Page 157 of Reel Love

“We’ll feed you, Bridge,” I promise.

I whisper, “She gets hangry,” to Stevens.

He chuckles.

“I heard that. I don’t get hangry.” She pauses, shoots me a look, and adds, “Much. Not much.”

“Let’s leave early and drive through some place to get you tacos,” Stevens suggests to Brigitte.

“You hear that, Alana? Count your lucky stars. You found yourself a man whose love language is the giving of tacos.”

I laugh, remembering the first time Stevens sent me tacos instead of flowers. And he’s been doing that ever since.

Brigitte tells Stevens. “You should have seen your girl here. She just talked you up to her mother, and she didn’t hold back.”

Stevens turns to me. “You did, did you?”

“Maybe.”

He kisses the top of my head.

“Don’t you two worry,” Brigitte says to me. “Queen Grimhilde won’t rock the boat because America is already captivated by the two of you. Half the women I know wonder if there are more hot, eligible marine biologists on the market. I’m just waiting for men to start putting ‘lonely marine biologist’ on their dating profiles. You know? With photos of them holding whatever creature Stevens mentioned all over their socials. That ocean pickle.”

“Queen Grimhilde?” I ask, even though I probably should just go along with Brigitte’s ramblings whenever she’s hungry.

“The stepmom of Snow White? You don’t know Queen Grimhilde? And you call yourself an actress. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you, Alana. Stevens, tell me you know who Queen Grimhilde is.”

He nods. Smart man.

I change the subject while I walk toward the sofa to grab my purse. “It was a sea cucumber, by the way. Stevens was talking about the sea cucumber. And,” I chuckle. “As long as those women don’t come formymarine biologist, I’m fine with starting a trend.”

A whole year later and Brigitte can’t help but bring up that momentous fail that became the unplanned way I broadcast my relationship with Stevens to the world.

“We’d better go,” Stevens says, calmly.

“Tacos, here I come!” Brigitte says, waving her hands in the air overhead like she’s rooting for her winning team.

We pile into the limo parked behind my condo, and as promised, the first stop is a local taco place to get Brigitte food.

“You’re in your reclaiming era,” Brigitte says to me around a bite of tacos. “That talk with your mom. That’s you taking back territory you had surrendered to her for far too long. Yes, ma’am. You’re reclaiming your voice and your power. It’s your time to shine.”

She’s coming back to herself already after only a few bites of taco. I smile warmly at her.

“Did you eat enough today?”

“I did. This morning I had a green drink, followed by a Caramel Ribbon Crunch from the ’Bucks. Gotta keep the diet balanced, you know.” She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth.

I chuckle. “You are priceless, Bridge.”

Brigitte affects a deferential tone with a slight British accent. “All for you, Miss Alana.”

I make eye contact with Tank in the rearview. I could swear I heard him chuckle. But when I look up front at him, his face is a mask of stone.

“Stevens, you chose well,” Brigitte says. “Who’s your mama? That’s right! Alana.”

I bust out laughing. Tank cracks a smile. It’s only about amillimeter change in his expression, but it happened. I know I saw it. All these years I wanted to be the one to draw that out of him. Of course, it’s Brigitte who finally achieves it, and she doesn’t even notice.

Brigitte gobbles down two tacos and an iced tea on the way to the theater. We drop her off at the back entrance and then the limo drives around front where a throng of fans and reporters waits behind the ropes on both sides of the red carpet leading to the front doors.

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