Page 111 of Hot Summer

Cas stared at their conversation until typing appeared underneath Ada’s name. After a few seconds, Ada replied.

Ada: jesus christ what is wrong with you how is your arse always red

Cas: Alskjdf it’s not my fault stop blaming me

Ada:

Ada: right. It’s not your fault for wearing the shortest shorts money can buy and then getting in a leather-lined car

Cas: a;skdjf shut up, you loved these shorts last I checked

Ada: correction, I loved taking them OFF. I couldn’t care less about the shorts themselves

Cas: tell that to the way your jaw dropped when you saw me in them

Ada:...

Ada: well it’s not my fault you have excellent thighs

Cas laughed out loud and typed out a quick reply (I do don’t I? See you soon x) before clicking into her email.

She’d read through the plan for today approximately fifteen thousand times, but every time she thought about the pending photo shoot and recording session, she was convinced that there was something she was going to miss or forget about. It was a feeling she was too familiar with after years of event planning, the way the rush of panic never seemed to really ebb.

It was a good thing that Cas apparently found all the cortisol exciting.

It’s just promo shots and then we’re recording the first episode, Tatum, her producer, had said in their latest response to Cas’s panic about some detail or another. Nothing to stress about. Just bring yourself, good questions, and a smile!

Cas tried to remind herself to relax as the car trundled down Hackney Road toward the studio. They were planning on taking a couple of pictures in the studio itself—her and Ada in their podcast chairs, dramatic poses with the mics, etc.—before walking down to London Fields and grabbing some lifestyle photos in the park. Their photographer had a vision, apparently, “Very Dalí-esque, if you’re down for it,” and Cas didn’t quite know what he meant by that, but she was more than willing to roll with the punches these days.

Ada was already waiting outside when Jeremi pulled up to the studio, and she immediately bounded over to the car and practically tore the door off the hinges.

“Hi.” She kissed Cas full on the mouth, hardly concerned with the fact that Cas was in the process of falling out of the car door. “I missed you.”

“I missed you.”

Ada had been in Berlin all week working on expanding her most recent stationery collection, a collaboration with a European paper goods brand. They’d spoken every night, but their flat had been dreadfully quiet without her. Their cat, Tarot, a recent addition, had kept Cas company in the interim, but it was still far too lonely, rolling around their flat without Ada around.

It was all very gay and pathetic if Aisha was to be believed. And Aisha was, as usual, to be believed.

“Did you get everything sorted?” Cas asked, waving goodbye to Jeremi and climbing out of the car. Ada sighed heavily, and Cas laughed. “Oh no.”

“No, it’s fine, there’s just a lot that still needs sorting out, so I’ll probably have to go back in a few weeks. But I’m excited to be here today.”

“I’m excited, too,” Cas agreed. “It’s about time we finally stopped talking about the first episode and actually filmed the thing.”

There had been a surprising amount to figure out in the month since Cas and Ada had signed on with this latest opportunity. They’d needed a podcast name, a calendar of guests, a laundry list of sponsorships they’d then had to record. They’d known, without a doubt, who their first guests were going to be, but their calendars were packed these days, so they’d been nearly impossible to pin down. Still, Cas and Ada would never have started with anyone else.

“What time are Sienna and Femi supposed to get here?”

“Half one.” Cas resisted the urge to pull out her phone again and confirm. “We’ll be taking pictures right up until they arrive.”

They crossed the pavement, hand in hand, pausing on the doorstep so that Cas could rummage around in her bag for her ID card. Ada just watched, expression amused, as Cas pulled out her wallet, a USB stick, a ChapStick, and no ID.

“And how many questions do you have planned about Femi and the ring he hasn’t yet bought?”

Cas barked a laugh. “Only about a dozen.”

Femi had shown up on their doorstep six months ago, soaking wet from the rain, and told them that I know it’s early, okay, but I want to propose to Sienna and is that crazy? Am I going to freak her out? And what kind of ring should I get?

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