I leave pretty soon after that, but I’m lost in thought as I drive to the set. So lost that I almost blow through a stop sign. Once I get out at the construction site, I’m mostly relegated to standing in the background, watching everyone rush around. We’ve got a couple more interiors this morning before we head into town. I stand there, a little awkward as people bustle around me. This is the point when the producer doesn’t have much to do other than sit back and hope she’s got a hit on her hands.
I catch Jerri and Flint walking around the building a couple of times. Probably discussing bringing the camera crew in to focus on the finishing touches. Raj is walking with them—fancy that, he’s being helpful for once—and happens to look over at me. He waves. Shit. I forgot about Raj. Why do I always forget about Raj? Things have been so crazy-hectic all week that I haven’t had any one-on-one time with my assistant producer, but the realization hits me now like a punch in the gut: Raj could End me.
“Laurel, come here.” He returns his gaze to his beloved iPad as I jog up, my heart hammering in my chest.
“What’s up?” I squeak out, completely failing at a casual tone.
He shrugs, eyes on still his screen. “They’ve got a question. Inside.”
Raj doesn’t say anything else, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows exactly what’s up with me and Flint by now. The real question is, will he tell anyone else at the network? Or can we keep this on the down low? Or is this going to end up as some kind of hideous entertainment industry blackmail situation? Fuck. Be one of the good ones, Raj. Please.
Inside the house, Flint and Jerri are kneeling by the corner near the fireplace. Flint’s showing off the carved sunflower. “What do we think?” he asks, looking from Jerri to me. “Think the twin sunflowers would be a good shot to end the show on? Something about finishing, personal touches?”
Man, why didn’t I think of that? Flint’s eyes are glowing; he’s a better idea man than I ever could’ve predicted.
“Then we can tie it all in to the hardware chain, mention the guys down at McKay’s, mention that the McKay line is focused on providing individual attention to handcrafted detail. Keep it casual, of course.” Flint doesn’t even flinch when the cameras are in his face now. He kneels there, balancing on the balls of his feet, relaxed and prepared to move.
“Sure thing,” Jerri says, looking happy. “If they decide to run the McKay’s commercial again, that’s the place to do it.”
Flint grins, happy that people are buying into his ideas. This can’t be the same guy who stood there a few weeks ago, stiff as a board covered in quick drying cement with the word ‘stiff’ carved into it. He’s a real natural, his sleeves rolled up, sawdust and sweat clinging to him after a hard day’s work.
My heart starts beating fast. These past few days I’ve been enjoying myself, carefully not thinking about the future of whatever Flint and I are doing. But what if I could have a real future with him? The idea doesn’t make me nervous, or worried about settling down. It warms me up, actually. When he catches my eye, I smile at him. And it’s the warmest and happiest I’ve ever felt.
When Flint comes up to me after the take, I’m a little nervous. The fluttering in my stomach won’t go away.
“What do you think?” he asks. In his checked flannel shirt, he looks like the burliest, most exuberant lumberjack in the world. “Think it’ll fly?”
“Fly? It’ll soar.” I laugh. “Because of you.”
“No. This one comes down to you.” He takes my hand for a moment, shaking it firmly. To anyone else it probably looks professional enough, but even that small touch sends a flood of heat washing over me. “I never imagined this whole show thing could turn out so well. You were the one with the vision and the strength to keep going.”
I want to melt into his arms, just a little bit. Instead I put my hand on his shoulder, because we are still on set, after all. “I think this is going to be a colossal hit,” I tell him.
Hopefully, we will be too.
23
“I didn’t know Northampton was such a party town,” I tell Callie as we pull up outside the Waterbury Hotel. Even on the street in this little Jetta, I can hear the thumping music from the wrap party.
“We know how to live,” Callie deadpans, checking her makeup in the rearview mirror. Once again, she’s as dolled up as she can get in MAC eyeliner and a purple dress that’s pushing up her boobs, and once again there’s no David in attendance. But tonight’s not the time to think about that. Callie pulls her jacket tighter around her as we hustle inside, our heels clacking on the pavement. “Do you know how much I want to have your babies?” she tells me as we enter the hotel through the rotating glass doors.
“Ah, don’t you already have the baby thing taken care of?” I ask. We hand off our jackets to a coat check girl and fluff our hair as we strut down the hall.