Page 69 of Burn the Script

Sarabeth adjusts her blonde ponytail. “You didn’t seem grossed out by him in the picture you posted.”

“The place was packed!” Anya exclaims.

While they argue, I glance over my shoulder, seeking help, but there’s none to be found. Kristen’s busy getting the crew back to starting positions, and the crew members are pointedly ignoring the drama unfolding in the corner as they pretend their equipment needs closer inspection.

I catch Maisy’s eye. She’s also sitting near the craft services table, munching on a bag of pretzels. When she notices my long-distance plea, she slowly shakes her head, but I wave her over anyway. Her chest heaves with a deep sigh, and she slides down from her tall chair before marching in our direction. Each stomp of her boots gets louder as she approaches, and the younger women fall silent.

“What?” Maisy asks.

I gesture between the actors. “These two are having a difference of opinion, and it’s affecting production.”

Sarabeth scoffs, but Maisy cuts off any further retort. “Conflict resolution is not in my job description.” When my bottom lip juts out, she rolls her eyes and turns toward the actors. “Spill.”

They talk over each other in a flurry of rapid words and hand gestures. I try to follow along, but their vocabulary comes from a different dictionary and generation than mine.

Once the rant ends, Maisy curls a finger at me, and I bend down so she can speak in my ear. “Harmon’s a nonfactor. The girls are crushing on each other, but neither will admit it.”

“Yeah, I worked that part out for myself. What should we do?”

“How the fuck should I know? I’m a stylist, not a couples therapist.” Maisy spins on her rubber heel and walks away.

“Kristen!” Mid-turn, I jerk back. My efficient AD is right in my face. “Can you take them to your trailer and sort this out, please?”

“Take another five!” she yells to the crew, then extends a hand. “Ladies, lead the way.”

They storm off with their arms crossed defiantly over their chests while Kristen mutters, “Kids and cats,” under her breath. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I pull it out, the sight of a message from Miguel improves my crappy day.

My Darling

Meet me at this address on Saturday. 6 a.m.

MY DARLING SHARED A LOCATION

Me

Is this a prank?

My Darling

Don’t tease me about this, or I’ll change my mind.

Me

I’ll be there. Can’t wait.

Any doubts I had about resolving a love triangle in five minutes are demolished twenty minutes later when the chemistry between my two actors has been fully restored. After a successful peck on the lips, we wrap for the day, but the next part of my workday is only getting started with another round of dailies to review.

It’ll be hard to stay focused, knowing what Miguel has in store for us this weekend. After what happened in San Antonio, canceling my trip to California and lying low would be the smart move. However, my lovesick brain runs the show, and it wholeheartedly disagrees.

Saturday, February 18th

Two vehicles are parked in the lot, but neither belongs to Miguel. Grabbing my light backpack from the passenger seat, I shove sunglasses on my face and make my way to the trailhead, where I spot him. He’s adorable in green cargo pants and a brown sweater, attempting to blend in with the environment. A pack half his size threatens to tip him over while he tightens the laces on his boots.

My sneakers crunch on dirt and gravel, catching his attention as I approach. “Are those the hiking boots I bought you?” I ask.

“Don’t laugh. I know they look ridiculous on me. I wore them around my apartment yesterday to break them in.” He turns his ankles from side to side, showing off the footwear.

“They look great on you. And that’s a nice pack. Do you have a tent in there?”