I crunch into my apple and think about it. Maybe I can’t leave or make a big change, but could I make a small one? I wouldn’t ever go off to LA or New York, but I could take Drew at his word—maybe he really could take a look at my screenplay, unfinished as it is. Sure, he’s not a writer, but he’s had a whole lot more experience in movies than I have.
See? I say to Chloe in my head. I’m not afraid of change or rejection. Look at me, asking change to come into my life! Courting rejection! Taking chances!
I toss my apple core into the garbage can and head off to set.
* * *
• • •
We’re even busier and more frantic than usual, since Tommy is trying to cram a lot into one day. It’s not the last day of shooting, since some of that will take place in other locations, but it is the last day of shooting here in German Village. I’m so busy running around and grabbing things for Tommy that I can barely even think, let alone focus on Drew.
At one point, Carter catches my eye from across the street. He waves and gives me a tiny smile before turning to do whatever it is he does. I never one hundred percent figured out what his job entails, which might make me a bad person, but that was probably a sign that we weren’t meant to be. It still stings just a little bit to see him, though, like lemon juice on a paper cut.
The last scene we film isn’t even an exciting one; it’s some conversation between Tarah and Drew on the sidewalk, and I watch it, watch him lean toward her and watch her smile up at him, and wonder.
And then, all of a sudden, it’s over. People clap and pack things up and I help Tommy with a million things. He grabs his beloved megaphone and yells, “Seven P.M.! We’re going to Victory’s, and we’re celebrating a job well done! If you can hear me, you’re invited. Well, not you.” He points to a person across the street. “But everyone else.”
“Are you going to be there tonight?” Tarah asks me, stopping me before I head off to Nick’s.
I nod. “Yeah, I think so.” My breath puffs out into clouds; even though it was warm and sunny yesterday, the air has turned bitterly cold, and the sky hangs heavy with the promise of snow.
“Great!” she says, with one of those megawatt smiles she’s known for. “I’m glad you understood that me and Drew—we’re not—” She shakes her head and grimaces. “I mean, I’m married. I’m not trying to move in on your guy.”
My eyes widen and now it’s my turn to shake my head. “Oh, no. He’s not my— I’m not— We’re not—”
She raises her eyebrows and laughs, a tinkly, wind-chime sound. “Whoa! I’m sure that defensiveness is definitely not a sign of any underlying feelings.”
“It’s not— I don’t—” I continue to stammer.
She reaches out and puts her hand on my arm. “I’m kidding, Annie! I’ll see you tonight!”
And with that, she turns and walks away, and I’m left alone. How does she even know anything about me and Drew? All of our weird, sexual-tension-filled romantic-comedy almost-kisses have taken place at my house, not in public. Is Drew talking about me to people? WHAT IS GOING ON?
I look to my left and see Drew and Brody deep in conversation about something, and right then they both turn and look at me. Brody waves as if this is totally normal, as if two famous men turn to stare at some random Ohio woman all the time.
I ignore him, look away, then turn and walk-run to Nick’s to dissect this entire day with Chloe.
* * *
• • •
“Come with me, Chloe!” I beg later that night. “Don’t you want to see what a Hollywood wrap party is like?”
“First off,” she says, handing a cup to a customer, “this isn’t Hollywood, it’s Columbus. Secondly, no way am I going to a party to be your female version of a cock block. Wait, what is the female version of a cock block?”
She pulls out her phone and scrolls through it.
“You won’t be my female cock block because you’re not blocking anything, metaphorical or otherwise,” I say, leaning against the bakery case. “I just want to ask Drew to take a look at my screenplay, but things are really weird between us and—”
“You mean that the air between you is full of sexual tension, and for some reason you won’t just put your mouth all over his,” she says, then looks back down at her phone. “These are—oh, God, these are really dirty. I can’t even say these out loud in here.”
She hands the phone to me, and I scroll through them. “Yeah, no, some of these don’t even make sense. ‘Pussy pass’ doesn’t remotely sound like ‘cock block.’”
I hand her phone back to her right as Nick walks behind the counter. “What are you doing?” he asks, leaning in and looking at her phone. “Wait, what—are you looking at porn at work?”
“No!” Chloe screeches, and Nick plucks her phone out of her hand.
“I’m gonna have to confiscate this,” he mutters, but he’s smiling as Chloe leaps onto him to grab it back. I make a mental note of their body language to include in my screenplay.
“Nick!” she wails, pretend-hitting him on the arm. He doesn’t seem to mind the extra physical contact.
“Fine, fine, fine,” he says, handing it back to her. “But I’m not paying you to look at BuzzFeed, okay?”
“What are you smiling so dopily about?” Chloe asks me when Nick walks into the back room.
I know better than to mention her getting together with Nick, because Chloe is like a small child in that she will immediately reject any idea given to her by someone else. She needs to come to it on her own, so she thinks it’s her idea. I just shrug.
Chloe glances at her phone once more before sliding it into her pocket. “Isn’t your super-sexy party starting, like, right now?”
“I’m trying to be fashionably late,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to another. “That’s still a thing, right?”
“Nick says no,” Tobin says, walking behind me with a load full of dirty cups and tiny plates. “At least, that’s what he said last week when I was late for every shift.”
He disappears into the back room and I’m forced to admit that I’ve stalled long enough. It’s time to go to this party, have a drink, ask Drew if he’s serious about looking at my screenplay, and then hightail it home to my big old empty house.
Chloe looks at me with concern, like she can read my mind and see how worried I am. “You’re gonna be fine! Promise. But be careful; aren’t we supposed to get, like, the blizzard of the century tonight?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I say, but snow is hardly the first thing on my mind right now. Mainly I’m thinking: if this is the last time I’m going to see Drew, then what should I do? I should play it safe, be professional, leave it at that. Right?
Or. Maybe Chloe’s right. Maybe this, all of this confusion, was our rom-com obstacle and I’m going to, improbably, have a happily-ever-after with this beautiful man who—
Is going to New York at the end of the weekend, I remind myself. After which he will definitely not be back in Columbus, because he doesn’t live here. I, meanwhile, have built my entire, unchangeable life here. I may not have access to a Magic 8 Ball right at the moment, but I know that if I were to shake it, it would say “Outlook Not So Good.”