“He told me he’s not writing anymore,” Harrison said.
“Why?” I asked, surprised. “His last two books were a hit.”
“And surprisingly good,” Emma said. Then amended her thought. “Not that they haven’t always been good. But Freddy and Lucy’s characters seemed to have a lot more depth to them. And it was very clever.”
Kate had said the same thing. My fingers itched to check my phone.
Harrison’s face was shadowed with new worry. “George’s not responded to my last few messages.” He tapped at his glass, thinking out loud. “I think I might go pay him a visit and check on him.”
Harrison and Sedar had been close for many years. Even when Hollywood threatened to take us all under, the three of us would spend summers at his Northern California home. We felt like surrogate grandchildren alongside his real ones.
“I hope he’s okay,” Emma said.
“Me too.” Harrison let out a long breath. Though we’d all gone to his house during filming breaks, it was clear that Harrison had always been closest to him. Maybe because his character was based on a childhood Sedar always wished he had. He’d talked openly about being a loner, always wishing he had two best friends. I think Harrison saw himself in the character too. We all did.
He shook off his worry like sliding a mask in place and smiled. “Off to the loo. Order another round?” he asked Emma and she nodded.
Not three steps, and he was stopped for an autograph. So not total anonymity. I pulled my hat lower and slumped in the chair. People were mostly decent about not coming up when we were eating, but I made my body language clear that I wasn’t in the mood. Plus, most people only cared about Harrison and Emma.
I felt Emma’s focus before I turned back to her. She was dewy with her glass of wine and grinned as she watched me with an arched eyebrow.
“What?” I asked suspiciously.
She shrugged. “Nothing. Just missed you. Missed this.”
My heart tugged. I glared at my fizzy drink. “Yeah. Missed you too.”
She flicked a glance to Harrison. “It’ll be an hour before he’s back, huh?”
“Likely.”
“What did youreallythink of tonight?” she asked, watching me closely.
Instantly, I thought of Kate again. Her giant grin, her gleaming eyes. I cleared my throat and kept my face passive. “It was fine. More of the usual.”
The server came to bring more drinks for them. I did not care for how closely Emma studied me. I shifted in my chair when it was just us again. “That little guy with cancer was very touching,” I said.
She smiled sadly. “Stuff like that … it feels …” Her gaze went cloudy. When she came back to herself, she finished with, “That was very special.”
She’d always taken her success as a burden that she needed to prove herself worthy of. I worried about her.
“What about that one woman?” she asked, not to be deterred.
I stilled. “You’re going to have to be more specific. We met at least fifty people today.”
“The pretty brunette. Chic French bob? The writer with big, earnest eyes.”
I cleared my throat and performed some of my best acting since TF. “Yeah. She seems nice. Those fanfic people. That’s another world, eh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Why can’t you just admit you fancied her?”
There was no point in denying it. She’d only make more of a big deal about it. “Yeah, so. She was a pretty bird. And there with her boyfriend.” I couldn’t help the grumbled “prat” under my breath.
She, thankfully, didn’t comment on that.
“She seemed in awe of you,” she said.
I fought back a growl. “Freddyhas that effect on people.”
