Ryder’s face, ghostly pale and panicked in that old prop plane, pops into my mind unbidden, and I nearly laugh out loud. But before I can fully process that flashback, it’s replaced by another: Ryder and I on one of our sandy Sundays at the beach, his body looming over mine and blocking out the sun, the ends of his wet hair dripping salt water onto my skin as he kisses me awake from a sun-soaked nap.
I clear my throat, forcing away the memories ticker-taping across my brain. “Gosh, it’s so hard to pick just one. We filmed at so many beautiful locations around Seafolly, including all the old historic buildings that I completely fell in love with. Every day on set was a new adventure, and being surrounded by all the vintage props and set dressings was so much fun. I remember when they had to teach me how to drive an antique car—”
“Which took ten years off my life. The insurance policy on it was astronomical,” Nate breaks in with a beleaguered groan, eliciting laughter from the audience.
“I may have had oneminoraccident,” I reveal conspiratorially. “Oh, and I loved filming the swing dancing scene. We got lessons for that too, and I think we got pretty darn good at it,what do you all think?” I prompt the crowd, and I’m rewarded with enthusiastic cheers. “I have to admit, I’ve broken out the jitterbug more than once since. It’s a great party trick.”
Dr. Wynn beams at me, clearly pleased with my answer. He’s loving the energy in here, and I can practically hear my publicist congratulating me for the great sound bite. “Ryder, what about you? Same question.”
Ryder pauses for a moment, considering. “One of the unique things aboutThe Lost Letterwas that there was such great camaraderie between all of us from day one, and you don’t always get that on a set. It didn’t matter if we were filming a beach scene in freezing temperatures or exhausted from a night shoot or stepping in cow poop, we always had fun because we genuinely enjoyed the people we were working with. But myfavoriteon-set memory?” He casts me a mischievous look, biting his lip like it’s all he can do to keep his smile from escaping, and there’s no time to prepare for the bomb he drops. “Hands down, it was filming the barn scene.”
Gasps ripple through the amphitheater, followed by scattered hoots, then applause that grows louder and bolder once the initial shock wears off. I have to consciously school my features so as not to betray my reaction, but beneath the surface, my internal organs are rioting.Did he seriously just say our love scene, where Melody and Holden lose their virginity to each other, was his favorite scene to film?!
He sure did. And he’s looking quite smug about it.
The crowd’s going nuts for this juicy bit of innuendo, though his comment unnerves me for an entirely different reason, one only he and I are privy to:It was the same day Ryder and I slept together for the first time, too.
I can’t believe his brazenness. It’s like he’s intentionally trying to resurrect the “will they or won’t they” relationship rumors I’ve spent years trying to put to rest. Why is he deliberately baiting an audience that’s already primed to see things that aren’t there? This stuff is private.Is nothing sacred to him?
I shift in my seat, cognizant that every move I make is being catalogued and scrutinized by our hyper-invested audience. I’ve been vigilant about my body language, careful not to angle myself toward Ryder (too intimate) or turn my back (not the cold shoulder!) or otherwise send any sexually charged mixed messages sure to be dissected later by social media armchair experts in endless, breathless TikToks. I refuse to let them see me squirm, just as I refuse to let a suggestive remark from Ryder get under my skin that easily.
Time to flex the PR muscles I’ve honed over so many years in the spotlight.I paste on an amused but slightly reproachful expression that says,That Ryder, what a rascal!and rattle off a good-natured, in-on-the-joke laugh. From the outside, I’m a polished professional. Inside, I’m grinding away tooth enamel.
“As you all know, debate has raged for a decade about whether Melody ended up with the right man. EveryLost Letterfan feels, shall we say,passionateabout who she should have ended up with, so let’s do a little test. Let’s hear a round of applause if you think she should have ended up with Tate,” Dr. Wynn declares, then waits for the earsplitting cheers to die down. “Or Holden,” he continues, and the thunderous applause ratchets up to a deafening level. These folks are in the tank for Ryder, and he aims a taunting grin Jase’s way.
Dr. Wynn quiets the crowd with some “settle down” hands. “Okay, the people have clearly spoken! The #HoldMes have it.But I think we need to hear from Scarlett herself. Who doyouthink Melody should have ended up with?”
I don a diplomatic smile and give my practiced answer. “I probably feel similarly to the audience. It was heartbreaking that Melody didn’t end up with the love of her life, but I like to think that despite his own pain, Holden knew she was making the right choice for their child. In essence, Melody sacrificed the old love of her life for her new one, and that’s the ultimate act of love, isn’t it? It’s what I think makes the movie so powerful, that it’s not just a story of romantic love, but also a mother’s love for her child.” Emotion tightens my throat, the subject reopening old wounds and bringing long-buried feelings to the surface. I pause to collect myself, tracing a finger over a violet I find in the floral pattern of my skirt.Breathe.
“So, I think things probably ended up the way they should have. Sometimes loyalty can mean more than passion, in the end. There’s a lot to be said for platonic soulmates,” I say, smiling at Jase. “I think it would’ve been hard for Holden and Melody to merge their worlds, and in many ways, Tate was a better fit. I know it’s not as romantic, but the truth is, Melody probably had a smoother life with Tate than she would have had with Holden.”
Ryder cups his hands around his mouth andboos, much to the audience’s delight. “I like to think that Holden came back and they had a steamy affair once a year.”
“Guys, I’m sittingrighthere,” Jase says with mock exasperation. Someone in the audience yells, “Justice for Jase!” and he snaps his fingers and points at them. “Thank you for that.”
Dr. Wynn calls on a bespectacled female reporter in the front row next. “Scarlett, you donated a couple of your originalcostumes to the Seafolly Fund auction, including the iconic red ‘rain’ dress that had memorabilia collectors in a frenzy. YourLost Letterwardrobe has achieved cult status in the fashion world, and I’d love to hear your thoughts about Melody’s enduring influence on pop culture.”
Now this is a question I can handle. “I was as obsessed with Melody’s wardrobe as all of you! Our costume designers did an incredible job bringing that time period to life, and I’m not surprised that people still talk about that red dress,” I say, waving at a beaming teenage girl in the audience who’s wearing an exact replica, “or Tate’s newsboy caps, or even Holden’s bathing suit.” I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. “Most people don’t realize that much of myLost Letterwardrobe was made up of one-of-a-kind vintage pieces, so I had to be insanely careful not to damage anything, and even then, the dresses were falling apart so frequently that a costume assistant had to follow me around with a needle and thread!
“For the rain scene in particular,” I continue, grinning at the memory, “when Ryder and I ran toward the barn, I had to carry my shoes in my hand because they’d rigged these firehoses overhead to drench us with water, and the minute they turned them on, those vintage heels literally disintegrated on my feet. And since it would’ve been nearly impossible to run in platform slingbacks anyway, I wasn’t mad about it,” I joke, and the audience laughs along with me.
“Speaking of the online auction,” Dr. Wynn pipes up, puffing up with pride, “I’ve been authorized to reveal the final tally of how much money was collected for the Seafolly Fund. I’m pleased to announce it raised a grand total of…” He pauses for dramatic effect, and judging by the look on his face, I thinkhe’s annoyed the audience didn’t get the hint and automatically launch into a drumroll. “One point two million dollars!”
He waits for the raucous applause to die down before continuing. “We want to thank everyone on stage for their generous contributions, especially Ryder, whose offer to reenact Holden and Melody’s romantic plane scene with a chartered flight over Seafolly was the highest earning item, with a winning bid of five hundred thousand dollars!”
This time there’s no hiding my reaction, my eyes popping wide as dinner plates. Theplanescene? The one that almost had to be scrapped due to his fear of flying? The one that had him rocking in the fetal position, crying like a little girl?That’sthe scene Ryder’s choosing to relive? I’m beyond confused.
“But I have a fun little surprise for everyone,” Dr. Wynn continues with a devious smile he aims right at me, and I tense, instinctively knowing that this surprise will neither besmallnorfun. “Just this morning, we were notified that the winning bidder is willing todoubleher donation if…” he pauses again, surveying the crowd to ensure they’re sufficiently captivated by his teaser. This guy’s theatrics are really starting to grind my gears. When he whips his gaze back and flashes me a finger gun, dread rips through me like I’ve been shot with a live round. “…Scarlett agrees to participate as well!”
The roar of approval from the ecstatic audience explodes in my ears at the same rate my body turns to stone. My face freezes like I’ve overdosed on Botox and fillers. This cavernous room is closing in on me, the screams ringing in my ears, and I feel the tenuous grip on my composure slipping away.
Desperate for commiseration, I chance a glance at Ryder, but no help is forthcoming. He looks as gleeful as the rest of them, a jubilant grin stretching ear to ear. He’s a fat cat next to an empty birdcage, feathers littering the bottom. Last night’s warning echoes in my head like a nagging earworm: “This week is my chance to get answers to the questions I’ve had for years, and I don’t plan on wasting it.”
Did Ryder have something to do with this? Has he been pulling strings behind the scenes, trying to back me into a corner? The thought makes me sweaty, panic spiking my blood.So much for staying out of each other’s way.
Dr. Wynn is sensing my less-than-enthused vibes. “So Scarlett, what do you say?” he prods meaningfully, his game show grin growing a little more forced. “A cool one million dollars toward rebuilding efforts!” He’s laying it on so thick, he might need a trowel.
“All you have to do is say yes,” Ryder singsongs, and he’ll be lucky if he makes it out of here alive.
