Page 9 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

That’s exactly the kind of stuff my producers will go crazy over. Who I was before I got “famous,” according to the people who knew me then.

What the producers don’t get is that I’m not-so famous in Paradise. They’d know that if they’d been here with Darlene Voglmeyer and seen people nodding in agreement with her. Even if they’re okay with what I’m doing with Little Copenhagen, it feels like people in Paradise still see me as the chubby, freckle-faced, red-haired girl everyone called Ham.

I wave Mrs. Christianson goodbye, feeling slightly better, then turn to Zach. I wish he wanted to be on camera, but every time I bring it up, he turns me down. I know he’d love it. He’s a natural performer. Even though he hated being inHairspray,he stole the show.

But even though another invitation is on the tip of my tongue, I say, “We should probably get to work.”

The film crew isn’t expecting us for another half-hour, but maybe Zach won’t bring up Carly again if we’re not sitting at the same table where he’s confessed his feelings for a dozen other girls. We’ll go back to the topic eventually, but right now, I’m as interested in a conversation about Carly as I am in being called Ham.

Chapter 4

Zach

Unstuck.

That’s the feeling I have looking across the table at Georgia right now. Even though she’s itching to get to work, her wild red curls and the freckles that dot her face and shoulders scream fun and freedom. Just like they did when we were kids.

I stretch my legs long and flex my toes inside my shoes, remembering us as barefoot kids. I loved the way new blades of just-turned-green grass tickled my feet and how Smuk Lake’s muddy sand squished between my toes as we ran along its banks. Those shoeless days correlated with the end of school and my daily struggle to force letters into the right order without giving away my secret. A secret only Georgia knew.

Every good memory I have has Georgia somewhere in it.

“Don’t get too comfortable. We’re leaving, remember?”

Her mouth pulls into a wide smile, and I’m anything but comfortable as I remember that I’ve kissed those lips. Not in a romantic way or anything. We were kids messing around. Nothing more. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about it.

“We’ve got some time, don’t we?” I ask her, taking a last sip of my coffee, a Vienna roast Britta special ordered.

Some people can taste the notes of dark chocolate and walnut, but to me it just tastes like a better-than-normal cup of joe. I leave the foodie stuff to Adam and Britta. They’re the chefs in the family. I’m the guy who’s scrambling to make a living in real estate.

In answer to my question, her watch buzzes with the millionth text she’s received since she came in this morning.

“No. I should be there early to make sure everything’s ready to go.” She scrolls through the message while edging off the bench.

“But do youneedto be there? We’ve barely had time to talk since you’ve been back.”

I’m not in as much of a hurry to get to work as she is. Mostly because I really want to get her advice about Carly. I trust Georgia to give it to me straight. They only met once for less than a minute, but Georgia is intuitive. I’ve never dated a girl who she hasn’t figured out is all wrong for me long before I do. Case in point: Shaylee Sanders.

But also, all I’ve done for years is work. At Adam’s restaurant when it was still Mom’s, here at Britta’s, at Dad’s store, and all over Paradise Valley selling real estate. I like to work, but right now, I just want to enjoy this moment of being with my best friend again.

“We can talk on the way there.” Georgia stands and picks up her purse. “I’ve got to make sure all my permits are in order,” she says in a perfect imitation of Darlene Voglmeyer’s weirdly high voice.

“Please never use that voice again.” I shudder, then push out of the seat.

“I make no promises, Zandwich.” Her eyes dance as she brushes by me.

“I hate that name.” I grab her coffee cup and plate, nudging her out of my way so I can get to the kitchen.

“It’s better than Ham,” she shoots back.

My back is to her, but I hear the laugh in her voice. I drop my head and shake it. “I knew you’d bring that up! You’ll never let me live down my shame, will you?”

Georgia is grinning wide when I glance over my shoulder at her. Then she waves her hand in the direction of the kitchen. “Go take care of those things. We’ve got work to do.”

“Fifteen years. You think I’d be done apologizing for something I did when we were in middle school.” Still shaking my head, I carry the dishes around the counter to the back of the restaurant.

“Maybe in another fifteen, I’ll forgive you,” she calls after me.

I know she’s teasing.

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