Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“We’re still scouting the small town,” she admitted, draining her third cup of coffee. “Nothing’s felt right yet.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid finding a town as quaint as what you described with the family complex by the water doesn’t really exist.”
I had to laugh. “But it does. That’s where I grew up. Port Albany.”
“Really?”
I opened my phone and showed her some pictures. She got excited as she looked them over. “Would your family allow some filming to happen on the property?”
I paused, considering it. Did I want a film crew in my town? On our property?
“It would be done with the least amount of invasion into their lives,” Amber assured me. “I would be very respectful that it is your home.”
“I could ask Uncle Bentley,” I offered.
“Just exterior shots. And some around the town. We’d pay, of course.”
I texted my dad, Uncle Bent, as well as Aiden and Maddox. BAM owned the land, so they had the majority shares and the first right of refusal. It was midday there, and I knew someone would get back to me. If they said no, it was fine. If they were interested, I was sure Amber could be trusted to stick to her word.
Before I could put my phone back in my pocket, it buzzed, and I had to laugh as I read the reply.
I glanced up, meeting Amber’s gaze. “My uncle Aiden wants to know if he can be one of the extras.”
Amber was busy looking at pictures of Port Albany on her computer. “Get me in there, and your uncle can have a walk-on part.”
He would love that. Uncle Bent replied as well, his wording more cautious.
“They have questions.”
She peered at me over her glasses. “I have all the right answers. Give me their contact information, and I will call them today.”
“Okay.”
CHAPTER SIX
MILA
On set, Andi and Amber walked over to the set decorator, and I mumbled something about a coffee. I tugged up my hood, headed to the craft table, and poured a cup, adding the cream. I had already seen that Nicholas was in his chair in the corner, and I headed that way, pausing before I spoke. He was studying the script again, a pen held in one hand as he read the pages, his mouth moving silently. He looked tired today. Even more tired than the day before. I edged closer, wanting to offer him comfort but knowing I could only do so in the form of a cup of coffee.
As if sensing me, he glanced up. Unable to stop myself, I smiled. “Hiding in the shadows again, Nicholas?”
I wondered if my words struck a memory for him. “So you know who I am.”
I had to snort. “Since you made sure I read the back of your chair yesterday, that pretty much guaranteed it.” I held out the coffee. “I got this for you.”
He snatched it from my hand, almost groaning as he took a sip. “Finally, the good shit.”
“Seriously,” I muttered. He reminded me of Halton, the coffee snob of the family. He would shudder over the quality of coffee served here and insist on making it himself. I could only imagine him and Nicholas together.
“If the coffee is so terrible if someone else makes it, get it yourself.”
He shook his head. “Nope. It’s a perk. Someone else gets it for me. And I’ve decided you’re getting me coffee for the rest of the shoot. Make sure you stick close.”
I snorted. “I have other priorities bigger than you.”
His eyebrows rose slowly, expressing his disbelief. “Bigger than the star? Pretty sure I can call bullshit on that one.” He narrowed his eyes, silent for a moment. “And where have you been? You keep appearing out of nowhere. I looked for you—no one seems to know who you are.”
“Maybe because you call me by the wrong name.” I deflected.
He glanced at my pass, frowning. “Why does that say visitor?”
“Lost my other one.”
He drained his cup, tossing it in the bin beside him. “I need another one of those, Shortcake.”
“Too much caffeine isn’t good for you. Maybe a juice? A water?”
He frowned. “Coffee, little gofer. Now.”
I rolled my eyes and, because I was an idiot, got him another one. He watched me walk toward him, his head tilted as if studying me. I handed him the cup, feeling nervous. Was something familiar about my walk? Did he recognize me?
“Stay close,” he demanded. “I’m going to need lots of these today.”
“The other ones can’t be that bad. Just tell them how you want it.” I cleared my throat. “Politely.”
“Are you suggesting I’m rude?”
“Snippy is a good word. Demanding. Impatient. They all work.”
“If you like your job, I suggest you shut up,” he said, trying to look angry, but failing. His lips were quirking in amusement. “Or try being a writer. I hear that pays well.”