Page 33 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

I take a little longer to scroll through all the posts, then I go back to the game. I turn up the volume, then grab another beer and a bag of popcorn. For the next hour, I pretend this night is like any other night where I root for the Jazz while Carly does her own thing.

But it’s not.

We’ve never gone this long without talking to each other a few times a day. Of course, we’ve never really had a fight before. So it’s probably a good thing we figure out how to work through disagreements now, before I propose. My real hope, though, is that showing her I’m ready to commit will make her feel secure in our relationship.

Because I really want things to be the way they were last week with Georgia.

By the time the game ends, Carly still hasn’t called, and I’m too tired to wait any longer. We always talk before going to bed, and it feels weird not to tonight. I’ve made it such a habit to call her before I turn in that I almost dial her number a hundred times before climbing into bed. Despite my exhaustion, I wake up a few times throughout the night and check my phone for messages.

There aren’t any.

The last time I wake up, it’s just before six. As much as I’d like to go back to sleep, it’s pointless. I’d need to get out of bed in an hour anyway. So I get on the treadmill and run until my legs ache. Then I lift weights. Anything to take my mind off Carly.

By the time I stop by Britta’s to pick up coffee for Georgia, me, and the rest of the crew, I feel like I can put on a good face. I smile and chat with Britta for a few minutes, and she doesn’t say a word about me looking tired or like something’s wrong.

I run into Bear on my way out the door. “Dude,” he says, in the slow way he has. “You look like hell. Out too late last night?”

I shake my head and take a sip of my coffee. “Watched the Jazz game.”

He doesn’t ask me why I didn’t invite him over or at least text him like I usually do. He doesn’t ask if everything is okay. Instead, we talk about the highlights of the game.

Then I’m on my way.

It’s a short walk to the job site, which is a mess because Adam did some demo yesterday, so I leave my Bronco parked near Britta’s. I don’t want my baby getting dirty, and I still have a lot of nervous energy to work out before we start shooting.

When I walk through the front door of Granny’s old house, the whole crew is setting up, and Stella is taking pictures. There are only five of them, plus Georgia, but there’s enough commotion to make it feel like we’re on the set of a big-budget movie.

Ike and Nick walk around the house, marking different spots for filming. Teri is at a makeshift desk, her fingers running across her laptop keys like a concert pianist while the printer accompanies the tapping sound with a soft, swishing rhythm. In the corner of the main room, Amber’s got her chair set up, working on Georgia’s makeup while Gracyn attaches her mic.

I pass out the coffees to everyone, trying to forget Carly by soaking in the energy pulsing through the crew. The last thing this group needs is caffeine, but it’s too late now. Britta remembered their orders from yesterday and sent the same thing today, just to be nice. (And, I suspect, to get her branded coffee cups on camera). Except, I told her to make a cappuccino instead of a latte for Georgia. I know Georgia likes to mix things up. She says it keeps her from getting in a rut.

“Cappuccino today.” I hand her the cup as Amber steps back and examines her work.

“She looks good,” I say to Amber and pass her a cup.

“You’re next,” she says, then takes a delighted sip of her coffee. “Mmm, so good. Have a seat. I’ll be back in a sec.”

“I can hardly wait.” My voice is laced with sarcasm, which elicits a wicked grin from Amber before she walks away.

I let out as much of a laugh as I can muster, which isn’t much. Carly blowing me off is still at the forefront of all my thoughts. I flatten the drink holder and throw it with such force at the garbage can ten feet away that it sails more than a foot past it.

With a frustrated sigh, I walk to where it landed and toss it in the trash.

“You okay?” Georgia asks, sliding out of the chair.

“I’m fine.” At least she noticed I’m off my game today, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell her anything.

Her head tilts to the side like she might say more, but instead, she closes her eyes and breathes in the steam spiraling out of the cup. “Mmm, perfect. How’d you know what I’d want?”

I smile and shrug. “Lucky guess?”

She pulls the lid off her drink and presses her red lips to the cup, then raises her eyes to me, gazing through her lashes. I’ve never noticed how long they are before. And, somehow, her eyes look even more green today.

After a tiny sip, she stops. “Tell me what’s wrong. I can tell you’re not okay.” She puts the lid back on her coffee and raises her eyebrow. “Problems with Carly?”

I take a deep breath. As much as I don’t want to make today about me when it should be about her and the show, I’m grateful I have someone to talk to. “She didn’t answer my call last night. She said we’d talk later, but she hasn’t called or texted.”

Georgia nods thoughtfully, staring at the top of her cup. “Is she still mad?”

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