Page 38 of The Accidental Honeymoon

When we walk out of the store, a small crowd has gathered around the doorway. Someone waves, and Jay returns it with the easy familiarity of a politician on the campaign trail.

I forget, sometimes, that he’s a minor celebrity. Or maybe I just try to forget.

"So," Jay says, breaking into my thoughts as we step out onto the slushy sidewalk. "Do you really think love is all about being best friends?"

I frown. Where is this coming from? "That’s what the studies say. Friendship is the foundation of a lasting relationship."

"Studies.” He blows a raspberry. "I think love is more about excitement. Spontaneity. Keeping things fresh."

"Sure, in the beginning. But that fades. You need something deeper to sustain you. Ten, twenty, thirty years on? You can only white-water raft or go to Fiji so many times. By the time you’re getting up there in years, you have to have friendship to lean on."

He stops. "So, you're saying our whirlwind fruitcake romance isn't the epitome of true love?"

His tone is light and playful. He’s not searching for any real truths. He’s just making conversation to pass the time. That’s more than fine by me. He opens his mouth to continue our banter, but he is cut off when a voice calls out Jay’s name.

I turn my head to see Jay’s camera crew approaching. I guess the blown tire didn’t hold them down for long. My stomach tightens. I was sort of enjoying not being on camera constantly. But now his crew is ready to capture every moment on film. There’s no use being bitter about it so I just paste on a smile.

Jay jogs over to them, then turns back. "Calla," he says, beckoning me. "We need a few shots together. Let’s do this quickly."

I step in, and a member of the crew directs us to various poses. Each one is more intimate than the last: Jay holding me from behind, our hands intertwined around the fruitcake, our still brand-new tattoos stinging. Me standing on tiptoes, pretending to kiss his nose. The whole thing feels like play-acting. Yet there’s an undercurrent of awkwardness that makes me uneasy.

"That should do it," says the crew member after what feels like an eternity. “We can just follow you two around for the next hour to get the B-roll we’ll need.”

Jay turns to the crew. “Can I see what shots we have so far?” he asks, but it’s not a question. His demeanor has shifted in an instant. Gone is the laid-back jokester. In his place is a man of purpose, focused and precise.

I watch, wide-eyed, as he tells the crew what kind of shots they should be looking for next. His directions are clear and confident. This is a side of him I haven’t seen before. Honestly? It’s… impressive.

Jay’s not just coasting on his abundant charisma. He actually knows what he’s doing.

In the crush of crew members, I spot a petite woman. She has long reddish hair, big pink glasses that frame her blue eyes, and freckles upon freckles. I recognize her as Jay’s younger sister. She often appears in his social media posts. Jay likes to tease her for being nerdy.

Wren is standing a few paces away, scrolling through her phone. I take a deep breath and walk over to her.

"Hey, Wren," I say, summoning my most genuine smile. I don’t know if she’s in on the ruse or not, so I say, "We haven’t properly met. I’m, uh, your new sister. “

Wren pushes a heavy set of glasses up her nose. Her shy smile doesn’t screamI’m complicit in your scheme. She steps forward, offering me her hand. “Calla, right? I’m so pleased to meet you.”

Her voice is almost too soft for me to pick it up. She seems sweet and a little nerdy.

Yeah, this is awkward. “Would you like to join me for lunch while Jay finishes up?"

She looks up, surprised, then glancestoward her brother. "Sure," she says, tucking her phone into her bag. "I'd love to."

We find a small café just off the town square, its interior a hodgepodge of vintage furniture and eclectic art. A space heater buzzes noisily in the corner, doing little to combat the day’s chill. We take a seat by the window, keeping our coats on, and a server hands us menus before wandering off.

“My apologies. I sort of just figured out that you’re Jay’s sister.” I glance at Wren over the menu. “I know who you are, but I don’t really have any details to fill in the sketch.”

Wren pushes her glasses up her nose and gives a dry laugh. “Same, I guess. What do you want to know?”

I narrow my eyes, considering her question. “Have you always lived in Greater?”

The server returns with our drinks, and we pause to take sips. Mine is a sweet tea, heavy on the sugar; Wren has a lemonade.

“Born and raised,” she says. “My parents actually live in Celtic Hills. Jay went to Emory, so I went to Emory too. I copied him for years.” She laughs. “Now I live on the same street as he does.”

“Wildflower Lane?”

She bobs her head. “Yeah. I live in apartment building way at the end. Jay owns the building.” Wren shrugs. “It’s a decent place to live while I try to figure out what I’m going to be when I grow up. I guess I’m still copying Jay a little.”

---