Page 104 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

“Only when the Demon approves. And gets the credit.”

“But it’s what you love. I’ve seen your face light up when you find a perfect pairing.”

“Only for them to refuse the script!” She drops her leg, sitting up tall. “I thought you were on my side on this! Why did you come if you’re going to trash the good thing I find?”

“You’ve known this guy, what, twenty-four hours?”

“I’m not marrying him, Zachery. I haven’t even kissed him yet.”

This makes me feel better. I force my tone to come down. “Why not?”

She rocks the chair. “I’m on Hallmark bases.” Her eyes light up. “We hit first base and it was pure accident, just like the meet-cute. He reached for a chip, and I reached for my glass, and our fingers touched!”

I have to hold myself back from saying, “And remember when you fell to pieces when I touched you? How we almost flew into the sun?”

But I swallow it. It has to remain unsaid. She asked for my help that night, and I gave it, like the work emails I’ve written on her behalf, like the wreath videos I sent.

It’s all the same. Moments between friends.

“I’m glad,” I say. “Maybe whoever wrote the first Hallmark movie knew what he was talking about, and everyone copied it because it was true.”

Kelsey sighs with a dreamy smile. “Between the free labor and the way lunch started, I thought I was going to be cutting and running on this one. But it completely turned around.”

“Life can do that.”

“It can.” She rocks a little longer. “I’m sorry it turned the wrong way for you.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t made for movies.”

“I think you were totally made for movies. It just went the wrong direction.”

She’s really pushing on this. “My life is fine.”

“Is it, though? A long stream of women without attachments.” She goes quiet for a minute, and I wonder if she’s now counting herself as one of them.

“By most any standard, I have lived the dream.”

“But what are you living now? Do you want to settle down? Your sister got married. Do your parents ever ask about that?”

They don’t, not anymore. “Dad kids me about all the actresses. I think he might be half-proud.”

“And your mom?”

I don’t talk about my mother much with Kelsey. She knows the basics, that my mother was a Broadway singer but never felt she reached the pinnacle she hoped for. Her career, by all accounts, was also fine, the kind most people dream of. But she was never the lead in anything huge, never nominated for a Tony. Sometimes I think she was almost relieved to fall in love with Dad and move to LA and have a family. The pressure was off.

Until I started singing lessons. Her joy when I did school plays and performed in choir was one of my driving forces. She sat in on every lesson, every rehearsal, and never missed a single performance. I became her everything.

Now, she looks pained if I sing so much as “Happy Birthday” to her.

I had the dream, too. It’s not that she forced something on me I didn’t want. But other opportunities came faster, movie roles, stardom. I thought she’d be thrilled that I wasn’t leaving California.

But I noticed that her face never lit up the same when she saw me after signing that first movie contract.

I disappointed her. I disappointed myself.

I realize time has passed, but Kelsey doesn’t press for an answer. “She wanted me to sing,” I say. “She’ll never get over that I didn’t.”

Kelsey sits up. “You still can.”

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