Chapter 18
Eighteen
Now
Sam was now officially crazy late.
The crew had gone from brisk efficiency to restless loitering. Someone was fiddling endlessly with a lens. Someone else was pretending to check emails, but clearly scrolling through Instagram models.
Neil kept looking at his watch. ‘We’re really off schedule now,’ he muttered to no one in particular, pacing a tight loop between the door and the counter.
‘Very on brand for Sam,’ Isabella said as she organised her brushes. ‘He once held up a shoot for an hour because he felt he wasn’t “moisturised correctly”.’
Neil gave her a look that said, Don’t talk shit about the talent. She ignored it. She was too busy watching Callie.
Callie kept her expression bland. No one was going to see how she felt about Mae’s roasting of her arse on camera, nor of Mae’s rejection of Callie’s plea for an amnesty. Not even Callie was going to know how she felt about it. She’d shut herself down like a laptop.
Through the small rectangular window in the swing door, she could see flashes of the kitchen. A forearm, the side of a face, the curve of a shoulder, as Mae moved about her business. The glass blurred the details, but not enough.
Though Callie was doing a great job of putting herself in an emotional coma, every time Mae drifted into view, Callie felt her lungs tighten.
Isabella appeared at her elbow.
‘If you keep looking,’ she said in a low voice, ‘she’s gonna spot you.’
Callie tore her gaze away.
‘I was looking at the…’ she began, but couldn’t think of one reason she’d need to be looking at that door. ‘Oh, shut up.’
Isabella grinned.
Callie gave her a flat look. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be making me beautiful?’
‘I already did,’ Isabella said. ‘Twice. You’re in a holding pattern.’ Her eyes softened just a fraction. ‘You all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Callie said automatically.
One perfect eyebrow went up.
‘I think she hates me,’ Callie admitted quietly. It surprised her, hearing the words out loud.
‘If she hated you, she wouldn’t have let us in here.’
‘She was probably paid well,’ Callie said.
Isabella’s gaze went to the window. ‘She looked hurt to me,’ she said simply.
The words landed a little too deeply.
‘It was a long time ago,’ Callie said. ‘She’s had years to… I don’t know. Move on. Forget.’
‘So have you,’ Isabella said. ‘And yet here you are, back here, watching her through a tiny pane of glass.’
Callie almost smiled despite herself. ‘Do you ever stop?’
‘Not when I’m bored.’ Isabella tilted her head, considering. ‘Do you wish you weren’t here?’
The question took Callie off guard.
‘I wish it were… different,’ she said quietly. ‘All of this. Her. Me. I don’t….’ She sighed and stopped talking.
Isabella’s voice, when it came, had lost its usual edge. ‘You can’t fix whatever happened in a few minutes in front of a camera. And Neil,’ Isabella muttered.
‘I don’t expect to.’
‘But you hoped to.’
‘Shut up.’
Back in the kitchen, Mae turned towards the door for a moment, wiping her hands on her apron. Even at this distance, Callie could read the set of her shoulders. Mae Morgan was closed.
‘Have you tried apologising?’ Isabella asked idly.
Callie huffed. ‘For what?’
‘You tell me.’
‘No thanks.’
‘Your call, babe.’
Neil’s phone rang. He pounced on it like a starving man and jabbed the screen.
‘Any update on Sam?’ he asked.
A voice burst out of the loudspeaker. ‘Just heard from his people. He’s not coming.’
Neil closed his eyes briefly.
‘There’s been an incident,’ the voice went on.
‘What incident?’
A long, embarrassed pause. ‘Sam’s spray tan came out wrong.’
Neil was agog. ‘Wrong?’
‘Yes. He says he looks “bronze”.’
Neil inhaled slowly through his nose. ‘And this prevents him from getting here, why?’
‘Because,’ the voice said, pained, ‘his preferred shade is fawn. He’s currently at the salon having it lightened. But it’s a process.’
Neil stared into the middle distance. ‘A process.’
‘Exfoliation, buffing. I’m just repeating what I was told.’
‘Unbelievable.’ Neil let out a quiet, humourless laugh. ‘So he’s off-duty until his complexion stabilises.’
‘That’s the situation, yes.’
Neil ended the call and turned, scanning the bakery like it was a chessboard.
‘Right,’ he said, clapping his hands again. ‘I’m not wasting the last of my shoot time. Callie?’
‘Yes,’ Callie replied, dread in her heart.
‘You’re doing some kitchen stuff solo.’
‘Why?’ she asked, louder than she meant to.
‘We’ll just have to say Sam was detained and you decided to discuss with Mae what he might like?’
Callie had to stop herself from retching at the idea of her and Mae planning how to please Sam Grey.
‘Anyway, we’ll figure it out as we go. But this wasn’t a cheap shoot, so I’m getting something.’
‘Sure,’ Callie said, trying to be agreeable.
She was careful not to be the difficult reality star. The thought made her sick.
‘Mae, sweetheart,’ Neil called through. ‘Can we bother you for a few more minutes?’
Mae opened the door with obvious reluctance. ‘You’ve been bothering me for days. But go on.’
There was laughter. The crew liked her. Of course they did. She was funny without trying, utterly lacking in artifice.
God, Callie missed that.
‘Sam’s been delayed by… Well, that doesn’t matter. We’re going to get some stuff without him while there’s still time on the docket. OK?’
‘You’re the boss,’ Mae said dryly.
‘We’re just going to get a bit of you two talking about preparation,’ Neil said. ‘Callie, you can ask what you and Sam will be making when she gets here, that sort of thing. Mae, you can, err, tease her about her skills? Keep it light.’
Callie heard an incredulous breath leave Mae’s nose.
‘All right?’ Callie asked Mae softly, once the crew had retreated a few paces.
Mae flicked a glance at her. The shutters were firmly in place. ‘Whatever,’ she said.
One word. Enough to make Callie’s stomach knot.
‘I know this is… a lot.’
‘Do you?’ Mae said.
Callie opened her mouth, closed it again. In another life, she would have reached across the bench, touched Mae’s wrist, made some joke. She didn’t dare now. Mae would snatch her arm back.
‘We’ll keep it quick,’ Callie said instead.
They rolled. Callie did as instructed, asking about the recipe.
‘We’ll start simple,’ Mae said. ‘Scones, maybe. Doesn’t matter if they’re a bit… off.’
Callie frowned. ‘Why would they be off?’
‘Because you can’t bake,’ Mae said plainly.
Callie was truly shocked. ‘Oh, can’t I?’
Mae shrugged. ‘No, you’re rubbish.’
Callie was genuinely aghast. ‘Excuse me, but I helped your dad a few times.’
‘Sure. You helped,’ Mae scoffed.
Callie’s mouth was open. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means he never gave you a big job. He’d just ask you to lob some flour onto the board or sprinkle something on the top of a cake. He kept you out of the actual baking.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you could burn things just by looking at them.’
Callie laughed, half-shocked, half-delighted.
And then a miracle happened. Mae smiled at her. Not a sneer. A real and true smile.
Just for a moment, they were them again—Callie and Mae.
Back Then
Callie stepped outside the bakery, trying not to cry.
What Mae had said didn’t make sense. None of it. It was like Callie was trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle. But instead of the missing pieces, Mae kept handing her things from other games entirely. A Monopoly top hat, a Scrabble letter, a Connect Four disc.
Moving on without her? Drifting apart? Helping it along?
Mae didn’t talk like that. Mae didn’t think like that. It was something else. Something wrong.
Callie walked a few paces down the pavement before stopping under the dim streetlamp.
‘Idiot,’ she muttered to herself. She wasn’t leaving things like that.
Callie went back the way she’d come. She pushed open the bakery door quietly.
Mae wasn’t there. Had she left? She wouldn’t just leave the door unlocked and go upstairs. Mae would sooner…
Then Callie heard it. A small sound behind the till. A sob.
Callie stepped around and found Mae on the floor, knees pulled in, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands.
Without a word, she slipped behind the counter and sank down beside her.
‘Hi,’ Callie said.
Mae jerked so violently she smacked her head slightly against the counter. ‘The fuck!’ Mae yelled, scared. ‘Why have you… What are you do… Why would you…’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Callie said.
‘What?’
‘I thought about everything you just said,’ Callie went on, ‘and I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you want to stop being my friend because of… whatever the hell it was you just said.’
Mae sniffed hard, wiping her face with the heel of her hand. ‘Well… you should.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ Callie said insolently. ‘I know you, Mae. You’re not like that.’
Mae stared at her. She looked young suddenly. Lost and terrified.
Callie knew that she wasn’t leaving. Not until she got to the truth. This mattered more than anything else.
She wasn’t giving up on Mae.