Page 50 of Love Scenes

We take a spot beside a random potted palm tree. Daya leans against the base in the shade while I stay in the sun, needing a good excuse to squint, because I’m afraid I could cry, and that would be both humbling and bizarre.

“Before you go telling your father I’m cheating on him with a troublemaking Irishman, let me assure you that I, like you, seem to be immune to the charms of Joseph Donovan.”

I gulp. Immune. Yes.

“I’ve been trying to pitch him a comedy I wrote. I thought I’d have a minute at our engagement dinner, but I somehow forgot what those family dinners are like.” She stops to catch her breath. “There’s this puppy dog of a character I wrote that I really want to see Joe read for. He’sveryresistant to the idea. He doesn’t think people will find him funny. I don’t know, I was right about Alex. It’s always hilarious when thevery serious actorscommit to something fluffy. Which makes me think I’m right about Joe too.” She pauses. “He’d just gone to get some lunch when you knocked.”

At the base of my throat, a balloon of tension slowly hisses out. “Gotcha.”

“Girl, I promise I’m telling you the truth. Put me on the stand. Strap me to some train tracks.” Her pointer finger shoots up. “Fuck. Alex is here! There’s my clincher. He’s here with Sarai. If I was going to step out on him, do you really think I’d do it when he’s my ride home? You can text him right now. He knows about the meeting. They were off trying to find you, actually.”

I don’t know why I’m letting her flounder. Her cheating on my dad hardly crossed my mind as something to be mad about. “I believe you. I’m just processing.”

“I get that. And trust me, it doesn’t make much sense to me either, but I love Alex. I really do. I even love him after he chosea tacky-ass square-cut diamond for me. You can’t tell me that isn’t real.”

It makes me smile to hear it. “I’m sorry for overreacting. I’m a little loopy, I guess. It’s been a weird few days.”

“I can imagine. This is becoming one hell of a production.” She hesitates. “I mean that in the best way. This is the stuff they’d make a movie about. A movie about a movie. I’d watch it, is all I’m saying.”

We start back toward the trailers. It’s nice to talk with someone who knows me but doesn’t knoweverythingabout me. “You really haven’t lived until you’ve seen your mom make out with your old stepmom,” I tell her.

“My mother is a doctor. Married to my dad for thirty-three years. I haven’t livedat all.”

Joseph catches us on our way. The sight of him nearly tips me over, making me jittery. He’s not in costume yet, just tight-fitting jeans and a short-sleeve red lumberjack shirt.

“There’s the man we were looking for! Sloane here found me alone in your trailer like a kept woman,” Daya says jokingly. “Don’t worry. I cleared it up. Only man that’s dicking me down is Sloane’s dad! Hell yeah!” She holds up her hand for a high five from Joseph, who coughs out a shocked laugh.

I’m gut punched by my own mortified amusement. “Oh my god. Please never say that again.”

“Besides, I’m pretty sure your girlfriend wouldn’t be too pleased about it either,” Daya tells Joseph as their hands connect.

Girlfriend.

Joseph’sgirlfriend.

My attention shifts to my feet. Suddenly it’s of utmost importance that I examine every detail of today’s shoes: brown leather,with a thin strap across the middle, little teardrop cutouts forming a border along the outside edge.

I think I will spend the rest of my life looking at these shoes.

Great shoes.

I should go tell our costume designer.

Daya, a very keen woman, keeps the brightness in her tone. “I need to find Alex. Make sure he’s picking the heart-healthy meal options.” She heads toward set. “Remember what I told you about the movie, Joe!” she calls from the distance. “People would love to see it. I promise!”

She’s gone, leaving Joseph and me and a million questions in the air. The sun is a laser beam to my insecurity, setting me alight. I’m boiling. Squirming. Wishing for five minutes ago, when my biggest concern was whether or not I’d be able to identify what song he’d be playing when I got to his trailer. He’s gotten more obscure with the classic rock in an attempt to stump me.

“Could we go inside and talk?” he asks.

I decide to hold my ground. “What could you need to say to me that you can’t say right here, right now?”

“Fine. We can talk here. Let every sound guy, key grip, and personal assistant on the lot hear this.” He moves back to create more space between us. Clears his throat with unnecessary flourish, then begins. “First, am I right to say that I never once touched you?”

I squint my eyes so much I can actually see my lashes press together.

“Not in any kind of inappropriate way,” he clarifies.

“Sure.”