Page 128 of Reel Love

“No.” She mirrors my motion, but adds a little drama to the movement and I love her for it. “I miss him too. And I don’t even know him.” She giggles.

“Stop that.” I loll my head in her direction and send her a playfully scolding glare.

“You know I’m just teasing you,” she says. “But seriously. This is your life. You two are going to have to learn to work around all the things. You know what I mean. You film overseas. There’s pre-release mania like we’re in now. There's the two or three consuming months of filming any project, and then you have downtime that lasts so long you get squirrely. It’s unconventional. He’s going to have to adapt. Better sooner than later. And you’re going to have to adapt to wanting to be with him constantly and having to juggle your insane life into the mix with your infatuation with this hot biologist. Which, may I add, should be a trope in romance. Hot biologist. It has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Brigitte.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Anyway, that’s me, straight talking to you. It’s a get-over-it situation. And, also a get-creative sitch. That too.”

“I know. And, thanks. You’re right. I’ll see him when I’m back on Marbella after he gets back from a job up north. It’s just hard right now because being able to see one another face-to-face is so new. I’d be seeing him every day if things weren’t so crazy.”

“Awww. I love that. You really like him, huh?”

“I really, really do.”

“Like … more than like, like?”

“What are we, in seventh grade?”

“Do you love him, Alana?”

“I am definitely hovering somewhere near love. Maybe I’m actually there.”

Am I? Do I love Stevens?

I definitely can’t imagine life without him anymore.

Brigitte squeals. “That makes me so happy. You deserve this. And I’ll do what I can to support you.”

“You always do.”

“I do, don’t I?”

I laugh.

We spend the rest of the afternoon getting mani-pedis and massages at a private salon that is very discreet and serves a lot of Hollywood clientele.

We order Chinese to be delivered to my condo, and then Brigitte takes off to head home to the beach cities where she lives.

Before she goes, she says, “Oh! I ordered another delivery. Thank me later.”

Then she shuts the door behind her and fully ignores me opening it and shouting after her, “What’s the delivery, Bridge? Tell me!” She doesn’t respond to my inquisitive texts either. I guess I’ll just have to wait. About a half hour later, she sends me a text.

Brigitte:Almost forgot. Delivery guy has been given a password so you can buzz him up. It’s SEA OTTER. Got that?

Me:Yes. What’s in the delivery?

Brigitte:Enjoy! Peace out. This is me saying goodnight, boss.

I turn on the TV, something I rarely do. I scroll channels until I land on an old romcom. I’m sitting on my couch with my legs tucked under me and a cup of hot detox tea in my hand when there’s a ring of the bell to let the delivery in.

“What’s the password?” I ask into the intercom on my wall.

“Sea otter,” a weird voice answers me. It’s a man’s voice, but he sounds high pitched, like he’s forcing himself to sound more feminine.

Whatever. I wait by the door for the knock. I’m dying to see what Brigitte ordered. Usually it’s good if she’s being mysterious—which, she definitely is.

I peek through the keyhole. A man is standing there, wearing all brown. He has a ball cap on and he’s looking down so I can’t see his face. I open the door …

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