Page 3 of How to Kiss a Movie Star
I resist the urge to flex my biceps, but I can’t keep myself from saying, “Thanks for noticing.”
She rolls her eyes and huffs out a laugh. “Okay. We’re done here.” She crouches toward her plant, but I call out to stop her.
“Wait. Don’t leave.”
She leaves the plant on the ground and slowly turns to face me one more time.
When I was barely twenty years old, I auditioned for the lead role in a low-budget romantic comedy. I’d had a few minor parts here and there, but nothing big. Never the lead. I got the part, and when the casting director called to let me know, she mentioned my smile specifically and told me it would make me a star.
The movie was released to streaming platforms without even hitting the box office, but it was a surprise hit.Iwas a surprise hit. Since then, a dozen different directors have asked for that same smile, making it such a trademark, my first agent made me practice it in the mirror for hours so I wouldn’t forget exactly how to replicate it.
I slip it on now, trusting it will impact this woman like it does…well, most everyone else. “What if I don’tneedyour help, but I want it anyway?”
The woman doesn’t move. She just stares, her gaze focused, like she’s trying to puzzle me out.
My jaw tightens under the scrutiny, but I hold my ground. I’ve never had to work this hard, but I’m not about to give up now. This time, the effort feels different—less like the games I used to play in high school when the prize was the ego boost of knowing my charm had no bounds. I want this woman to smile for real—because I’ve said something to make her want to.
“I don’t know what’s happening here,” she finally says, taking a step backward. “But you shouldn’t waste your smiles on me.”
I shift the bottle of Cheerwine I’m still holding from one hand to the other and run my fingers through my hair. The cool condensation from the bottle coats my fingertips and chills my scalp at the contact. “If you smile back, it won’t be a waste at all.”
Her eyes lift and I see a smile playing around her lips, but she never quite gets there. Which only makes me wish to see it more. “I gotta go,” she says, her tone laced with humor.
I watch as she picks up her plant and heads toward the front of the Feed ’n Seed. “It was nice talking to you!” I call after her, but she doesn’t look back.
I’m still standing there when my brother, Brody, eases his truck to a stop in front of me, a bright red kayak strapped into the bed. He’s shirtless, which makes me think he was probably just on the river, and my eye catches on the faint scar stretching across his left pectoral muscle.
We were nine and eleven years old when I convinced Brody that reenacting the sword fight fromThe Princess Briderequired actual swords. And by swords, I meant knives tied onto the ends of sticks.
Brody wound up with twelve stitches, but I wound up absolutely positive I was destined to be an actor.
I was also grounded for three weeks, but the punishment was well worth the self-discovery.
“What did you say toher?” Brody says as he lifts his sunglasses into his sandy brown hair.
I look across the parking lot just in time to catch the woman disappearing into the store. “I didn’t say anything.”
Brody lifts an eyebrow, and I grin.
“I mean, I saidsomething. But I promise I was nice.”
“My level of nice? Or your level of nice? And by that, I mean flirty and self-indulgent.”
“Trust me, I wasn’t indulging in anything. She didn’t even recognize me.”
Brody feigns a gasp. “The horror,” he says dryly.
I pull a cookie out of the bag Ann gave me and toss it through his window and into his lap. “Shut up and eat a cookie.” I turn and cross the last few yards to my truck. I finish my Cheerwine, then drop the empty bottle, the bag of cookies, and the birdseed into the front seat before moving to the back and opening the tailgate.
Brody follows slowly behind me, stopping again once his truck is perpendicular to mine. “Ann made your nose too big,” he says, studying the cookie for a brief moment before taking an enormous bite of my frosted face.
He’s not wrong about my nose. But I wasn’t about to bethat guyand complain. “What are you doing here? Want to make yourself useful and help me load up this mulch?”
“Just need to pick up some new carabiners. Wait, this isyourtruck?” Brody asks, like he’s noticing it for the first time. He lets out a low whistle. “I thought you weren’t getting it until next week.”
“The dealership delivered it this morning,” I say as I reach for the first bag of mulch. I lift it onto my shoulder, then toss it toward the back of the truck bed.
“Theydeliveredit?”
