Page 45 of Highlands Summer Wedding
Max kept typing. I waited.Three. Two. One.“Oh, damn.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Your wedding planning visa won’t cover film production. I can’t even put you on payroll.” He was already scrolling through his contacts. “Let me call my agent about expediting a work visa.”
I nodded,thoughpartofmewantedtoscream.
I made a pot of teawith shaking hands,dropping a biscuit on the floor in the process,then settledon a deck chair. The book in my lap remained unopened as I stared at the water, the tea growing cold beside me.
Thegingerbiscuitsbeside me disappearedasIsippedmyteaandscrolledthrough Angus and Caitlin’sengagement photos. We could post them around the inn for the wedding. In fact, they were so beautiful I decided to make them into a photo book as a wedding present. I pulled out my laptop and set to work inserting and arranging photos.
I had no idea how much time had passed when I realized I’d designed an entire keepsake book for a wedding that hadn’t happened yet. Probably best to hold off on getting it printed until after the ceremony.
Max appeared on the deck with a glass bottle and two small glasses, amber liquid catching the endless evening light. “Fancy a dram?”
He poured a glass and held it out toward me. I leaned forward and breathed it in. It smelled of the ocean, heather, peat, and smoke. “Wow. That’s… something.”
“Want some?” he asked as he settled into the chair next to me.
I shook my head a little too vehemently, and he laughed.
“I mean, it smells interesting, but I think I’ll stick with tea tonight.”
“Fair enough,” he said, taking a sip.
“So, what’d you find out?” I asked, setting aside my laptop.
“It's 1:30 in the afternoon in LA, so I was actually able to get ahold of my agent. She said to let her talk to the studio first and not to give too many details when they call.”
“So what will you say?”
He leaned back in his chair, thinking. “I’ll be incredibly upbeat about the shoot, pitch your ideas—which I may have to present as mine at first—and then sell them on your experience, your talent…” He grinned. “Your laugh and your eyes.”
I batted my eyelashes at him.
“And it just so happens that the studio head is Shane.”
“No way! Shane? From our intern days?”
“Yup!”
I wiggled in my seat. “Wow, I wanna talk to him.”
Max shook his head, chuckling. “Nope. You’ll get him sidetracked on all the stories about the good old days.”
He paused before adding, “If we play our cards right, we should be fine. Shane’s a good guy. He knows both of us.”
“That’s why you weren’t that worried.”
“I mean, nobody likes getting fired. But yeah.”
I leaned my head back against the chair and closed my eyes. “Cool.”
A moment later, his lips brushed my forehead, soft and quick. “You should hit the hay.”
“‘Hit the hay’? What are you, a 1950s farmhand? I should ‘hit the hay,’ my midwestern friend. Maybe we can go cow tipping later.” I pushed myself to standing.
Max grinned up at me. “Don’t have a cow, man!”
He held out his hand, and I pulled him up.
“That’s don’t have a coo, lad,” I said inmybest attempt at a Scottish accent. I reached up and liftedhis baseball capaway,holdingitbetweenusfora momentbeforeleaningintopressmy lipsagainsthis cheek.
