“Should I call her?”
“Yes,” they say in unison.
“Or,” Scout says, “you could find out where she’s filming her movie and go tell her yourself.”
“Oh yeah,” my mom says, pointing to Scout. “I like that plan. Do you know where she’s filming?”
I rack my brain. “It’s in Florida,” I say.
“That’s perfect,” Scout says.
“Ocala,” I say, suddenly remembering.
“Where in Ocala, though?” my mom asks.
I fall back against my seat. “I have no idea. Maybe I should just call her.”
“No,” Scout says. “Leave it to me.”
A few hours later, after getting some work done because I couldn’t exactly skip out when we’re only a few days in, I’m on the ferry toward the mainland.
Scout found out the filming location by cross-referencing social media with permits that were pulled in Ocala. I did have a quick but stern conversation with her about stalking, but it’s thanks to her that I’m heading there today.
I have no idea how I’ll find Presley once I get there, or if I’ll even be able to get onto the set, but I’m going to try my best.
Scout was right about not calling her. I need to chase her, especially after having turned her down so terribly last night. She needs to see that I’m going to work at this, however I can.
Maybe she’s changed her mind since she left yesterday. Maybe I’m too late. But I have to try.
Presley
I’m miserable on set the next day. First of all, because of the rain yesterday, the air is even more hot and stifling, if that’s even possible . . . which I guess it is since I’m currently suffering in it.
But it’s horrible, and the woman doing hair has had to resecure this blonde wig to my head twice already, and someone from makeup has had to reapply most of mine because it has literally been melting off my face. I did say I like these on-location shoots, didn’t I? I think I’ve changed my mind. I’d prefer air-conditioned sound stages to this.
The other reason I’m struggling today is because of Briggs. How could I not be? I’m heartbroken. I love him. I’m in love with Briggs Mortimer Dalton. I don’t know if that’s his middle name—I was too devastated to ask him before I left the bookshop yesterday. And I guess now I’ll never know. I guess I could text him, and maybe I will when the sting of this has gotten less . . . sting-y. If that ever happens.
At least I tried. At least I won’t have regrets where Briggs is concerned. I tried, and I failed. But the important part here is that I did try. Who are we kidding? I will always have regrets about Briggs. Always.
“Do you think they’re trying to kill us?” Landon asks in that Australian accent of his as he sidles up to me, but not too close because we all have an unspoken rule about sharing unnecessary body heat. “I’m dying out here.”
“I’ve never wanted air-conditioning so badly,” I tell him.
I think about Sunset Harbor and the sea breeze that makes summer so much more tolerable—pleasant, even. This landlocked part of Florida is basically torture right now.
“Actors to their marks, please,” Brock yells through the bullhorn.
Landon and I walk over to the waiting canoes, already filled with our teams. We’re about to embark down the waterways of the springs, until we meet the Syndarians and have an epic battle where, spoiler alert, we are the victors. Because this is a happily-ever-after kind of film. Or, sort of, I guess, after our team kills a bunch of evil otherworldly beings. So, not happy for them. But the good guy wins in this story, so hooray.
At least it’ll be easy to have a scowl on my face and hatred in my eyes today. Maybe I should thank Briggs for breaking my heart. Had it gone the other way—the way I was hoping—I might not have been able to stop myself from smiling through my scenes like a lovesick fool. I’m just not that good of an actress. The jig would be up.
“Quiet on the set,” Brock yells through the bullhorn.
“I guess it’s time to do our job,” Landon says.
“Let’s do this,” I tell him. My words sound like I’m ready to go, but my actual physical body wants to lie down on the patchy crabgrass and maybe just cry for an hour or two.
But I don’t, I get to work and after filming for a few hours, we take a break while Jason goes through what’s been shot to make sure he has all he needs. If he has, then there’s just one more scene to film and we’ll be done. My time in Florida will be over.
I’ll leave this state behind, and Briggs too. It’ll be a fresh start. On to wherever life takes me next. And that’s South Dakota for our next shoot. Which, to be honest, doesn’t sound all that exciting.
I walk over to craft services to get some water and possibly a snack, when one of the assistants, Jan, approaches me.
“Hey, Presley, there’s some guy at security asking to talk to you,” she says. “Do you want me to get rid of him? He says he knows you.” She looks down at a scrap of paper in her hands. “His name is Briggs Gatsby Dalton. He said you’d only know him by his full name.”
“What?” I say, my eyes immediately tearing up. I grab the paper from her and read the handwritten words. “It’s Gatsby?” I look at Jan, who gives me a confused shrug.
Could it be? His middle name is Gatsby? I never even thought of that as an option. But yet, that’s what it is. I just know it.
“What should I tell security?” Jan asks.
I don’t even answer her. I just take off running, pulling the blonde wig off my head as I go, and the cap as well. There’s nothing I can do about the armor, and I’m sure I look ridiculous right now, but I don’t care.
“Briggs!” I shout when I see him standing there, just outside the guard’s station. I run toward him, passing security, and stop right in front of him.
“Hi,” he says, his lips—his beautiful lips—pulled up into a smile.
