I finally manage to nod back at him. “I’m good.” And I am. Or at least, I will be.
Morrie gives me an awkward pat on the back. He’s not much of an affectionate guy, but I know he means well. “Come on, Gandalf,” he says with forced enthusiasm, making a halfhearted fist pump.
“Gandalf?” I repeat quizzically.
“Yeah, he’s, like, a cool wizard or something. You’re into that stuff, right?” Morrie shrugs. “I thought it’d be inspirational.”
I scoff. “Gandalf would never go undercover. He’s too high-profile.” I consider it. “I guess maybe Bilbo might be the closest thing to an undercover agent that Tolkien writes? Since he misrepresents himself to Golem and Smaug to get the information he needs.” Shaking my head, I pat his back sympathetically. “But nice try.”
Morrie rolls his eyes at me, and I’m relieved to see we’re falling back into our usual pattern. “How will I ever live down my shame at getting that wrong,” he deadpans.
I shrug, grateful for the return to normalcy. “We all have our cross to bear ...”
Chapter 23
Wes
As we pull up to the filming location, the production site is already mostly set up. I don’t see Harmony yet, but most of the crew, the cameras, and the sound equipment seem to be in place. Some locals are crowding around the fringes, trying to catch a peek of what’s going on with the filming. A few people are seated at the tables outside, but I think they must be extras, not locals, since they haven’t been cordoned off from the set.
The first part of our date, Morrie explains to me, will be at a place called the Donner Bakery. “Hopefully not named after the Donner Party,” I quip. “I’m human-flesh intolerant, so that would be a hard pass for me.”
Morrie just shakes his head. “Please don’t make that joke on camera.”
Yeah, that wasn’t really my best work. “Noted.”
Morrie nods toward the bakery. “Right now Harmony’s inside talking to the owner, who’s apparently famous online—the Banana Cake Queen?”
Never heard of her. But banana cake sounds delicious right about now. Hopefully I’ll get to eat some.
“Afterward,” Morrie continues, “Harmony will come out to get you. We’ll film you talking and flirting for a bit. Then Harmony will take you inside to buy a pastry. They’ll probably make you do something cheesy, like order an éclair and eat itLady and the Tramp–style, but that’s showbiz, baby.”
The “baby” is so out of character that, seemingly by mutual agreement, Morrie and I both pretend it never happened.
The date he outlined sounds simple enough. Well, not the sharing the éclair part—that just sounds messy, frankly. But the rest of it, I think I can handle just fine.
Morrie positions me near the glass windows at the front of the bakery, where I’ll remain until Harmony comes out to get me. “Wait here. I have to verify details about the musical number tomorrow.”
“The musical number?” That sounds ominous. “They’re not gonna make me do something stupid, are they?”
The look on Morrie’s face tells me all I need to know. “Just remember you’re serving your country.”
This can’t be good . . .
While Morrie talks with some of the other producers, I wait. Then wait some more. Then, for a fun change of pace, I do some more waiting.
After a while, out of sheer boredom, I begin people watching. I look at some of the Green Valley locals gathered around to watch the filming. No surprise—they’re all extremely good-looking. Geez, what is with this town?
When I run out of onlookers to observe, I start squinting through the window to see what I can glean about the inside of the bakery. It’s one of those floor-to-ceiling windows that’s slightly tinted, so it’s probably easier for the people inside to see me than it is for me to see them. Nevertheless, I manage to spot Harmony standing at the counter with her back turned toward me. Behind the counter and facing me is a pretty woman with long brown hair and violet eyes. Violet? Nah, that must be a trick of the light coming through the windowpane. No one really has that eye color in real life.
I move on, eyeballing some of the desserts in the case, then some of the extras seated inside at the tables. I see the producer who’s always rocking bright colors—I think his name is Lyle?—eyeballing some of the cannoli hungrily. Same, brother.
Just when I’m about to find something new to study, I stop, doing a double take.
Is that ... ? No. My eyes must be playing tricks on me again. Or maybe it’s just my own loopy brain, showing me who I want to see.
Because it looks like Nina is sitting at one of the tables. And right next to her is one of the handsomest men I’ve ever seen.
I’m not going to defend my masculinity. I feel no need to do so. I’m a heterosexual man who’s 98 percent into women, but I can recognize a good-looking man when I see one. For the record, that remaining 2 percent is for if I ever get stranded on a desert island with Henry Cavill with no hope of rescue, because come on, I’m straight but I’m not blind.
