Page 2 of Stuck in Christmas

“I’d watch that movie,” Sherry said reverently. “Especially if Pedro Pascal was the hot guy in a truck.”

“He’s too famous for this ridiculous imaginary movie,” Renee snickered. “It doesn’t matter. All you need is a decently handsome man with dark hair and blue eyes who looks good in flannel. They’re a dime a dozen. You can’t swing a dead cat on basic cable without finding one.”

“You act like you wouldn’t say yes to the dress if one of those generic guys showed up in your life,” Sherry said.

“I might say yes to Mr. Right Now, but Mr.Forever? That’s a pipe dream. Same as my fake movie. They’re all the same.”

Sherry tilted her head, her voice softening. “Has it ever occurred to you that people need a little romance? A little magic? These stories give people hope.”

“Hope is overrated,” Renee interjected, her tone almost defensive.

“Don’t say that,” Sherry cautioned, her voice steady.

“Seriously,” Renee stressed, crossing her arms tighter to ward off the chill that was not from the temperature outside.

“Ah. You heard back from your agent.” Sherry’s tone shifted.

“Yes. He didn’t like the script,” Renee said, disappointment creeping into her voice. “Said it was lacking ‘heart.’”

Sherry raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“What does he know?” Renee shrugged.

“Umm... a lot. His clients have produced more award-winning movies in five years than most agents combined.”

Renee threw up her hands and paced the parking lot. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I am on your side. So. Best friend to best friend. Is. He. Right?” Sherry’s gaze remained unwavering, even as Renee dipped her head to avoid looking Sherry in the eye. “Is it lacking ‘heart?’”

Renee sucked in a breath and stared at her friend. The friend who had been by her side through one heartbreak after another. She might be able to bullshit anyone else in the known universe, but notSherry. “Maybe.” Renee’s voice faltered. “I don’t even know what I was thinking—writing a screenplay. I need to stick to what I do best—writing the fluffiest fluff pieces New Orleans has ever read.”

“That’s not all you do best,” Sherry countered. “And ‘fluff’ keeps you warm at night—because theydohave heart. You’re a storyteller, and people love your stories. They want to know what’s happening in other people’s lives.”

“So they can see if theirs are better,” Renee replied defensively.

“Now you don’t believe that,” Sherry challenged.

“Okay, fine. I don’t,” Renee conceded.

“People love reading your stories. You inspire them. You show the human side of your subjects—just like you’ll do with Mr. Kris, I mean, ‘Santa.’”

“It’s easy to write those stories because they’re about other people,” Renee countered. “Writing a screenplay is so much harder.”

“Why is that?” Sherry inquired, genuinely perplexed.

“Because it’s all me on the page,” Renee admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m out there. Exposed. Afraid.”

“Just like falling in love,” Sherry noted, her tone turning serious.

“Yes. Exactly like that.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s just one more area where I keep getting kicked in the teeth,” Renee sighed. “Love, relationships, writing a screenplay—rejection, rejection, rejection.”

“And just like writing a screenplay—with arelationship, you have to go all in and put your whole heart into it,” Sherry replied.

“I did that with Jon.” Renee clenched her fists to steady herself.

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