Page 14 of Falling Like Stars

“Do tell,” J.J. says, and I hear the rustle of papers. She’s studying for her Master’s in Communications at UCLA, and it doesn’t surprise me that my no-nonsense friend is already hitting the books. “Who’re you doing grown up stuff with? Someone from the crew? Or the cast? Please tell me it’s Zachary Butler.”

I nearly drop the phone. “Please. It’s just a guy. From the app.”

“Some rando, then.” J.J. sighs. “Girl…”

“It’s a little early for a lecture,” I say, sitting up against my pillows.

“I worry, Ro. I worry you might end up in a bad situation—”

“I don’t. I never do.”

“You haven’t yet, you mean.”

I say nothing, letting my silence do the work. J.J. sighs again.

“Fine. I’m never going to be done worrying about you, but the reason I’m calling is to ensure your birthday party is still on schedule for next week. The Covet shoot’s not going to run long, is it?”

“I don’t think so. We have a few days left,” I say, already missing the hot tub sanctuary I’ll have to give up when the shoot wraps. “They’re mostly on track.”

“Good,” J.J. says, and I can practically hear her ticking off items on a to-do list. “You only turn twenty-six once.”

Some people never get to turn twenty-six. Or twenty-one. Or eighteen...

This happens a lot. Grief hijacks an innocent comment and turns it into something painful. J.J. knows about Josh, of course, but I’ve learned over the years that even the most caring, conscientious people don’t have death and all its endless ramifications on their mind at all times like I do. They don’t hear it lurking in innocuous phrases or see the naked bones of it in stupid medical dramas or cop shows where it’s wearing the costume of entertainment. When your boyfriend dies in your lap, you’re cursed with more perspective than you could ever possibly want.

“Just don’t go overboard,” I remind J.J. for the millionth time. “Nothing fancy.”

“Your cabin is the epitome of ‘nothing fancy,’” she says with a tiny whiff of distaste in her brisk, no-nonsense tone. “But don’t worry. I’m going to make it beautiful. And habitable.”

Camping, forests, and remote cabins are not J.J.’s jam. My BFF is more of a tasteful dinner party-type of gal. But I love my cabin because it was my dad’s. A small but tidy little place in Wildwood he bought a million years ago. My inheritance and another sanctuary. Instead of going back to my West Hollywood studio when the Covet shoot is over, I plan to hang out at the cabin for a few days until my next gig, whatever that may be.

J.J. must be a mind-reader because she says, “Do you have your next job lined up?”

“Not yet, but I’m not concerned.”

“Me neither,” J.J. says. “Just curious about how long you might be in town for so we can hang out properly before my dissertation swallows me whole.”

“I’m going to stay a few days at the cabin after the party, but after that, I’m all yours.”

“Good,” she says. “We’ll have Cosmos at the Formosa Café, and you can tell me what it’s like working with Zachary Butler and Javier Paez, you lucky bitch.”

“I’m not working with them,” I say. “I’m working near them. They don’t know I exist.”

The words easily fall out of my mouth because on most movie sets, they’re true. Not this time.

Zach knows me…

The thought takes me off guard. And since when is he Zach instead of Zachary? I’m no one to him. More importantly, he’s no one to me.

“And that’s how it’ll stay,” I murmur.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“Mmkay, well one last party detail,” J.J. says. “Since we’ll be out in the godforsaken wilderness without a minimart for miles, I need to make sure the booze-and-food-per-guest ratio is correct. I’ve got fifteen of your nearest and dearest confirmed.”

“Fifteen?” I say. “I thought we were at lucky number thirteen.”

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