Page 42 of The Emerson Effect
“Uh-oh,” she chimes in, making me laugh.
“I was thinking I could post a video with an old-timey love song. Something upbeat and swoony from the fifties or sixties, rather than something current,” I say.
She nods thoughtfully, her lips twisted into a half-frown. “Do you think that type of sound choice would mess up the algorithm?”
“It might since it’s not popular, but people are looking for videos from me because they’re waiting for the big reveal.”
She nods again, her eyes unfocused as she thinks. Then she freezes and bites her lips, saying, “What aboutSay You Want Meby Hunter Lane? I know it’s country, but it’s become quite popular on BingBang over the last few weeks, and for a country song, it’s a bop. And the lyrics actually fit our situation.”
She’s right. That is a popular sound right now, and the lyrics talk about a man pining for a woman while never really knowing how she feels in return.
“You’re so fucking smart,” pops out of my mouth without a thought.
“I know,” she sing-songs, then laughs off the compliment. “So tell me about the video. What will the storyline be?”
“I was thinking I could give you a bouquet of flowers…daisies, of course.”
“Of course,” she says with a grin.
“I could look into the camera like I’m flirting with you, then hold the flowers out, moving forward until they block the frame. Then you could tack it like a transition. Hold a bouquet against your camera, then pull it back to reveal yourself as you smell them and smile.”
“That’s…perfect, actually,” she says, grinning widely. “Show me what you plan to wear and the flowers you’ll use. So I can find a similar bouquet.”
“I don’t have the flowers, yet,” I say, “but I’ll head out after we hang up and send you a pic as soon as I find some.”
I walk to my closet as I speak, pulling out the blue shirt it’s taken me two weeks to decide on for the reveal. It makes my eyes pop, looks good against my tan, and fits me in all the best ways.
“How about this?” I ask, careful to add a note of false indecision in my voice like I haven’t tried on every shirt in my closet before deciding on this one.
“That’s great,” she says, nodding. When I reverse the camera so she can see me again, she adds, “And I have a dress in that color I can wear in my part. Unless…you don’t think trying to match our clothes is too much, do you?”
The image of her bobbles as she walks over to her own closet and pulls out a blue sundress and holds the material against her chest. The color brings out the blue in her cyan eyes and looks great against her skin and dark hair.
“It’s perfect,” I murmur, inwardly flinching at my breathless tone. Clearing my throat, I add, “Definitely not too much.”
“Awesome,” she says. “What time do you think you’ll post the video?”
“I don’t know. Around three? My analytics show that as an optimal time for me to post. And it will give us both enough time to go out and find the flowers.”
“And I should post my tack right after? Like, within the hour?”
“Yeah. Sounds good,” I say.
“Sounds good,” she repeats with a grin. “I’m embarrassed at how excited I am for this.”
She lowers her voice on that last bit while the apples of her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. I feel the heat of her blush in my chest as I shake my head.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m excited, too. Like, ridiculously so.”
“You are?”
“Yeah,” I breathe, and she grins.
“Well, go on, then. Go find your daisies. I’ll head out, too. I have a couple of errands to run, anyway.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Bye, Emerson,” she says with a waggle of her fingers at the camera.
