Page 92 of Falling Like Stars

I climb into the canoe, sending it see-sawing back and forth. When it settles, Zach hands me the picnic basket and then gets in. He pushes us off and starts rowing to the center of the huge pond. The water is still a murky brownish green, but the late afternoon sun is perfect. Not too hot, with just a light breeze.

I unpack the food and the wine and pull out one plastic cup. Zach digs around in the basket for its pair. “Just the one?”

“Just the one.”

“Ah, a callback to our first date,” he says. “I take it back; you are very romantic, Rowan.”

“That was not a date,” I say with a smirk.

“You’re right. Back then we didn’t have dates. We only had moments.”

He’s too good to be true.

A twinge of unease follows the thought. All of this, these past few days, being with Zach…it feels too good. Too much clean, unspoiled happiness that I’m not used to. The only black mark on this joy is how hard I have to fight the feeling that I’m an imposter. Or an extra who’s wandered onto the wrong movie and somehow ended up with the hero.

Zach pours the wine. I take a sip and hand it back.

“Today is a good day,” he says.

“Yes,” I say to him and those dark thoughts, “one of the best.”

After we’ve eaten, we stow the basket on one end of the canoe, and Zach makes a pillow of the blanket on the other. He lies against it, and I lie against him, while the boat just drifts.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” I say. “But they’ll void my contract if I don’t get back to work on Avignon.” I cringe, thinking of how I had a meltdown in front of the entire warehouse. “And I have to get back to work on me. With my therapist. Although being here has been like a kind of therapy, too.”

His arms around me tighten. “I’m glad.”

“What about you?” I ask slowly. “Are you going to do that movie?”

“Definitely,” he says. “The script is brilliant. Two and a half hours of almost nothing but my character put in one torturous situation after another as he makes his way to the front.”

“It sounds heavy.”

“It’ll be good for me. I process a lot of shit when I do these parts.”

“Mm.”

“And I’m going to move out of the hotel and find a place to rent. Because lying to my parents feels like death.”

“That’s good,” I say, though I’m not very convincing.

“Hey.” Zach kisses my forehead. “We’re going to be okay.”

I nod, but I want to tell him that I’m worried. That his mother is worried. But I have to trust that what Dr. Baldwin said is true.

And maybe Zach’s right and nothing happened at all.

“Thank you for today,” he says.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” I crane my chin to meet him, and we kiss softly while the sun sinks and the fireflies dance among the reeds at the water’s edge.

Everything is going to be okay. Maybe even me.

Part Three

Hollywood people want to build you up and make you famous only to knock you off the pedestal they built for you. —Morgan Brittany

Chapter Twenty-Six

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