Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I’m surprised to find Crispin sitting in my makeup chair again. He has a devilish expression until he gets a good look at me, and then he’s out of the seat and standing before me in a second. His hands hover beside my arms like he wants to grip me or hold me.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“Oh.” I wave a hand like it’s nothing. “You know, grief. It’s a rollercoaster. But luckily, I have the world’s best best friend. She got me through it.”
Crispin’s mouth flaps like he’s trying to figure out how best to respond.
I wave my hand again. “Really, don’t worry about it. This,” I point to my face to indicate the blotches and red eyes, “has been a long time coming.”
He huffs out a breath, and his shoulders deflate. “I’m really sorry, Ari. Is there anything I can do?”
Even as my drying tears turn my cheeks into the crusty surface of the moon, I feel a soft smile curving on my face.
He’s genuinely concerned. It’s sweet. “No, but thank you.” I purposefully straighten my back and shake my head to clear it.
“So, what’s up? If you’re going to show up here every morning, you can at least bring a flat white with oat milk, a ristretto shot, and microfoam.
” I point to him and narrow my eyes. “Extra hot.”
His eyebrows arch comically. “A what-now?”
I laugh. “Glory and I used to look up the most complicated drinks we could order to see if our barista friend, Jason, could keep up. He never once had to ask a co-worker or look up any part of our order. The man is a barista savant. His tulip stack was never mistaken for anything else, if you know what I’m talking about. ”
“I literally have no clue.” Crispin is examining me like I might have cried some sanity away.
I sigh. “That’s how I discovered my favorite drink. By trying to stump Jason.”
“The flat white with oat milk? Is that your favorite?”
“Only with a ristretto shot and microfoam. Obviously.”
Crispin nods. “And extra hot.”
“A must.”
He squints and purses his lips while he considers me. My juvenile brain gets all hung up on watching his lips. “I never would have pinned you as a special drink girl, but the story makes it make sense. Glory? The best friend you were just talking about?”
My tiny smile is back as I remember Jason’s reaction every time Glory and I walked into the coffee shop he worked at. “The best best friend.”
Crispin’s gaze scans me, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes make me think he likes what he sees. “I like her already.”
I tilt my head in question, but he doesn’t explain himself.
Remi strolls up with her arms overflowing with brushes and hair product and makeup. “Oh, call the tabloids, this relationship has just stepped up a level. Two days in a row, the star is in the trenches.”
Crispin dons a pathetic expression and clutches his hands to his heart. “My trailer is so lonely.”
I bark out a laugh, but then stop. “Wait, why are you here?”
Heat sparks in his gaze. “The pictures. Did you see them?”
Remi grins, her eyes bouncing between us as she unloads her burden into different drawers. “Those pictures are hot, hot, hot!”
“My agent wants us to do a perfume commercial together,” Crispin says.
I squint because I’m not sure if he’s serious or not. “Why?”
“You always find that kind of heat in those ads.”
Remi nods. “Always.”
“Oh, is that what it is? Heat? I always thought it was hunger because the model only had a boiled egg in the twenty-four hours before the shoot.”
Crispin nods. “Fashion models can often seem a bit extreme. They are very serious about their work.”
“Good for them.” I hop onto the chair as Remi swirls the hairdresser’s cape around me. “But I’m very serious about my cheeseburgers, so I’ll never be a high-end fashion model for a $500 bottle of parfum.” I say the last word with my best French accent.
“The point being my agent thinks we’re good together,” Crispin says.
I look at him, waiting for more. “Okay.”
“We should work together,” he says.
My mouth drops open, and I steal a glance at Remi in the mirror. She shrugs, but she’s clearly biting her lip. “Crispin, we are working together.”
A frustrated growl escapes him. “We should work together more directly. You know, the two leads in a romcom.”
I jerk. “We’d have to kiss.”
He blinks and lifts his hands in the air. “Probably. It’s just acting.”
“I can’t kiss anyone on camera! I’d probably drool on you or crash my forehead into your nose and make you bleed.”
He flinches. “Ouch. Okay, maybe we’ll just stick to dating off-screen.”
If he’d lit a torch and held it under my chair, I wouldn’t have turned red hot any faster. With my arms buried under the cape, I can’t hide my face in my hands, so I just close my eyes and drop my chin. “Are you always so direct?”
“No, actually, I’m not.” He crosses his arms and cocks his head, studying me. “But learning how much you hated me in the beginning makes me realize I need to be very direct with you so that you don’t continue to get the wrong idea.”
Remi’s chuckle is deep, and her white teeth flash a bright reflection in the mirror. “Can you go give that man over there some pointers, please?”
Crispin looks over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the row of makeup chairs, some of which are currently occupied. “Which man? The blue shirt over there?”
Remi nods, her eyes simmering as she looks at the reflection of her husband in the mirror. The poor guy is oblivious that we’re talking about him.
“That’s your husband?”
“Wait,” I say. “You don’t know that?”
Remi shakes her head. “We mostly work on family dramas.”
“It just seems like Crispin knows everybody.”
He waggles his brows. “I know a lot of people in this industry, but mostly those who work on hot teen heartthrobs.”
I stick my tongue out and pretend to gag. He laughs.
“Anyway, give it some thought,” Crispin says. “I think we film together again on Thursday.”
I frown. “Give what some thought?”
“If you want to capitalize on our chemistry by looking for a project we can work on together.” He squeezes my shoulder. “See you later.”
Feeling flummoxed over his suggestion, I watch him walk over to Remi’s husband. He says something, pats the man on the back, and they clasp hands like long-lost brothers. Crispin leaves Remi’s husband laughing in his wake.
“What did he say to you?” Remi yells.
Still laughing, her husband shakes his head. “I will never tell, my love.”
“Oh, dat man,” Remi grumbles as she works through some knots in my hair.
I spend the next two hours imagining Crispin and me playing love interests in all sorts of movies. A spy thriller. A regency romance. A superhero movie – where I’m the hopeless villain and he’s wearing tights. Maybe I should pursue this.