Page 2 of Unscripted with Mila

“Just checking.”

She rambled on a bit about numbers and some new foreign rights deals. I ate and sipped my coffee as she spoke.

“So, update on the movie.”

“No casting changes?” I asked anxiously.

“No. You still have Nicholas Scott as the lead and Lacey Dunbar for Roxie. But production has been moved up. So far, the plans are, they’re doing the scenes in LA in two weeks, then on to Vancouver for some of the outdoor filming. Then to Ontario, then whatever needs to be done for reshoots. They want you to fly down to LA for the shoot and be part of the read-throughs. Help the cast—give them insight.”

“Wow, so soon?” I asked, anxiety curling around my chest.

“The studio is crazy for this book, kiddo. And you said you’d do it. You’re not going back on that now, are you?” She paused. “I’ll be right there with you, promise.”

I drew in a long breath. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

“Awesome. We’ll go to the studio, and you can meet Nicholas and Lacey, plus the supporting cast. Sit in on the read-throughs. I know both the leads want some direction. And I know you want Duncan and Roxie to be handled correctly.”

“Yes, I do.”

“And you can see where they’re filming—see some of the sets and the exteriors. The actors prepping and all that. They still need a couple of locations for other exteriors, but I’m sure they’ll find the right ones.”

“So, when do we leave?”

“Two weeks Friday.”

I bit my lip in worry. “What if I…” I let the sentence trail off.

Andi’s voice dropped in sympathy. “Kiddo, I know you’re shy. You can do this. And you haven’t had an occurrence in a long time. If you do, I’m right there. And if it’s too much, I’ll take you home, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Good. Now go back to writing. I’ll send you the details and see you at the airport in just over two weeks.” She laughed. “And no doubt, I’ll talk to you a dozen times between now and then. Ciao!”

I hung up with a sigh, the casserole no longer appealing. I pushed aside my plate and finished the coffee. I never said no to coffee.

Heavy footsteps on my porch made me smile, and I got up to get another mug to make a coffee for my visitor. There was a loud rap on the door, and my dad walked in. Still tall, still big, and still my favorite man on the planet.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He had aged well. His back was broad, his shoulders wide, and to this day, I was sure there was nothing he couldn’t do. Certainly nothing he wouldn’t do for one of us kids. Biologically, he might not be our father, but to us, he was the perfect dad.

“Hey, Pumpkin,” he greeted me, pressing a kiss to my head. He slid a plate on the table. “Mom made pie.”

“Oh no. What kind?”

He frowned. “Blueberry. Your favorite.”

“Oh God, I have to go to LA in two weeks.”

He rubbed his chin. “I think you can squeeze in eating a piece of pie.”

“Then I have to really squeeze into my pants,” I moaned.

Dad took the cup of coffee I handed him and laughed. “Mila, baby, you don’t have to squeeze into anything. There is nothing wrong with you.”

“My butt is big. And my hips—”

He interrupted me. “Your hips and butt are in perfect proportion to your waist, your height, and everything else.” He met my eyes. “You know that. Why are you suddenly upset?”

“Los Angeles,” I stressed the words. “Tinseltown, where everyone is glamorous and thin.”