Page 4 of Love Scenes

“We’re doing all of Calvin and Elise’s first kiss,” she continues. “And the beginning of their second kissing scene.”

“I always say to start with the tough stuff,” Guy chimes in. “That way you’re sure that what you have is going to work.Throw the actors to the wolves.”

He’s wearing a backward newsboy cap and thin glasses with light yellow frames. A timelessly Guy Cicero ensemble. The happiest-looking half-Cuban, half-Italian man to ever wear a corduroy blazer with patches on the elbows. It’s as if I can see him delivering this exact line on the set of every movie he’s ever made, the actors standing before him ever changing and him staying almost exactly the same, the passage of time only evident through the creasing around his eyes.

“He wanted our first day to be the full sex scene. I was like, ‘Guy, these people just met,’” Tyler adds. “We don’t do movies like that anymore.”

Guy throws his hands up. “I know, I know. But in a movie like this, if the sex scene doesn’t work, the whole thing is a bust!”

I give him the laugh he’s looking for. We can’t let this be awkward. We have to be professionals here.

Except we’re also family. Hard to set boundaries with each other when we’ve never had them before.

To pivot, I shake hands with him, and then with Tyler, who looks confused until I say, “As your resident consulting producer, thank youso muchfor this consultation. I look forward to many more.”

“You’re the worst,” she tells me. Then she goes serious so fastit gives me emotional whiplash. “Thank you for doing this, Bub. I know this won’t be easy for you. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” I say quickly, not looking to dwell. “I’m gonna go get some coffee.”

It’s a quiet scene by craft services. Crew members move around in all directions like ants on a hill, finalizing small details until it’s time for action. My entire drive here, I told myself not to care. That no good would come from wishing things had been different.

No matter how it came about, taking this producing job was ultimately my choice. And I will commit to it like I commit to everything else in my life: headfirst while silently panicking.

“Would ya look at who it is?”

The voice stops me in my tracks, my hand midway toward reaching for a banana. I cover for the pause as best I can, desperate not to reveal even the slightest trace of nerves.

“Is that not Sloane Ford I see? Staring at the fruit bowl like it’s tea leaves telling her a fortune?”

I turn around, and there he stands in a taupe button-down, sleeves rolled up to midbicep, suspenders holding up loose brown slacks. He has on circular wire-rim glasses, and his hair is combed back to show us every pore of his deceivingly cherubic face.

My hand squeezes the banana so tight that the insides start to push out of the skin.

Joseph fucking Donovan.

“Can I help you?” I ask, keeping my tone even.

He has the nerve to laugh. A piece of his newly darkened hair dares to fall across his forehead like he’s an Irish James Dean. He’s trying to charm away all the bad feelings between us, using his brogue like it’s got some sort of mystical power over American women.

“Funny way to greet a war hero such as myself.”

I take it all in. The prosthetic burns on the tops of his hands. The trace of a fake scar above his left eyebrow. The calculated swoop of his hair. He looks every bit the part of the romantic hero. Unfortunately, no amount of costuming can cover up his incompetence.

“It wasn’t meant to be a greeting.” I look past him as if I can see in the distance some task that requires my immediate attention.

He follows my eye, seeing nothing, then whips around again. Smirking. “I was surprised to hear you turned down Elise.”

“As if I was going to take the role with you as Calvin. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some stuff to do.” I leave my squished banana inside the basket, quietly cursing myself for not pouring a cup of coffee first.

“Wait a second.”

Joseph jogs up to meet me. He rests his hand on my shoulder to stop my momentum. When I turn to face him, he looks puzzled.

“I want this shoot to go well,” he says.

I suppress an eye roll. “I’m sure you do.”

“I’m catering lunch today,” he explains, like it’s meant to impress me. Itisa nice gesture, one that always helps to establish a good tone on set, but it doesn’t need to be announced.