“But you also can’t do this only for him, Emmy. Just like you can’t do it for Liz, or even to get back at that idiot boy.”
“Is this the part where you tell me I need to do it for myself?”
“Hey, it may sound after-school-special, but it’s true.”
I let her hold me for longer than I probably should, telling myself she needs to deliver this comfort as much as I need to receive it. It makes me feel better about being overthirty and still needing my mom. Although, in her very own words, fuck the haters; you’re never too old to need your mom.
I finally sit up when the crick in my neck starts to hurt. Because yeah, that position definitely isn’t as comfortable now as when I was younger.
“So you’re going to do it?” She tries to hide the glee in her voice but doesn’t do a very good job.
And because I’m still a petulant teenager at heart, I lie. “I’m not sure. I’m going to take the rest of the day to think about it.” I stand, taking my mug to the kitchen and rinsing it out before grabbing my keys and crossing the few steps to the front door. “Thanks for listening.”
She pulls me into a hug. “Literally my job.”
“Do not even think about calling Liz when I leave.”
She opens her eyes wide in mock outrage. “I would never.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You know how much Liz hates talking on the phone. We text.”
This time the outrage is mine and hardly mocked at all. My own mother shoves me outside, and I can see her tapping away on her phone before the door even closes behind me.
“Traitor!” I call over my shoulder as I bound down the steps and slide into my Prius.
Well. Fuck.
Screen Scandals
In some delightful casting news today, we are happy to report that everyone’s favorite rom-com writer Emmy Harper is going to be stepping in front of the camera in her brand-new love storyNo Reservations—a classic rom-com about a big-city girl who gets stranded at a small-town inn and finds herself falling for the charming owner. Harper has penned some of our favorite romance movies of recent years (not to mention her killer foray into the more dramatic space with her brilliant and Oscar-winningMidnight Sunset), but this will be her first time on-screen. Or, I guess we should say, this will be her first time in alongtime.
That’s right! Not only has Harper starred in a movie before, but she had the pleasure and good fortune of starring opposite our ABSolute (emphasis on the abs, always) favorite action hunk, Grayson West! How have you never heard of this cinematic masterpiece before, you might be wondering. Well, the simple answer is it’s terrible. No really. Both West and Harper were just starting out in their careers, and their chemistry is all over the place—from jumping off the screen during their one shared kiss to borderline murderous in basically every other scene. It’s no wonder it’s been all but stripped from our memories.
Lucky for Harper, she’ll be starring opposite super-hunk Jonathan Brentwood in her upcoming, hopefully triumphant return to the screen. We can’t wait to see some sexy small-town hijinks from these two hotties!
Chapter Two
My hand reaches out to adjust the volume on my car stereo, turning down the blare of my “Let’s Get Pumped” playlist so I can focus on the directions on my GPS screen. Because loud music makes it harder to navigate and all. Especially because said music needed to be loud enough to drown out the fact I most definitely cannot hit Mariah Carey’s high notes. Just a few minutes away from my destination, it’s time to focus.
Luckily, the adorable, postcard-perfect inn in Pine Springs, California, where I’ll be spending the next six weeks, is right off the main road, blanketed in fluffy white snow, despite it now being early March. Pine Springs is close enough to LA to make for easy travel, but far enough away to have real weather. That seasonal flaw aside, the inn is gorgeous with its robin’s-egg-blue facade and brightwhite trim. It’s a fitting centerpiece forNo Reservations.
Because yes, I succumbed. Somehow, the combined powers of my mother and my best friend, plus the threat of losing all of our funding, were enough to convince me to take on the role of Isobel, despite all my trepidation. It’sbeen just two weeks since I signed on the dotted line, and I’ve enjoyed every second of the wait until shooting begins, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible. Because despite my excitement about stepping back on-screen (shocker: Liz was right and I have been itching to stretch my acting chops once again), the closer we’ve gotten to actually starting filming, the more anxious I’ve become.
And here we are. On set. In the snow. About to try my hand at one of the few things in life I haven’t ever managed to do well, with no chance to turn back now.
Shit.
I park my Prius in the small lot off to the side of the inn. Throwing my purse over my shoulder, I collect the trash from my six-hour road trip—two empty coffee cups and one or two or ten empty bags of gas station snacks—and open the door, stepping out into the chilly midafternoon air. And it’s legitimately chilly, not just LA chilly. The cold bites through my thin sweater, and I rush to the front steps of the inn as fast as my not-made-for-snow boots will allow.
A gust of warmth greets me the second I push through the bright yellow door, bells tinkling as I nudge it closed behind me. For a second, I pause in the entryway, letting not just the heat but also the atmosphere of the lobby wrap around me like a soft, fluffy blanket. A soft, fluffy blanket that comes with freshly baked cookies and a puppy. That’s how perfect it is.
Directly ahead of me is the front desk, crafted from dark wood and strung with a floral garland, even though spring definitely has not sprung just yet. To the right of the check-in desk is a staircase, the railing made from amatching dark wood. A sitting room is visible through a doorway to my left, with a stone fireplace and lots of overstuffed-looking armchairs. The smell of pies baking in the oven permeates the space, giving off serious cottage-core vibes—the kind that are legit and can’t be picked up on a trip to Target.
It’s absolutely perfect, and just being in the room sends a little bit of a thrill through me. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe deciding to jump into this project headfirst isn’t the stupidest decision I’ve made in a really long time.
“You must be Emmy.” An older Black woman with graying hair tucked into a smooth bun beams at me from behind the front desk. She’s wearing a soft purple sweater and immediately reminds me of every favorite TV sitcom grandma ever.
