“What are you doing for the Fourth?” she asked, adjusting her sunglasses as they walked toward the cluster of cameras, each of them perched on a dolly, ready to chase them down the street later this morning.
There’d been a mutiny among the cast and crew when Mick had suggested working through the holiday. There were only three days of shooting left—even less for Graham, who was slated to be finished after the second morning—and the director had wanted to push straight through and get back to the studio in L.A. But after a month of working nearly every single day, everyone was in desperate need of a break, and so he’d finally relented. They’d have the holiday off before returning to finish up, and everyone now seemed to be making plans. Graham had overheard some of the crew talking about going drinking out on a rented boat, while others would be joining in the town’s celebration.
“I’m thinking of flying down to Manhattan for the day,” Olivia said without waiting for his response. “I’m starting to forget what civilization feels like.”
“That’ll be fun,” he offered, and she gave him a sideways glance.
“Want to come?”
He raised his eyebrows. “To New York?”
“To Manhattan,” she said, as if they were two different things entirely. “You have to admit it would be nice to get out of here.”
To his surprise, the idea was not entirely unappealing, especially after so many days alone, and he wondered if she really meant it. He searched her face, trying to decide whether this was a real invite and whether she was genuinely hopeful that he might come. Was it possible that she actually liked him, that it wasn’t all about the publicity?
But before he could respond, Olivia smiled. “It’s not L.A., of course, but I’m sure we wouldn’t be completely under the radar,” she said, slowing as they approached her trailer. “You don’t have plans yet, do you?”
Graham thought again of the Fourth of July weekend he’d imagined: a parade and fireworks, sparklers and symphonies, a small-town celebration, and the chance to spend some time with his parents. He’d never responded to his mom’s e-mail, and there’d been no more word from them until she called last week to say hello. For ten minutes, they’d talked about the weather in California and what she was reading for her book club. When she asked about the movie, Graham steered the subject away as he always did when his parents brought it up, acutely aware that they were only being polite. But when she mentioned their neighbor’s Fourth of July barbeque, Graham went silent altogether.
“Honey?” his mom said, her voice thin across the line.
“Sounds like fun,” he’d said shortly, and she sighed.
“I’m sorry we’re not coming,” she said after a moment. “You know how your father is about traveling, and—”
“It’s fine, Mom.”
“What are you going to do?”
“It turns out I’ve got to work anyway,” he lied, knowing he’d probably be doing the same thing he did every other day here: taking long walks around town, looking out for the fishing boats coming into the harbor, watching movies and sketching pictures and checking in with the guy who was taking care of Wilbur, which he’d done so many times that he’d started getting only the very most sarcastic updates in return (“Pig at large” or “The pig has left the building”).
When he’d first arrived here, he’d been so excited to get out of L.A., and he couldn’t imagine four weeks would possibly be enough time. But now he realized that the promise of the place had been wholly and inextricably tied to Ellie, and with her absent from the equation, he was suddenly ready to go home.
But they still had a few more days to go, and today, he realized he couldn’t face another meal with Harry in his trailer.
“I can’t,” he told Olivia, who was still waiting for his answer about New York. “But what are you doing for lunch?”
While they ate—or while Graham ate; Olivia just picked at the pile of turkey and lettuce with a fork—he did his best to keep up the conversation, but it wasn’t easy. Olivia kept looking around as if they were at a club in Hollywood and someone fabulous might walk through the door at any moment. He attempted to ask what he liked to think of as real questions—where she grew up and what her parents were like, as opposed to standard industry fodder like what her next project was and how she got her start in the business—but he was conscious of the people sitting around them, the tables pressed too close for it to be comfortable to talk about anything meaningful. Besides, Olivia was only halfway there anyhow, dividing her time between Graham and her phone.
In fairness, he wasn’t entirely present either; he was still too rattled to concentrate after seeing Ellie.
They signed a few autographs on the way out, and Graham left a tip in the jar. Outside, the cameras had finally caught on, and as usual, Graham slid on his sunglasses, lowered his head, and began to walk quickly back toward the set. But Olivia snaked her arm through his, forcing him to slow down, and he realized she was enjoying this. He wondered if she was taking advantage of the fact that they were together, or if she really didn’t mind the attention. He strolled for as long as he could, his teeth gritted, before whispering, “We need to get back.”
“It’s not like they can start without us,” she said under her breath. “That’s the advantage of being the stars.”
“Are you two together now?” one of the photographers asked with a wink, and Olivia raised her eyebrows and flashed him a cryptic smile.
The short walk felt endless. As they neared the end of the street, Graham was surprisingly relieved to see Harry, and he disentangled his arm from Olivia’s as the older man approached, beaming at the sight of them together.
“Come on,” he said, shepherding them back behind the metal barriers that separated the set from the rest of the street, leaving the snapping of the cameras behind. As they walked over to the trailers, he turned to them with a grin. “Have a good lunch?”
“It was practically gourmet,” Olivia said, rolling her eyes.
“I thought it was good,” said Graham, not sure why he was feeling defensive about the place.
“I’m sure you did,” she said, then turned to Harry. “By the time I got there, he was practically eating off the floor.”
“Someone knocked over a display of candy,” Graham explained. “I was just helping them clean up.”
“Probably didn’t hurt that she was hot,” Olivia said idly, then laughed. “I never realized you had a thing for gingers.”
Graham’s jaw was tight, and when he glanced over at Harry, he was surprised to see a dark look on his face. But it wasn’t directed at Olivia. It was directed at him.
“I better go,” he said abruptly, and Olivia glanced up from her phone. “Thanks for lunch.”
Harry followed him wordlessly to the trailer, a vein jumping near his temple. Inside, he let the door slam shut behind him, then folded his arms across his chest. “The same redhead?”
“What’s the big deal?” Graham asked, pulling out a chair. “I thought you’d be happy about my big date with Olivia. Trust me, she made sure there were plenty of pictures.”
“Look,” Harry said, grabbing his briefcase from the couch and rifling through it. “You know I just want you to be happy—”
Graham snorted.
“But you can’t be getting mixed up with that girl.”
“With Olivia?” he asked, playing dumb, and Harry threw him a look.
“With Ellie O’Neill.”
A jolt of surprise went through Graham at the sound of her name. “How do you know—”
“I did a little research,” he said, then held up both hands in defense. “It’s my job, okay?” He pulled a thick brown envelope from the suitcase. “I wasn’t going to bother you with this, since we’re only here a few more days anyway. But I can see you’re still hung up on her—”
“I’m not,” Graham said, much too quickly.
“—and clearly you’re not over whatever this thing was between you—”
“It wasn’t—”