Page 76 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

I’m falling for her, hard and fast.

“Are you ready to be outshone by an actual artist,” Chase says smugly.

“Ha. How about you surrender, and I won’t say I told you so?” I chuckle.

“Not today, pretty boy. You’re about to get schooled. I’m turning this lumpy potato into a work of art.”

She throws me a wink that makes my heart do a little flip.

Why did I go and make things so complicated? This woman’s job is literally to yell “Cut!” on my life. She’s the director, calling the shots and deciding when a scene—or a moment—is over.

How can I go back to normal? Acting is one thing, but pretending my heart doesn’t race every time she calls “Action!” is another.

I’ve gone and screwed myself, in the most cliché Hollywood way. I’ve seen fellow actors blur lines with film producers and execs, and they usually crash and burn. Which means this most definitely ends with my career in the toilet, probably landing a gig in commercials for erectile dysfunction meds—if I’m lucky.

Side effects may include a recurring kicking sensation to your emotional groin while spontaneously bursting into tears.

“Five minutes!”

Crap. Five minutes till it’s game over. NO! Five days left in Florida. Only five days?!

I watch Chase frantically trying to give her sandman a seaweed toupee. It’s hilarious. The look of pure joy on her face makes my soul sing. And I realize something.

I’d gladly hawk dick pills for the rest of my life if it meant seeing that smile every day.

“Time’s up!” Dad calls out.

I sneak a peek at Chase’s sandman—more blobfish than snowman. It’s not bad, maybe even adorable if you squint, but my sand-sculpting genius stands as a granular masterpiece. I’ve given him a strong chin and a six-pack made of seashells that are making seagulls swoon mid-flight.

“Wow, Ethan, that’s amazing,” Chase says. “Seriously, you should totally get a picture for social media. Toss me your phone.”

Victory surges through me like I’ve just bagged an Oscar or, more realistically, like I’ve found that sweet parking spot inHollywood on a Friday night. I grin, hands on my hips, and strike a pose next to my pudgy snowman.

Chase backs up, framing the shot.

“Can you take a step to the left?” she directs. “Almost, scoochie a little more… Okay, one more baby step.”

And then, because I’m a fool who’s too busy channeling my inner Zoolander “Blue Steel,” I step right onto my carefully crafted creation. Within seconds, my snowman crumbles, reducing it to a sad, damp pile of sand.

I whirl around to confront Chase, who’s wearing an angelic expression that’s so mock innocent, a blind man could see through it. But with those flirty, twinkling eyes, no way can I be mad.

“You little cheater,” I accuse. “You’re gonna pay for that!”

Before she can react, I lunge forward and scoop her up, tossing her over my shoulder like a sack of presents. She shrieks with laughter as I charge towards the ocean.

“No, Stop! I don’t want to get wet!” Chase squeals, pounding her fists ineffectually against my back.

“Do you promise to play nice and stop with the tricks?” I demand, wading deeper into the cool water.

“Yes!” she gasps between giggles. “I promise!”

I ease her gently into the calf-deep water, but her hands stay firmly on my shoulders like I’m her anchor. She tilts her chin up, and I’m drowning in those eyes.

Time slows, the world narrows, and it’s just us—toes in sand with the ocean lapping against our legs. The sound of the waves and my family’s laughter on the beach becomes background noise. It’s Chase and me, standing in the shallows, on the brink of… something.

What if I told her?

What if I was completely honest and held nothing back.

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