AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I think fast. Thanks to the Seafood Buffet Debacle, we have this extra day before the movie falls apart—and I don’t want to risk Hugo feeling pressured. I still believe he really wants to be the ultimate Mr. Darcy, so maybe the best thing would be to stand back and let him bring it up himself.
“Let’s just bake some meat pies, chill out, and let everyone relax today,” I decide. “We can see if Hugo mentions the movie and his career. Maybe he’ll change his mind and come back all on his own,” I add hopefully.
“Maybe…” Fraser says, but he looks dubious as we rejoin the other two, and I can understand why. As I get a crash course in the essential differences between a traditional pasty (a folded, filled pastry shell) and a pie (separate crust and lid), it’s clear that Max and Hugo are in that glowy, breathless honeymoon period—all lingering glances, and smirking in-jokes.
In other words, they look how I feel whenever I steal a look at Fraser. And if the way I want to hold on tight to him right now is any indication…
It’ll be hard to part Hugo from his recently reunited lover without a fight.
* * *
After spendingthe rest of the morning baking, and hearing about the thriving Skye culinary scene (“It’s the new Fife!”), we load up the pasties in the back of Max’s muddy Land Rover and follow them over to the festival grounds, on a clifftop just outside of Portree, which turns out to be a quaintly adorable fishing town with rows of cottages painted in a rainbow of candy-colored hues.
“It’s all so pretty!” I coo, snapping pictures left and right, and Hugo chuckles.
“Isn’t it just? I’m telling you, the air in this place is different. I feel like a whole new man.” He breathes in deep, looking satisfied in a way I haven’t seen…
… Since he nailed a scene with Sophia, and got their Darcy/Lizzy banter just right.
I bite my tongue and force myself not to mention the eighty-million dollar elephant in the room. Being happy and in love is one thing, but I still don’t understand why he thinks he needs to quit his whole career to be with Max.
I help unload the pies instead, setting up their tables and booth. I keep expecting heads to turn, and excited teen girls to rush us, but no one seems to flag that the man setting out pasties beside me is Hugo Chambers, famous Hot British Toddy ™. Sure, he’s got his dark curls hidden under a beanie hat, and he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, but still: Those cheekbones don’t lie. But just when I think he’s donned some kind of Scottish invisibility cloak, an older woman pauses by the booth.
“Wait a minute, lad,” she says, studying Hugo. “I know you.”
“I don’t think so,” Hugo says, glancing around nervously as if he’s about to be mobbed by a rabid pack of paparazzi.
She snaps her fingers. “You’re the tart man. I loved your chocolate-rhubarb last year. Grand, it was. Are you selling again?”
Hugo relaxes, and points to a booth down the way. “Tarts are at the last tent on the left!”
He gives me a relieved look as the woman walks away. “Glad for the break from your adoring fans?” I tease him, as we finish setting up.
Hugo looks sheepish. “I’m not the kind of wanker to complain about being famous, but… It’s nice to have a breather. Not have to worry about who’s going to catch me here with Max.”
“Because of the gay thing?” I venture.
He snorts. “Because of the fame thing. It was splashed over every gossip site and blog around when people thought I was seeing that Avery Carmichael,” he says, naming a famous Hollywood starlet with a maneater reputation. “I couldn’t even nip down my local for a pint of milk without the paparazzi trailing after me. Can you imagine what they’d do if it got out that I was with Max?”
“It would blow over,” I argue. “I mean, yes, there’d be a lot of chatter, but look at Jonathan Bailey, or Luke Evans, or Matt Bomer. You could weather the storm.”
But Hugo shakes his head stubbornly. “I signed up for it. Max didn’t. I only just got him back in my life… I’m not going to risk him deciding it’s not worth the hassle, after all. ThatI’mnot worth the hassle,” he adds, and I see a flash of vulnerability on his face. “So I choose him.”
Is that what this is about? Hugo thinks Max will bail at the first sign of trouble?
Before I can say anything, Fraser returns. “Why don’t we take a tour of the festival?” he suggests, tugging me away. “We’ll see you back here later.”
“Have fun!” Hugo gives us the thumbs-up, then joins Max behind the booth, where they’re already doing a roaring trade to the line of hungry customers.
“I don’t understand it,” I exclaim, as we move away, out of earshot. “The man won a scholarship to the most prestigious drama school in England, spent years grinding out auditions, getting bit parts in soaps and country detective shows, before finally earning his big break. Now, he’s got the world on a platter: The role of a lifetime, Hollywood calling… And he wants to give it all up and serve meat pies?!”
“Pasties,” Fraser corrects me with a grin.
“Ugh!” I make a noise of frustration. “And why are you so calm about this?” I add, studying his easy gait; hands tucked in his jean pockets. “It’s your studio money on the line. Aren’t you supposed to protect those profits, no matter what?”
“I don’t know, it seems rather romantic to me.” Fraser gives a shrug, smiling as we stroll through the crowds. “Taking a chance on love. A second chance,” he adds, squeezing my hand.
I melt, just a little. “I know,” I sigh, regretful. “And usually, I’d be cheering him on. If it wasn’t for the fact Reeve has been working round the clock on this script, and preproduction for the movie. They all have! Hazel’s been knee-deep in Regency props, and then there’s hair and makeup, and the lighting guys, and location managers…” I pause. It doesn’t just take a village to make a movie, but an entire city. And all of them will be out of a job—and wasted work—if Hugo is dead set on waving Hollywood goodbye.
