Chapter one
Jenna
The fire alarm inmy kitchen blares, the sound echoing through the walls of my apartment.
Smoke pours out of the oven, and the smell of burnt cupcakes singes the hairs in my nose. Leaping toward my couch, I grab the nearest throw pillow, and jump like a madwoman, waving it around in the air.
I need the deafening noise to just…stop.
When I’m nervous, I bake. AndGod, am I nervous right now.
I’ve been invited to attend the most prestigious award show in film and television history as an unnamed guest.
Why, you ask? Oh, you know, because I stupidly agreed to the job when the producer sought me out.
I was in a public place—I couldn’t say no.
Well, I could’ve, but little Baby Jenna, who dreamed of being on a movie set, would’ve kicked my ass.
Am I qualified to do the job? Probably on a technical standpoint, sure.
But three months of living in a tiny town where the closest bed of water is a murky creek? Gross.
I’ve nervously pooped at least twice since I put the cupcakes in the oven. The same cupcakes that are now burnt and of no use to anyone.
Not that I had someone to give them to.
I thought about giving one to Julius, the doorman of my apartment complex, but he rarely even looks my way, and I’ve lived here for years. Good thing they’re now inedible.
“Deep breaths!” I hear my best friend’s voice through the speaker of my phone. It snaps me out of my panic-induced trance. “This is agoodthing, Jenna. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to do since I’ve known you. It’s what you were made for. Go, enjoy yourself, and worry about the rest of it tomorrow.” She smiles at me through the screen. “Besides, filming means being in Grangewood and being in Grangewood means being closer to me,” she says with a squeal.
When Cassandra lived in California, she and I used to live three song lengths away from each other. Then she got her heart broken and moved back home, turning those three song lengths into two and a half movie lengths by plane.
The distance felt impossible to deal with, and I hated it at first. But watching her find herself and rekindle a relationship shealmosthad in the past…it just made everything worth it.
“You’re right. This is my thing. I thrive at these types of events. Now, help me pick a dress.” I throw the pillow that was clutched to my chest back onto the couch, pick up my phone, her face taking over the entire screen, and make my way back to my bedroom.
“What about that black dress you always wear?” she asks. I’ve put on a New York Fashion Show type of performance for her to help me choose my outfit, but have been unsuccessful so far.
I guess I can blame her for the burnt baked goods.
This is my first everrealevent as a guest and not just someone who styles the hair of celebrities walking the red carpet.
I want to make a good impression, so my outfit needs to be good enough for a double take, but not too good that it sparks conversation.
I plan to be in and out, and pull a Houdini before the night ends.
“Key word in that sentence there, C, isalways.Because I always wear that godforsaken dress.” I sigh, taking it out of my walk-in wardrobe to admire it. ??Its skin tight, black satin, with fabric that bunches around my stomach and ass to give the textured look, but I bought it because the extra fabric disguises my tummy, and the dimples in my thighs.
“Sure, but no one that will be there tonight has seen you wear it.” She shrugs, taking a sip from her bottled water.
“You think? I feel like that dress is to be kept strictly for Becky Rogers’ weddings.” I laugh to myself. My mom could be married in a matter of months, so the dress needs to be kept pristine, or I won’t hear the end of it.
Though, I think sheissingle these days.
I make a mental note to call her and check in after Cassandra’s surprise wedding tomorrow, not that she’ll answer.
“She’s been married four times since my dad died, and each time she’sbeggedme to wear that dress. Like, a full on hands and knees grovel,” I say, laying it out on my bed, flattening it with my hands. The chances of me wearing it are pretty high.
