"Thank you," I say quietly as I hand him the last plate. "For including me."
"Of course," he replies.
Our fingers brush during the handoff, and the contact sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the evening breeze. For a moment, we're frozen there, connected by a dinner plate and something much more complicated.
Then his phone buzzes, and Hazel asks for help with her math homework, and the moment breaks. But as I walk back to the guest house, I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin.
I'm in so much trouble.
twelve
. . .
Grant
The steady humof activity on set makes me feel right at home. I've spent countless hours on sets just like this—the organized chaos of crew members darting about, the oversized lights casting everything in an artificial glow, the quiet intensity right before someone calls "action"—but today feels different. Today, I'm here to watch Sophia.
She's been staying in my guest house for a week now. You'd think I'd see her enough at home not to feel compelled to visit her on set. You'd be wrong.
When I arrive, she's already deep in character, running lines with James Foster, her co-star. I hang back near the monitors, not wanting to disrupt their flow. The scene they're filming is intimate—not physically but emotionally—two people dancing around their feelings for each other, neither brave enough to make the first move. The irony isn't lost on me.
"Quiet on set!" Edie's voice cuts through the bustle. "Rolling…Action!"
Sophia transforms. It's subtle—a softening around her eyes, a slight shift in her posture—but suddenly, she's not Sophia anymore. She's Maya, the character she's bringing to life. I've seen her act before, of course. I've watched her previous films and even sat in on this chemistry read, but there's something different about seeing it happen live, about watching the way she can slip in and out of character like she's changing clothes.
"I can't keep pretending this isn't happening," James says, stepping closer to her. His character, Drew, is supposed to be fighting years of repressed feelings. He's doing a decent job, but I find myself irritated by the way his hand lingers on her arm.
Sophia looks up at him with such longing that my chest tightens. "Then stop pretending," she whispers. The vulnerability in her voice makes me forget to breathe for a moment. Would she look at me that way if we ever…? I shut down that thought before it can fully form.
"Cut!" Edie calls out. "Good, but let's try it again. James, remember Drew's been holding this back for years. Everything he says costs him something. And Sophia—perfect. Keep that same energy."
Just like that, Sophia's back to herself, laughing at something James whispers to her. Her smile is different now, friendly but professional, nothing like the raw emotion she just displayed. It's fascinating watching her navigate these spaces, slipping between actress and producer with such ease.
They run the scene three more times. With each take, Sophia introduces something new while maintaining thatcore of emotional truth. I try not to let it bother me when James touches her arm, shoulder, or face. It's just acting—very good acting.
"That's the one!" Edie announces after the fourth take. "Let's break for twenty while we reset for the next scene."
Sophia immediately heads over to where Edie is reviewing the footage, her producer hat firmly in place. "What do you think about running that last exchange a little tighter?" she asks, leaning over Edie's shoulder to study the monitor. "We might want the option in editing."
I'm struck by how naturally she moves between roles—actress, producer, and creative partner. At twenty-five, she has instincts that usually take decades to develop. In moments like these, the age gap between us feels both significant and completely irrelevant.
"Grant!" She spots me and breaks into a genuine smile, the one I think of as distinctly Sophia. "Please tell me you're here with good news about Honey Pine."
"Would I dare show my face if I wasn't?" I pull out the signed location agreement. "We're officially approved for three weeks of shooting, starting next month."
She lets out a delighted squeal and throws her arms around me in an impulsive hug. I catch her, acutely aware of every point of contact between us. That hit of vanilla and summer floral—jasmine, I'm pretty sure—is intoxicating.
"This is perfect timing," Edie says, either not noticing or politely ignoring our lingering embrace. "We were just discussing how to handle the transition scenes. Honey Pine will give us exactly what we need for that story beat."
Sophia steps back, but her eyes are still bright with excitement. "Remember that mountain behind the frontier set? The way the light hit in the late afternoon? So perfect."
"It was." It's not a day I'll easily forget. After hours of walking the property, Sophia's mind worked overtime as she envisioned shots and scenes. Her passion was infectious—and still is.
"We should celebrate," she says. "Dinner? I'll cook. It's the least I can do since you're letting me crash at your place."
"You cook?" I raise an eyebrow, amused by this new information.
"Don't sound so skeptical! I'll have you know I make an excellent…" She pauses, thinking. "Ok, I make exactly three dishes really well. But one of them is coming your way tonight, so act surprised and impressed."
