Page 113 of Let’s Make a Scene

I take a reluctant sip, and—yep—it tastes exactly like it looks and smells.

“Do you want to tell me what you and Jasmine got into today?” I ask, nudging the cup away from me.

She does, as succinctly as possible.

“I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise,” I say when she finishes. “After what you told me about him. But still…”

“I know.” Cynthie sighs. “At first I felt worse, like I’d merrily sailed past even more glaring red flags, but actually in a weird way it helps me to understand it better.” She pauses, cradling her mug in her hands. “It was so calculated.”

“And how do you feel about that?” I ask.

“Mostly right now I feel mad as hell.” She gives a shaky laugh. “But that’s actually something of an improvement. I’m going to have to think about what I want to do with all this new information.”

I nod. “That makes sense. It changes things.”

“It does, yes.” She sips her tea, her expression thoughtful.

“So, directing, hey?” I ask after a moment.

Her cheeks pink. “Do you think I’m delusional?”

“I think you can do anything you set your mind to.”

“Jasmine and I talked about it. She suggested I sit in on looking over some of the dailies with her and Logan. She was… kind about it.”

Cynthie sounds astonished about this, and I get why—Jasmine being kind is a curious concept.

“She sees something in you. She always has. It makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t really matter what I think, or what Jasmine thinks. What do you think?”

She puts her mug down, toys with the string of the tea bag. “I think it feels like a challenge. A fun one. Or at least it did before all the Shawn stuff.”

I swallow my anger. “Then it will again,” I say as lightly as I can manage. “And God knows that the last fun challenge you took on worked out pretty well. Two Golden Globes and an Oscar nom well. You, Cynthie Taylor, are a total badass.”

She looks up at me, and a smile breaks over her face, scrunching her nose. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

Fuck, she’s so cute. “We should really talk about what happened this morning,” I say.

Cynthie’s gaze slips away from mine and she sighs. “Do we have to? We both got a bit carried away. It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?”

“Was it?” I ask, watching her.

She huffs out a breath of frustration. “We’ve both admitted there’s an… attraction between us. And we keep being pushed together, having to pretend to be a couple on- and off-screen. The lines are bound to get blurry.” I’m not sure if it’s me she’s trying to convince, or herself.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I should tell her how I feel. I don’t know if she shares the feelings I’m finding it impossible to ignore, or if—for her—this really is just a physical thing. I don’t think that’s the case. Whatever this is, she’s opened up to me in a way that I know is unusual for her. Perhaps pushing her now would be a mistake.

It’s delicate.

“So we’ve got the weekend off,” she says, changing the subject, and it feels like the moment slips away with it. “Any fun plans?”

I groan, letting her have her way for now. “Yes, actually. I’ve been summoned.”

“Summoned?”

“Lunch at my parents,” I say despondently. “I’m going to drive down early tomorrow and stay over in town.”