“Are you okay?” Kelsey asks. “With the scene today?” She seems sincerely concerned, and I’m tempted to spill it all to her. But there’s not time, and even if there was, I’ve learned from years of therapy—and one long-overdue, relationship-ending conversation with Roger—that telling someone about my feelings for Blake doesn’t make them go away.
I sigh. “I don’t know.”
Her brow furrows. She looks like she wants to tell me something, but I can’t handle any platitudes about how time will heal all things or how I really just need to get laid. None of the usual nuggets of post-divorce advice have ever produced results, and I doubt they will now. I grab Constanza’s leash from the table.
“Shouldn’t Aaron be here to pick up Costanza by now?” Costanza hears his name and sits up, his head swiveling eagerly in my general direction. I open my trailer door, wishing for some fresh air to help calm my nerves, but it’s July in Miami, and I don’t think there’s been air even remotely fresh here for months.
I spot Aaron, standing in front of Bertram’s trailer, busy with something on his phone. Kelsey does, too. “I’ll take Costanza over to him,” she offers quickly.
A little too quickly.
I raise my eyebrow. “Didn’t you say before that you liked bad boys? Aaron doesn’t seem to fit that mold.”Today’s lateness aside, he’s pretty responsible and unfailingly polite—even though Costanza seems to still think he’s a walking fire hydrant.
Kelsey shrugs as she openly ogles him. “I might be willing to make an exception for that one. And besides,” she coos to Costanza, scratching him behind the ears as he does a full-body wiggle of sheer doggy happiness. “I loveyou, and you’re a good boy, aren’t you?”
“I leave him in your capable care,” I say with a smile, genuine this time, handing her the leash. “My dogandmy assistant.”
She grins and heads off, her curls bouncing. Costanza tugs her along—I clearly need to train him not to pull on a leash when I get back home—and they both nearly barrel into a crewmember carrying a huge fake rock.
Seeing Kelsey with Costanza brings back a different memory of Blake, not on a film set, but in the red rocks of southern Utah, laughing his head off while walking a pack of dogs who all seemed determined to drag him in separate directions.
We’d gone on a road trip, leaving two-year-old Ivy with my parents for ten days. I’d been stressed about that, but my OCD—which neither of us had any understanding of at the time—must have been at a low ebb. I’d talked about how much I wanted to check out this famous animal sanctuary in Utah, and Blake suggested we go—just the two of us and the open road.
The whole trip was incredible, and not because of any fancy accommodations or exotic locations. We ate at greasy truck stops and went to see movies at small-town theaters, slipping in after the movies started so as to not be recognized. We drove and drove and talked for hours and still had things to say late at night in our hotel room. At the sanctuary, we pitched in with the animals, and Blake seemed to have just as great a time doing all of it as I did.
Especially during that walk.
“This is my future, isn’t it?” he called over to me, a wide grin on his face, stumbling after the dogs.
We already had several special-needs animals at this point, including Ugly Naked Pig, a pig I picked out for him when we first moved in together, because he said he’d always wanted one. We’d started talking about the kind of ranch we’d run together someday, and not just in generalities.
“You still up for it?” I called back, with an equally wide grin.
“Just try to stop me,” he said.Then he tripped over a rock and face-planted into the dirt as one of the German shepherds lunged forward.
We laughed so hard we were both crying.
The memory aches now.The ranch had originally been my dream, but he embraced it wholly, and it becameours. When I lost him, I couldn’t stand to give up my ranch dream, too, and I’m glad I didn’t. But sometimes I think of how it would have been if we could have done it together, like we’d planned.
I shake myself free of the image of Blake and the dogs and his happy, gorgeous smile, and hurry to the location we’re shooting today. It’s another beach scene, of course. My life on this set apparently wouldn’t be complete without getting sand in every crevice.
Troy gives me a look when I show up; I’m a few minutes late by now, but honestly, I’m hardly the first star to miss call time.
Telling myself this doesn’t make me feel better.
Nor does seeing Blake. He gives me a half-hearted smile, which I try to return. Beads of sweat drip down the side of his face. God, he must be miserable in this heat in all that leather.
Clearly he wants to get this over with quickly.That’s probably better for both of us.
Troy indicates where I’m to lie down on the sand, an area marked with fake rocks with scorch marks across the tops of them from the blast of the laser weapon that Naked Mole Rat used on Hemlock. Apparently Guidepost brought some brutal tech along with him from Astra Vel.
As I lie down and makeup swoops in with a few, last-minute additions of blood splatter to my cleavage, I try not to notice that there seem to be more people milling around than usual.
This is it, the big Watterpless post-divorce kissing scene. No one wants to miss this.
My chest is so tight it hurts. I look up at Blake, but he’s staring down at the sand, his arms folded. He looks almost angry, and I don’t blame him.
Just try to stop me, I hear him say, laughing, in my memory.
