Page 32 of Falling Like Stars

“That’s because you’re trapped behind the bar. Go.” She shoos me away from the counter. “Go hang with our friends. I got this.”

Our friends, she says. I know most of these people because they’re friends with J.J. through her university. Somehow, they’ve stuck to me a little too. I give her a peck on the cheek and make my way through the small groups, thanking everyone for coming and making sure they’re having an adequate time.

“Rowan, Rowan, Rowan,” says a friend, Amy, with a knowing look. She gestures around the room and says in a sing-song manner. “One of these guests is not like the others…”

“Yeah, Ro, what gives?” another friend, Brandon, asks from the floor at Amy’s feet. “Zach Butler? Quite the party surprise.”

Before I can answer, J.J. is in the kitchen, tapping a fork to a glass. “Gather ‘round everyone. Time to sing to the birthday girl.”

The bizarre sensation of cringing while feeling touched at the exact same time twists up my insides as J.J. and our friend Jaime bring out trays of gourmet cupcakes. One on J.J.’s tray has a lit candle. The guests all gather around where I’m standing and sing “Happy Birthday.” I finally spot Zach hanging back by the fireplace. He raises a glass to me and shoots me a smile. I quickly look away.

J.J. hands me the candle cupcake. “Make a wish.”

The candle flame is warm and yellow in the dying light of the evening. A small voice inside wants that wish. It wants to look at the handsome guy across the room and smile back, and open locked doors, and take up sketchpads, and delete toxic dating apps, and do it all without feeling like I’m getting away with a terrible crime. But I can’t.

Josh never made it to twenty-six. He didn’t even make it to sixteen.

I blow out the candle with a quick puff and the group bursts into applause.

“What did you wish for?” Dana asks loudly and looks meaningfully to Zachary. “Or has it already come true?”

“No one says their wishes out loud, Dana,” J.J. says harshly and raises her cupcake. “To this woman, my friend, who has more depth, more love, and more talent in her then she’ll ever tell you, never mind celebrate.”

A lump forms in my throat. Damn you, Jess.

My friend smiles, her gaze warm. “But I think she’s worth celebrating. Happy birthday, Rowan. Love you, girl.”

The group toasts me with their cupcakes, and I shake my head at J.J. before giving her a hug. “You’re too much.”

“Happy twenty-six, babe.”

Everyone starts to get down to business with their cupcakes and there is a lull in the conversations.

Dana plops down on the couch and says loudly into the relative quiet, “So, Zachary, congrats on your Oscar nomination! Best Supporting Actor. That’s huge.”

The entire room stops what they’re doing. Heads swivel to him, waiting. Watching. Drinking him in because now they have an excuse to look.

“Yeah, thanks,” he says. “It’s an honor to be nominated.” He smiles his disarmingly charming smile. “I’m required by California law to say that, but it’s true.”

The room erupts in (too loud) laughter. I thought that would be the end of it, but Dana opened the floodgates. The entire room has decided they now have the greenlight to pepper Zach with questions about Crazy 8, which he handles with practiced ease.

“What’s it like working with Tom Hiddleston?” (he’s one of the best in the business)

“How did you learn that old-timey accent?” (voice coach)

“You look so different from your Felix character. Prosthetics?” (no, great makeup team)

“And who are you taking to the Academy Awards?” Dana pipes up. “Anyone we know?”

“Jesus,” I mutter. I expect everyone else to be as mortified as me for asking such a personal question, but the group is hanging on every word that comes out of Zach’s mouth.

“Not sure yet.” He waits for a beat, then shoots me a look. “Maybe my mother. After all, she gave me life.”

This is met with murmurs of approval and a few “Aw, that’s so sweet” from the womenfolk. I let out a breath and shoot a glance at J.J.

“Okay, press conference is over,” she says.

The evening is winding down when I end up outside on the patio, chatting with some people. I notice Zach at the firepit. He’s surrounded by most of the guests—those sitting close listen with rapt, inner-circle pride, while others loiter at the periphery. I’m doubly glad for the no-phone policy or else he’d be inundated with selfie-takers.

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