I nod, watching her gather her things. It still feels surreal sometimes, seeing Blair with Wyatt—her high school boyfriend, whom she reconnected with a few years ago through work. I'd witnessed their awkward reunion firsthand, watching Blair try to stay professional while clearly being affected by seeing him again. Now they're married and expecting their first child together.
“Of course,” I say quickly. My pulse is still thudding, but I manage a smile. “Actually, I was going to swing by and see Brandon while I'm here. He's shooting on New York Street today.”
Blair's mouth quirks. “Tell him to try not to break his neck before the weekend.”
“I will, and give Wyatt my best.”
She gives my arm a squeeze, then heads off, already dialing Wyatt, leaving me with the cart, the sun, and the kind of news I can't wait to tell Brandon first.
Brandon Grimaldi is a professional stuntman, one of the guys you've likely seen fly through a window or get set on fire in a blockbuster, even if you didn't know it was him. Around here, he's the one directors trust to step in when it gets a little too real for the star of the show.
He also happens to be my across-the-hall neighbor and the honorary guy at our girls' nights. Perpetually single but never short on dates, he's easygoing and fun, the kind of guy who makes every room feel lighter. Somehow, he and I have landed on a weekly tradition—takeout and reality TV, with both of us taking turns with color commentary.
Stella
Ava meeting done. I have news. Where are you on the lot?
Brandon
New York Street. North end. Big fake deli. They have real pickles, though. Come steal one.
I bite back a smile I feel all the way down to my toes. Of all the things Los Angeles has given me, Brandon ranks unreasonably high. He's older, steady in a way that makes me feel both safe and a little reckless. Strong in all the obvious ways, the kind of man who looks like he was born knowing how to lift people out of burning buildings. And unfairly hot—so much so that if we hadn't met as neighbors and friends first, I probably never would've had the nerve to talk to him. Women notice him everywhere, and for a while, it felt like there was a new face on his arm every other week. Lately, though…I can't actually remember the last time I saw him with anyone.
The second I press the pedal, the cart gives its usual dramatic bucking launch before settling into a hum. I weave through the lot, past extras sweating in fake wool coats, past a fountain that, tomorrow, will either host a love confession or a body dump. New York Street appears like a magic trick, its façades stacked side by side, not a real home in sight. And there, just like he promised, is the fake deli with the pastrami special no one will ever order.
Brandon leans against the craft services table, a pickle in hand, breaking every heart within a fifty-foot radius. His T-shirt stretches over his biceps like the fabric's barely keeping up, and his hair—too long, always falling into his eyes—gets pushed back with a casual sweep of his hand. When his gaze lifts and lands on me, I swear it sharpens, brightens, like I'm the one he was waiting for. Then comes that easy, devastating smile with perfectly straight white teeth. He is the poster child for heartbreaker.
He walks over to me, smelling like sunshine and fake deli. “There she is!”
“You promised pickles.”
“That, I did.” He plucks a cup off the craft services table, dropping one inside before handing it over like it's contraband. “Look at that. Dreams really do come true.”
I bite into it, and the crunch echoes in my ears. “Okay, that's better than I expected.”
Brandon grins. “Right?”
I smile around another bite. “How was your morning?”
“Nope, we're not talking about me.” His gaze sharpens, teasing but curious. “Spill.”
I shift the cup in my hands as energy buzzes in my chest. “Blair wants me to manage Ava St. James while she's out on maternity leave. If I do well…” My throat catches. “She could stay my client.”
Brandon doesn't even blink. His grin breaks wide, warm and proud, like he's been expecting this all along. He takes my elbows, steadying me. “Of course she did. Stell, you're gonna crush it. I never doubted it for a second.”
The knot in my chest eases. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
He gives my arms a quick squeeze, but before I can reply, a set assistant jogs up, her headset slipping down her cheek. “Brandon, they're ready for you on mark.”
He groans good-naturedly, already backing toward the street. “Duty calls. Can you stick around for a bit? Watch me work?”
“Just one scene,” I say, trying to sound firm even as my chest warms at the invitation.
For a breath, it feels almost like I've got everything I've ever wanted.
two
