I’m sorry, what?Did he just insult me in front of Nate and the entire crew? An angry heat licked up my spine at the thinly veiled dig.How dare he call me out like that?I looked to Jason for validation—He’sbeing a dick, right?—and he shrugged helplessly like,Temperamental actors. What can you do?
Nate split a look between Ryder and me. “Sure, we can do it again if you want. Scarlett, you good with that?”
“Sure,” I said briskly, feigning indifference, but inside, I was seething.Who does Ryder think he is, throwing me under the bus like that?If he wanted to be a moody asshole, that was on him,but I wasn’t just going to stand by while he turned me into roadkill.
I went to take my place again as the crew reset. Unfortunately, this scene required me to straddle Ryder on a milking stool, flirty and smitten, which frankly felt outside my acting capabilities at the moment. I attempted to swallow my irritation, but it went down like a porcupine. I breathed deep and tried to backburner it instead, but that didn’t work either. I was too hot and bothered to let this slide. If we were both going to make it through this shoot alive, I needed to stand up for myself now.
“You know, if you wanted to do another take, you could have just said so. You didn’t need to trash me in front of Nate and the entire crew.” I kept my voice down, mindful of the boom mics dangling overhead that were specifically designed to pick up our conversation.
Ryder had yet to move from his perch on the milking stool, and he shoved his hair out of his eyes as he looked up at me impassively. “Trashyou? That’s a bit dramatic. I did you a favor.”
I went rigid, the indignation I’d set to simmer now boiling over. “Afavor?”
“You were overdoing it. The other scenes in this sequence are action-oriented and need that kind of energy. This one is quieter. It’ll have more emotional impact if it’s softer, more stripped down. Less forced.”
I gaped at him in shock.This was unreal. Instead of apologizing, he was doubling down. “I did it exactly the way Nate wanted.”
“I know what he asked for, but it’s not what the sceneneeds. Underplaying it is the right choice. Nate’ll see that on playback.So will you.” He spoke slowly, patiently, like he was humoring an errant child. It made me apoplectic.
“You can’t…you’re so…” I wanted to say something likeunbelievable, but it wasn’t nearly a nasty enough adjective to describe his audacity.How dare he be this condescending?How dare he render me speechless?
“You ready?” Nate called, interrupting us, and I knew I had no choice but to table this for the time being. It was either compartmentalize my anger or risk looking petty and unprofessional in front of Nate, and I wasn’t about to let Ryder bait me into looking bad,no sirree.
“Sure thing,” I told him, then took a deep breath and folded myself back onto Ryder’s lap, hooking my hand around his bicep the way Nate mentioned liking. Ryder tucked me into his chest with a cocky gleam in his eyes, lips twitching in triumph. Even though I’d love nothing more than to smack that smug smile right off his face, I donned the expression of a lovestruck young woman and gazed at him adoringly instead.I’ll show you some overacting, buddy.
Well, fine. If this was how it was going to be, then I was glad to know the score.
Game on.
5
Now
It can’t be.Is he real? Did I tempt fate with all my tipsy reminiscing and accidentally conjure him?
My mouth opens but no sound comes out; Ryder’s sudden manifestation on my doorstep has stunned me into silence. I feel like the wind’s been knocked out of me. I feel like hyperventilating into a paper bag. I finally give up trying to speak and gape at him in open-mouthed shock, letting my eyes do what my mouth cannot: catalogue Ryder 2.0.
Gone are the boyish features, the lanky build, the shock of hair he was forever raking out of his eyes. In their place is a man who’s fully grown into himself. What was once youthful is now rugged, his then-wiry frame now solid and leanly muscled. His angular jaw has filled out, broadened and thickened into a chiseled maturity. A neat, close-cropped beard follows the cut of his cheekbones, further cementing his new, more seasoned appearance. His hair’s trimmed shorter in a style that showcases his superior bone structure. Even his wardrobe’s gotten a glow-up, his collection of threadbare T-shirtsand baggy denim replaced by a pair of tailored linen shorts and a slim-fit golf shirt that hugs his biceps. Despite seeing him on countless magazine covers and in social media clips over the years, it’s still incomprehensible to me that he’s no longer the fresh-faced twenty-three-year-old from my memories.
One thing that hasn’t changed? His bottle-brown eyes, the gradient effect that’s spellbound millions of female fans across the globe even more striking than I remember. They’re as hypnotic now as they were ten years ago. He’s studying me simultaneously, and I can feel his eyes tracing me like a touch, grazing over my skin like a lingering caress.
Their effect on me doesn’t seem to have changed much, either.
My heart is beating so fast it’s like a hummingbird’s trapped in my chest, its wings frantically slamming against my rib cage. I can’t make sense of him standing here in my doorway.I must be hallucinating. Someone roofied my rosé.
Ryder’s displaying no such angst. In fact, he’s looking at me like we just saw each other yesterday. “Hey, Scar.” I wince at the nickname, and he clocks it, pausing for a beat. “It’s been a long time.”
It’s been a lifetime.I realize I’m white-knuckling the doorframe and attempt to loosen my grip. “How?” I manage to croak.
“Did I find you?” he supplies, helping me out. “Wasn’t that hard. I’m staying nearby.” He gestures vaguely over his shoulder, and for the first time, I notice the old Bronco parked in the driveway. He smiles lightly, not breaking eye contact. “Surprise.”
“No.” I shake my head vigorously, the single word snapping me out of my fugue state and helping me claw back a tiny shred of my composure. “That isnothow this works. You do not just get to show up on my doorstep after ten years with nowarning like the Ghost of Scarlett’s Past and say,Surprise!” I huff an exasperated breath to underscore my point.
His mouth twitches into a smile, head tilting, and I’m reminded of how much I used to love earning one of his smiles—hisrealsmiles, the ones only I would get, not the phony, practiced movie star smile he’d give everyone else. “Come on, Scar. I wasn’t about to let the first time we saw each other again be in front of a bunch of cameras.”
The words hit me like a lightning bolt. They’re so much like the ones he whispered in my ear all those years ago—the ones that changed everything—and I’m instantly transported back in time, my hard-won composure slipping away just as quickly as it arrived. Ryder watches me remember with an inscrutable expression on his face, and I wonder if this is how this week is going to be, an endless series of flashbacks marching across my memory like an invading army, assaulting my psyche and wreaking havoc on my emotional state.
And the worst part is, now that I think about it, I know he’s right. Waltzing into that press conference tomorrow expecting to pull off a blasé reunion in front of a gaggle of gossip reporters desperate for a dramatic narrative was naïve at best and reckless at worst. I’m not sure what I was thinking. I’m a good actress, but I’m notthatgood.
