Page 35 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

“We do that and bring up some other memories of hanging out as friends—like you telling me all your girl problems. Then…” I push back the sick feeling climbing up my throat. “We tell the story of how you gave me my nickname.”

“No way.” Zach shakes his head. “I’m not calling you Ham or bringing up that story.”

Ike catches my eye and taps his watch. The lights and mics are set up, and Nick is fidgeting with his camera like he’s itching to roll.

“Give us fifteen to go through the script,” I call to Ike, then I pull Zach into one of the three small bedrooms.

The wood-paneling installed in the seventies was painted white at some point, but the walls are a dull gray now from years of dirt and neglect. All the furniture has been hauled away except for a dirty old mattress that Ike brought in for effect. It was never actually part of the house’s furnishings.

This is a TV show. If I can pretend the mattress is part of this house’s story, I can pretend that I don’t have romantic feelings for Zach. Even if it means telling the most humiliating story of my life.

“I’m not doing it, Georgia. There are better ways to make Carly understand.”

“We don’t have time to debate it. We’ve got to go over these lines.”

“Fine, but I don’t like it.”

I’m disappointed he gave in so easily but push the feeling away. I hand him his copy of the script. “We need to figure out where to put the nickname story, and then everyone will know we’re…just friends.”

Zach’s brow furrows, his gaze on the mattress, not the script. “That thing is disgusting.”

I feel the same way about the wordsjust friends. “It’s a prop. This is television.”

“Right.” He frowns down at the page.

I watch his face as he runs his finger under the words and mouths each one. He did the same thing when we were in school, marking each word to keep it in place. The way he explained it to me was that when he reads, the words and letters don’t always stay where they should.

“Do you want me to see if anyone has highlighters?” I ask. “Would that help?” He used to use plastic-colored filters to put over paragraphs when he read. The technique made it easier for him to distinguish black font on a white page.

“No,” he says, not looking up. “But thanks.” Then he points to a word in his script. “Is this started or stared?”

“Started.”

He nods. “Good, then I read it right but wanted to double-check.”

I lean in closer to read the whole line. “You’re talking about Adam starting the demo today.” I know in his first read-through, he’s only sounding out words to get them right. He’ll read through a second time for understanding.

“That’s what I thought.” His eyes pinch in the corners, and his voice is tight with tension. “But he’s already started it.”

“Ike is probably planning on going back to edit in shots of Adam doing some of the demo so he can play up the twin thing. Like the Property Brothers, you know?” I rub his back to try to slow his breathing. “You’ve got this, Zach, and I’ve got you. Just be yourself, listen to my cues, and everything will be fine.”

He takes a deep breath, then nods.

“Should we read the script aloud? Would that help?” I ask. This always worked when we were in high school English together. I’d read the assigned pages from our textbook or a novel out loud to him, or we’d listen to the audio together.

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Zach sends me an uncertain smile, but any smile from him when he’s doing something that makes him this nervous is a good sign. “Thanks, Georgia.”

Then he wraps me in a tight hug. I bury my head in his chest and breathe him in. He smells of cedar, sage, and a thousand memories of running barefoot along the wet, sandy shores of Smuk Lake. Even though his arms are locked around me, all I can feel is him slipping away.

I circle my arms around his waist to squeeze him back while I still can. His sides are solid as a stone pillar. His biceps weigh heavy on my shoulders. I press my soft belly against his rock-hard stomach and am reminded that I’m not the kind of girl Zach has ever fallen for. The tall, skinny kind, with just the right amount of boobs to buy a bra in-store instead of by special order from a specialty plus-sized website.

Pulling back, I avoid looking him in the eye. “Probably better keep the hugs to a minimum if we’re trying to convince Carly we’re just friends.”

Zach lets out a frustrated sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, pulling my gaze toward his. For a second, I think I see a hurt look there, but then he’s smiling again.

‘True.” He clears his throat and holds up his script. “So, where should we put the nickname story?”

I skim my pages and point to a place. “Here, where we’re reminiscing about the house while we’re working. We’ll be talking about the past—the conversation will feel organic.”

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