“I didn’t know he was an acrobat,” Suze whispers.
“Neither did I.” I sigh in relief as Flint finally swings down, landing perfectly on his feet. A couple of the construction guys clap, grinning. They’re proud of Flint. Jerri, of course, has caught the whole thing on camera.
“So he’s tall, gorgeous, helps homeless kids, and risks life and limb building dream houses. What about this man is not perfect?” Suze whispers, cheering Flint with her latte.
Nothing. He’s completely perfect. That’s the problem.
Flint sees us and ambles over, accepting congratulatory shoulder punches from the guys. “Hey. You must be Laurel’s friend.” Flint holds out his hand to Suze. She practically flutters as she gives it.
“Susan Williams. Nice to meet you.” She turns to me, so Flint can’t see her expression, and mouths ‘wow.’
“Laurel’s told me so much about you.” Flint grins at me. “She’s been so excited about you coming out. And we do like to keep her happy around here.”
“I’ll bet.” Suze flashes me a knowing half smile. Damn.
“Enjoy your visit,” Flint says. He heads back to the cameras.
“So how’s all that been working out for you?” Suze asks, still smirking.
“We should get started on this picnic,” I say, deftly avoiding the question. Deft is my middle name.
We head down the hill and pick up the basket she’s got in her car. As we walk away from the site, I notice that Suze is watching me intently. I am not that interesting.
“What are you looking at? Are my pants on backwards?” I ask, quickly checking myself out. Not like I’ve ever done that before. Once. When I was very tired.
“It’s nothing,” Suze drawls. That means ‘something’ in Suze-ese.
We tromp through the trees to reach the picnic place, an unexpected patch of bright grass about a mile from the shooting site. I’m carrying the basket, which is so heavy I’m starting to sink under the weight of it. When we spread out the blanket, I’m ready to eat. Suze brought us a selection of hard salami and fresh prosciutto, crusty French bread, cheese, dried apricots, apples. My stomach rumbles in appreciation.
“So,” she says, daintily spreading some kind of savory jam on a baguette, “tell me all about Flint McKay.” She takes a bite, giving me the ‘and don’t you dare lie’ look.
“He’s great,” I say, keeping it oh so casual as I miss my mouth trying to take a bite of sandwich. That’s okay, I wanted to get some salami in my eye. “Just so nice and…great.”
“And hot. And clearly into you.” Suze says that last sentence in a singsong type of way.
“No he’s not. Really. That’s all behind us now.” This is sounding like middle school. He likes yoooou. No he does nooooot. Who’s your celebrity soul mate?
“Right.” Suze rolls her eyes. “Why don’t we just skip to the part where you’ve crumbled under my Sherlock Holmes-level detective skills and just tell me the truth? I know something’s up. You’ve been avoiding my questions for weeks.” I hesitate. She sighs, crossing her arms, “Come on. I haven’t gotten an update since the night of the BBB.”
“The what?”
“The behind-the-bar-blow job.”
“Suze!” My cheeks burn, and I glance around to see if anyone’s in earshot, but it looks like we’re alone in this meadow of shame. There’s no getting out of this. “We, er, might’ve hooked up again when Flint was in LA. We were both pretty drunk,” I mutter. Suze doesn’t squeal or clap her hands, which is part of what I love about her. She just nods, setting her apple aside and leaning forward.
“When you say hook up, you mean…?”
“Yeah. All the way. I mean, it was just after our big meeting with Davis and I thought the pitch bombed so we went to a bar to commiserate. We were never going to see each other again, so…” I let the implied ellipsis suggest all types of shenanigans.
“Was he good?” Suze asks.
“Is incendiary a strong enough word?” I shake my head. “But it’s over now.”
Suze raises a brow. “There’s still something going on there, Laurel. When you guys were just joking around, I could see his entire face light up. Listen,” Suze says, uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring me a glass. God, how I love her. “You’re not going to be working on this show forever. Maybe, when everything’s shot and over…”
“We can, what? Live in a romantic bungalow made for two in the boughs of a weeping willow tree? He can ditch his family and his business and trade it all in for the soul-suck that is Los Angeles? Or, no, are you saying I can make it as a producer out here in the Berkshires?” My heart sinks just saying the words out loud. There’s no way this could ever work. “And I don’t want to complicate things on set with a fling. I don’t want to pull a Sanderson.” Suze goes quiet at that. She knows exactly what I’m talking about.