Page 54 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

who will only ever want me for a friend.

Chapter 21

Georgia

Zach stops at the end of the hall, outside the door to my bedroom. He tilts his head to the side, like he’s examining something. I suspect what it is, but I ask anyway.

“Watcha looking at?” I lean against the kitchen counter that separates this room from the eating area and family room, resting my chin in my upturned hands.

The view is great from here, so I’m not disappointed when Zach answers me without turning around.

“This hygge picture your grandma made.”

“The cross-stitch?”

It’s a rhetorical question. I know that’s what he’s looking at. One, because it’s the only thing to look at on that wall. And two, he did the same thing when we were kids. When we were six, he must have asked me a dozen times to read it to him, until he had it memorized. I think that’s when he started developing his memorization skills. If the words wouldn’t hold still for him, he’d keep them in place in his head.

“Yeah. That. I’m glad you put it back up. It belongs here, no matter what the rest of the house looks like.” He looks over his shoulder and gives me a sad smile that hits me right in the gut.

I hoped he’d stay in the break-up-anger stage a little longer. Maybe skip the other stages all together. But it looks like he’s moved to depression. Which, I guess, is good. As long as he moves quickly along to acceptance. That’s possible. Maybe.

But Zach’s not a quitter. He has more determination than anyone I know, so I doubt he’ll let Carly go without a fight. Not when they were close enough for him to seriously consider proposing.

“You okay?” I ask.

He starts to nod, then shrugs instead.

I force myself to stay where I am, even though my arms ache to wrap around his waist. I could lay my head on his back, my cheek on his shoulder blade, holding him until he didn’t hurt anymore.

How long would that be?

I hope forever. Because if I hold him right now, I won’t ever want to let go.

Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you look at it—a phone stops me with a ding.

Zach flicks his wrist to see the screen. “It’s a text from Ike,” he says, crossing the room to hand it to me.

I open my phone and read the text.

Teri will have scripts by end-of-day, so you’re prepared for Monday.

I read through the text again, making sure I understand it.

“It sounds like we’ll have some of each other’s lines in our scripts, but not all of them. He says we’ll have cues for when we need them, but not for everything. We’re not supposed to share our scripts with each other. He wants our responses to be totally natural and spontaneous, as long as it’s obvious we’re in love.” I look up here, even though I feel my cheeks growing red. “Love is in quotation marks.”

“Be natural and spontaneous while weactlike we’re in love?” His voice is laced with sarcasm as he nods. “Got it.”

I huff a laugh. “He suggests we do things like reach for a hand or look longingly at the other.”

“So something like this?” Zach clasps his hands over his chest, tilts his chin up and leans toward me as believably as any Disney prince in training.

“Close, but I think it’s a little closer to this.” I tuck my phone into my waistband—no pockets in these pj’s—then stretch out my arms theatrically and take two ballerina-like steps in his direction. Before I reach him, I stop and let out a heavy sigh.

His face cracks into a grin, and he slides his phone into his back pocket. “Ah, got it. Excellent instructions on how to be spontaneous.”

We both laugh. It’s natural and actually spontaneous, and everything feels right again.

“So, a reach for the hand would look something like this…” Zach juts his hand toward mine, then pulls it back and looks away. Everything is exaggerated, and I’m reminded of the miming exercises the theater director made us do when we were inHairspraytogether.

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