Chapter Seven
Hallstein
Normally I didn’t mind that I lived in a suburb outside of Vancouver. Port Coquitlam was, reasonably affordable. And I didn’t have to cross a bridge to get to Vancouver, which was a bonus.
But that didn’t help me as I sat snarled in traffic.
I’d gotten to the museum on time. The vase sat nestled in the blanket bed I’d created for it behind my seat.
Now, though, I was stuck mid-span on the Lion’s Gate Bridge, and traffic northbound—my lane—wasn’t moving.
Equally disturbing was the fact there was no southbound traffic.
During the height of rush hour, there should have been two lanes.
All this meant there was likely a nasty accident that I couldn’t see.
A call rang through on my Bluetooth. “Hello?”
“Hey, Hallsy.”
Jesus. “Hello, Myles.”
“Cole and Donovan are both stuck in traffic. You too?”
“Yes.” I glanced around. “I’m contemplating turning around and going to the Ironworker’s Memorial Bridge.”
He whistled. “That’s miles out of the way.”
“True…but I’d be moving.”
“Oh, pumpkin…no patience?”
Pumpkin? Again…Jesus. “It’s Hallstein, Myles. Not Hallsy. Not pumpkin.” I sighed. “Why are you not stuck in traffic?”
“Because I live in Lower Lonsdale. It’s one bus up the hill.”
“Ah, you live in North Vancouver. That’s…convenient.”
“Well, as long as I don’t need to get to Vancouver. Otherwise, it’s a Seabus or a bridge.”
“Point made.”
“Hey, you could park downtown and take the Seabus across. Then hop a bus or a cab.”
I barked out a laugh. “You think I’m taking a three-million-dollar vase on public transit?”
He laughed. “Okay, point taken. Look, Seamus also lives in North Van. He’s checking in with everyone who might be stuck. He said not to panic because, like I said, Cole isn’t here either, and—”
“Yes!”
“Okay, I just—”
“Traffic’s moving. I have to go.” I cut the call. Unless I had to, I didn’t even speak to people in the car while driving. Distractions could prove fatal.
I inched forward and eventually over the bridge.
Whatever the accident had been, it was gone.
I spotted colored plastic, likely from a headlamp.
I hadn’t heard an ambulance, which gave me some hope.
If it had been a fatal accident, we would likely have been held up longer or there would’ve been a coroner’s van.
And that thought gave me chills. I’d nearly needed one of those.
When I arrived at the studio, I found myself approaching the building at the same time as Cole.
He grinned and held the door. “After you.”
“Uh, thanks.”
He winked. “Keep flustering Myles—he needs his world shaken a little.”
Before I could respond, he headed down one corridor while I needed to go down a different one. Still confused, I made my way to the props room.
Today, Myles wore an obnoxious bright-red shirt with Santas on it. “Uh, wasn’t Christmas four months ago?”
He offered a cheeky smile. “Or only eight months to go. Never too soon…”
Sally snickered.
Seamus stuck his head in and caught my gaze. “Oh, great. Cole’s in makeup. Elouise and Kelci take the other bridge, so they’ve been here for a while. Once Cole’s ready, we’ll get going.”
“That’s our cue.” Myles stepped toward me. “Do you need to piss?”
On a chuckle, Seamus departed.
I fought to keep the blush from my cheeks. “Uh…”
“Where were you coming from?”
“PoCo.”
He whistled. “Go piss. I’ll watch your baby.”
I figured an argument wasn’t a good way to start the day—although was being called pumpkin any better? I headed to the washroom.
Eight minutes later, I placed the vase on the desk.
Coco scrutinized my positioning.
I tried not to sweat.
In the end, we came to a compromise, and I sat in my seat. Again, filming ran most of the day. Apparently Montgomery didn’t usually spend so much time in his office, but with Cole’s injury, he was taking it easy.
Day three, I stepped away from speaking to Julie Reyes so I could hand Myles his bottle of water because he looked parched.
The next day, as I sat placidly eating the lunch I’d remembered to pack, Myles stormed into the props room.
"Oh my God—now Seamus tells me they want a doorway in the set? Do they think I'm magical? Doorways aren’t even in my purview, but I’m supposed to coordinate with carpentry.
And what does the director mean that she didn't think peach was so pink?
What colour did she think it was? Yellow? "
I blinked. “Lisette doesn’t know the difference between pink and yellow?”
“No.” Myles whined. “Well, of course she knows the difference between pink and yellow. But she said the bedspread in Mirela’s bedroom was more peach than pink.
Personally—and no one asked my opinion—I don’t think Mirela would have a pink bedspread at all.
She’s a fire goddess. Like…I was thinking bold colors. Royal purple or fuchsia or—”
“You mean like your shirt.” Today was a purple explosion of rainbow-colored unicorns.
He grinned. “You noticed my shirt.”
“Myles, I would have to be blind not to notice your shirt. For something so dark…” I pondered. “Well, it’s very bright.”
“You like it.”
“I did not say that.” I could’ve, but I hadn’t.
Possibly because he might misinterpret and think I meant I wanted one of my own.
I wouldn’t put that past him. In fact, I was learning not to underestimate him.
He might also decide I needed a white pair of running shoes.
They didn’t necessarily match his outfit, but he was always on the move and the shoes proved practical.
“What are you going to do about the bedspread?”
“Costuming provided Lisette with a number of swatches, and she’s selected one. They’re going to sew a cover for the duvet over lunch.” He looked around the set. “I can’t remember—”
I handed him the hammer he was clearly looking for.
“Thanks…” He wandered off.
Later as the actors took their places, I tugged on Myles’s shirt.
“Hush.”
“But—”
“We’re supposed to be quiet on set,” he hissed.
“But—”
He glared.
I pointed at the wall. The blank wall.
“Crap.” He barged onto the set. “Sorry, guys.” He snagged the painting Coco had been cleaning. “Let me just hang this…” He did, then scurried back to me.
Coco waved her thanks to him.
He pointed to me.
I blushed.
Three hours later, as I sat in traffic out of the city, a pang hit me that I wouldn’t see everyone for two entire days. Funny how close I’d grown to that group in such a short time.