has five syllables. “Everyone thinks we are because we had lunch the other day.”
“Haven, haven’t I told you? Lunch means you’re engaged.”
“I’m sure they’ll say that next. It’s all over a bunch of celebrity sites—the photo from lunch.Page SixandVIP Vibesand a bunch of others. We were talking about the movie, and I was showing him a picture of the farm on my phone. I leaned close to him, and he leaned into me…”
Of course. “And that’s the shot they got?”
“Yes,” she says with remorse.
I hate to do this, but it’s best to be prepared, so I google Chris. And holy shit. The first thing that pops up is the image of them at a white wooden table at a sidewalk café, surrounded by tall potted plants, looking like a couple, all close and snuggly, his hand on her arm.
“It’s only his hand on your arm,” I say. I still feel queasy becauseIknow that, but others won’t see just a hand on an arm. They’ll see the start of a new celebrity romance.
“And now,” she continues, “the gossip sites are saying heaskedto be on the movie so he could be with me.”
“Oh.” I process this twist. “Is that good or bad?”
“It’s good-ish. Good adjacent,” she says, like she’s hedging her bets.
“Elaborate.” I check the time. I told Salma I’d be at the market in five minutes.
“Well, it’s great because the movie is getting more buzz, and so is the farm and the town here.” She seems to be laying out all the good news before she gets to the bad bits. “But Ruby Horizons is increasing security for the film.”
My shoulders relax. That’s not bad news at all. “That’s great, actually.” I check the street and continue down the bike lane, chatting as I ride slowly. “You can’t be too careful in this day and age. Seems like a normal thing on a film shoot, right?”
I can actually hear her gulp as I pedal.
“Haven,” I press. “What is it?”
“It’s not just more securityin general. I mean, this is Chris Carlisle. He has photogs following him everywhere.”
“Paparazzi still exist?”
She laughs, but not cruelly. “They do. There’s this idea that they don’t because of the rise of cell phones, but there’s a big difference between a photo taken by someone with a long-range lens and a photo taken with a cell phone camera by just anyone.”
That’s fair. “Sure, they have skills.”
“Exactly.”
“But with social media and celebs posting their own stuff, there’s still value?”
“Yes. Because sometimes the public only wants an unposed photo. The uncurated moment. Like right now. Everyone’s supposedly dying to get a picture of us kissing. Something that would make itofficial.” She sounds annoyed, and that’s not her usual MO.
“And you’re definitely not involved with him?” I ask.
“Ripley! No. I’d tell you. I’m not involved with him.”
“Why doesn’t he deny you’re a couple then?”
“Because denial would lookeven morelike we’re involved.”
My head spins. “It would?”
“Yes. There’s a long history of actors and celebrities denying they’re in a relationship, especially when they’re filming, then admitting it later. And often it comes out later that theyweretogether during the film but then split up afterward. Which means if they admit it too early, then break up during the film—as, let’s be honest, often happens—you have a PR mess.”
Forget spinning. I have whiplash. “But you’re not even involved with him.”
