But instead, she looks up at me with an expression so foreign it takes a moment to realize it’s vulnerability. My mom’s perfect Southern hospitality comes from such a genuine place that I sometimes forget there’s even the possibility of anything different behind the performance of it.
“Mom, what is it? Is there something I don’t know? Something about Cooper and Cara, or—”
“Nikki…”
Just then, my phone starts ringing and buzzing in my butt pocket. “Sorry. Let me just silence this.”
I set down the basket and yank my phone out to send the caller to voicemail, but a name I really wasn’t expecting flashes across the caller ID.Sloane N.
“Whoa,” I say, letting out a breath.
“Whoa, what, honey? What is it? Is it important?”
I look up at her. “It’s one of the producers fromLovedBy.” For some reason, my heart is lodged in my throat, making it hard to swallow. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to anyone from the show. At the time we were shooting, Sloane and I were actually pretty close. You kind of can’t help but bond with your producer. They’re with you all the time, on camera and off, pumping you up, consoling you when you’re down, and of course, mining you for vulnerabilities that make for good TV. She checked in on me a few times after the show ended but then I stopped answering, and life moved on, and now it’s been forever.
The phone keeps ringing in my palm, and I hold it slightly away from me, like it has come alive like a frog and might jump.
Mom gasps. “Oh my lord, well, answer it, Nikki! Obviously, answer it!”
And so, with trembling hands, I do.
AFTER SOME NICETIES,SLOANEgets to the purpose of her call.
“So, I’ve been talking to the team, and we would love to have you on the next season ofShore Thing.”
“Oh wow,” I say, because I genuinely wasn’t expectingthat.LovedBy: A Shore Thingis their beachy spin-off show, made up of contestants from past seasons of the regularLovedBy.
“You’re obviously a fan favorite,” Sloane continues. “And I think people would really love to cheer you on, see you get another chance at love.”
“That’s sweet.” I feel dumb with these two-word answers, but my mind is still reeling.
“Listen, take a minute to think about it. We don’t need an answer until Sunday.”Sunday.As in, four days from now. As in, the day of the wedding. “I’ll send over more info, so you and your reps can take a look,” Sloane continues. “But I just wanted to call personally to say how happy we’d be to have you.”
“Thanks, Sloane. I’ll, um, I’ll give that some thought.”
When I hang up, my mom is looking at me expectantly.
“They want me to come back on the show—onA Shore Thing.”
“Oh my,” Mom says. “Are you going to do it?”
“I’m—I’m not sure yet. What do you think?”
Mom schools her face into neutrality, but the tiny sparkle in her eyes gives her away. “I know things didn’t work out the way you’d hoped last time, but I still think there’s someone out there for you.”
My treacherous brain supplies an image of Nate, which I mentally shove aside.
“This could be a wonderful opportunity, new people, new places…” Mom continues. “You never know what might come of it.” Her neutral mask melts away, replaced by a grin that practically radiates glee. “And, selfishly, you know I would love to see you on my screen again. You’re sogoodon camera, sugar. I mean, you’re livingallthe way out there in LA; seems like you might as well try to make something of it.”
She gives a good argument…
But what would the FitGirl reps think of this? The last thing I want to do is compromise that new partnership or seem less committed to it.
And then I can’t help but wonder…What about Nate?
I flash back to yesterday’s dressing room kiss for the umpteenth time.
We’re justfriends, I remind myself. We both agreed that what happened yesterday was a slipup, a heat-of-the-moment mistake. I like Nate—maybe more than I should—but it’s messy, and ill-defined, and basically has the shelf life of the four days remaining between now and the wedding. I can’t let my feelings for him dictate whether or not I take this opportunity.
