Sophie was in a swing-a-baseball-bat-and-blow-car-windows-out kind of mood, so she’d picked a fiery-red dress with a plunging neckline and gold kitten heels. Her outfit had to match her thoughts, which were vengeful and a bit angry.
Mostly, she was angry at herself for trusting Dash. And then angry at him for keeping so many secrets. But also angry about the fact that she might never fall in love. She was close to falling with Dash, but she’d also been close to falling with Carla, and look how that had turned out. She’d always be the romance author who’d never fall in love.
She couldn’t wait to film that TikTok video.
“Not that Dash was ever even a real option, seeing as how he doesn’t want a relationship!” She shouted the words to the shirtless photo of Richard Gere that she’d taped to her bedroom wall, just above Rain Boots’s bowl. They both needed a pick-me-up after the earthquake from the day before. “Why did I do this to myself? Why did I pursue something with an unavailable person?”
She still wasn’t sure if she was going to the Walk of Fame ceremony, even though she’d already dressed the part. She just didn’t know if seeing Dash was a good idea. Maybe having her in the audience would be a distraction, in a bad way. Still, he’d told her he wanted her there, and even though they were in a kind of fight, or whatever, he’d shown up for her—getting her to write again—and she needed to return the favor.
“Wish me luck,” she said to Rain Boots, then blew Richard Gere a kiss.
The security guard in front of the white tent pursed his lips as he scanned his tablet for Sophie’s name. The event took place at the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine—a notoriously touristy and swamped intersection that the city had shut down specifically for the ceremony.
“My name is Sophie Lyon.” She cleared her throat. “I should be on the list.”
Unless Dash had changed his mind and taken her off the list, of course...
“Right this way.” He opened the velvet rope—an actual velvet rope, with red fabric and gold metal poles—and she walked through it. A second guard attached a blue bracelet that would give her greenroom access.
The ceremony was set to start in twenty, and Sophie was sure the greenroom was where Dash would be. So she would just walk through quickly, avoid Dash, and find her seat. Sophie ducked in through the canvas door and entered the backstage tent. The makeshift holding area was crowded with men in suits, which Sophie assumed were industry insiders like agents, managers, and publicists.
There was also, of course, the Montrose family. If this was any other circumstance, Sophie would be thrilled to see Poppy, but as she clocked her best friend deep in conversation with William, an ache rose in her chest. Now they were both in the same room, and if she and Poppy were ever going to speak again, she’d have to be the one to try. She needed to find her seat, but maybe a quick amends-making pit stop wouldn’t hurt. She shook out her shoulders, walked up, and tapped Poppy on the arm.
“Hey, Poppy,” Sophie said. She tried to channel the confidence of the celebrity impersonators just outside the tent asking for tips as they walked Hollywood Boulevard. But she was sweating behind her knees, so how confident could she really look?
Poppy turned with a bright smile on her face, but as she noticed Sophie she pursed her lips. “Oh, no. This isn’t happening.” Poppy’s index finger waggled between them. “We’re not talking.”
Sophie glanced to William, who didn’t say a word, but his eyes noticeably widened. Okay, she would try a different approach. After all, she wasn’t afraid of confrontation the way she used to be. And maybe Poppy just needed to be reminded of the fact that they were best friends, and no one would change that.
“I totally get that you’re still upset. I will respect that. But I just wanted to say that I’m happy to see you, and I really love your dress.” Sophie waved a hand at the crisp, white sheath with gold cuffs that hit Poppy’s midthigh and left her tanned, golden legs on full display.
“It’s vintage.” Poppy crossed her arms. “I upcycled. But don’t think that compliment makes everything better.”
“Poppy, are you seriously going to be this petty?” Dash’s voice simmered with anger. He came to stand next to Sophie, and she had to stop herself from reaching for him. He was handsome in a white button-up shirt and a navy jacket. Sweat ran across his hairline, but she was sure that was just from the lack of strong AC in the tent. Apparently, he’d seen or heard their exchange. But Sophie cringed as she realized that she’d unintentionally dragged him into their fight.
“Is it petty to be mad about my best friend and my brother lying to me for weeks?”
Sophie had to admit that Poppy had a point there. Still, she wanted to nix this line of conversation. Sophie put a hand on Dash’s arm. “I’m fine. You have the speech to focus on, okay?”
His eyes finally met hers, and something in his gaze softened. The familiar spark that crackled between them returned. If she didn’t smother it, she’d catch fire and never be able to extinguish the need she had for him. So she quickly stepped back, but too quickly, apparently, as she tripped and fell with a thump to the ground.
“Ouch.” Her ass had, naturally, fallen on what was undoubtedly the hardest part of the concrete.
As Dash moved to help Sophie up, Kitty materialized from nowhere, like she’d sensed drama and teleported over. She leaned down and said in a hushed and serious tone, “There are no human speed bumps allowed in this tent.” Kitty glanced from Dash to Sophie. Eventually her lips formed a thin line as she glared at Sophie. “That was my way of telling you to get up, love.”
And so Sophie did.
“Dash, it’s showtime.” His mom went to work straightening his suit jacket and brushing invisible dust from his shoulders.
Dash glanced over to her. “I’ll see you out there?”
“I’ll be in the audience. Good luck.” Her body didn’t want to leave the room, even though her brain was screaming to. She took the seat assigned by a placard printed with Montrose Guest, Lyon. The first row was reserved for the Montrose family, whereas hers was five rows back. Not ideal, but at least Dash already knew she was there.
As she waited, her curtain bangs wilted from the heat, and she dabbed at the sweat that started to bead there. The rows ahead of her were crammed with older actors who’d clearly come to support William, and she vaguely recognized some as costars from his early films. On either side of the chairs were two barricades—one for paparazzi and press, and another for fans. Eventually, the Montroses—sans Kitty—took their seats as well.
Sophie sat as still and warm as a roast chicken while she waited for the event to begin. She looked at the time on her phone, and it was ten minutes past when they were meant to start.
Sophie couldn’t help it. She texted Dash. Everything okay?
But when she didn’t hear back and a minute turned into five, she stood and began to make her way toward the front. When she got to the first row, though, Poppy blocked her path.