35. Finn
FINN
G oing solo to the Oscars wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined this night.
When I’d learned that Every Day had been nominated for eleven awards, including Best Costumes, the first thing I’d envisioned was staring into Sierra’s dazzling eyes as the name of our movie was read out as the winner of award after award to an audience of millions.
I’d thought about kissing her jubilant face and about hugging her close to breathe in her strawberries and peach blossoms scent while the applause thundered around us.
That’s what I’d imagined this night would be.
But of course, that would have required Sierra to actually be attending the Oscars as my date, which would have required her to forgive me, which would have required me to apologize to her, which would have required her to actually talk to me.
And blocking my number had been a big indication that talking to me wasn’t something she was willing to consider.
But tonight—tonight, I was determined to change that .
“Keep going,” Jillian muttered to me from the corner of her mouth as she shoved me along the line of photographers and interviewers stationed on the red carpet. “When you stop walking, that’s when the media sharks descend.”
I smirked at her over my shoulder.
“Well, well, well…if it isn’t everyone’s favorite Behind-the-Scenes Beefcake,” a horribly familiar voice called.
Jillian arched her eyebrow to a sharp point, giving me a look that said, “See, you should have listened to me.”
I plastered a smile on my face as I turned back to face Milli and her cameraman, knowing I was really staring down a horde of her gossip-hungry followers. I cleared my throat, the corners of my mouth twitching. “Milli,” I said politely.
She shoved a plastic microphone into my face. “It’s a big night for you, Finn Lockhart. Up for eleven awards.”
“It’s a big night for the entire team,” I said. “And we’re really looking forward to celebrating with all the winners tonight.”
“I’m sure you are,” she said, looking me up and down. “But let’s get to the question everyone wants to know. Is there a new special someone in your life that you’ll be celebrating with?”
Jillian prodded me from behind, and I shot the camera a wink before giving the prepared PR answer that had been drilled into me on the car ride over. “A gentleman never tells.” And with that, I headed off before Milli could hit me with another question.
“This was why I suggested a PR date,” Jillian muttered.
“I didn’t want a PR date,” I reminded her, keeping a fixed smile on my face as cameras clicked and photographers screamed the names of stars. There was only one person I wanted on my arm—here or anywhere else—and that wasn’t going to change no matter who Jillian managed to scrounge up.
My eyes scanned the crowd ahead, searching for Sierra. It had been weeks since I’d offered her the position on Ro’s new movie, weeks since she’d blocked me. I just wanted the chance to speak to her. To tell her how sorry I was. How wrong I was.
“They might have helped you avoid some of these questions,” Jillian said.
“And tomorrow, I’d have to fend off articles about a new girlfriend.” God, that was the last thing I needed.
“Then maybe you should have considered Grace’s offer.”
I managed a real grin at that. Grace, adorably, had offered to attend the Oscars as my date, but I hadn’t wanted to drag her into any media stunts, so I’d told her it would mean the world to her dad if she went with him.
So Connor had Grace, Liam had Mia, and Mom had X. That left me… “Have you seen?—”
“Sierra?” Jillian said. “No. Not yet.”
“Do you know if she’s coming?”
Jillian looked at me flatly. “She’s nominated. Why wouldn’t she be here?”
I tugged at my collar, nodding. Of course. There’s no way Sierra would miss this night, regardless of how she felt about me. People waited their entire careers for this moment. She would be here. Right?
“Maybe she’s already inside,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
“Or she’s turning up fashionably late to avoid all this nonsense,” Jillian said. “Which would probably be for the best. The last thing we need are awkward reunion photos of you two on the carpet. That’s not the narrative we want headlining tomorrow. ”
I frowned. Would Sierra even want to be seen with me? I pulled out my phone, checking all the messages I’d sent that had gone undelivered since she’d blocked me.
Can we talk?
Please, Sierra. I’m so sorry. Let me make this right.
The next was a photo of French toast. Went to Café du Soliel and thought of you .
The next was a photo at the Santa Monica Pier. I still owe you a ride on the Ferris wheel.
Grace says hi. I’d sent her a photo of me and Grace in San Francisco. She’s going to be helping with the costumes for her school play and would love to pick your brain if you have time.
I miss you.
I’m sorry.
Would love to know what you thought of Every Day if you managed to catch it in theaters.
Just know I’m rooting for you to take home the Oscar for Best Costume Design. It is so, so deserved.
It was a record of my life unraveling without her. I swallowed hard, tearing my eyes away from the screen, and stuffed my phone in my pocket.
“Can you stop scowling?” Jillian murmured.
I lifted my head, my face automatically shifting into my usual public-facing mask—confident, lightly amused, utterly unbothered by any problems. Then my stomach dipped as I caught sight of a familiar head of auburn hair.
Sierra ?
Her black floor-length gown sparkled as it clung to her curves, the open back showing off the creamy expanse of skin from the top of her neck all the way down her spine.
Her hair had been twisted into a pretty, braided knot at the back of her head, and her makeup was dark and smoky.
She was gorgeous, ravishing, stunning. There was nothing I wanted more than to take her into my arms and whisper how sorry I was.
But before I could even consider which of the many apologies to start with, a group of security clad in black suits surged between us, escorting some high-profile someone into the venue, and by the time they’d cleared, Sierra had disappeared.
I shouldn’t have been this annoyed by the seating arrangement, but instead of listening to the host make his corny jokes, I was cursing the seven seats and two rows between me and Sierra.
Close enough to see her, to hear the sound of her laughter, but too far away to catch her eye or say anything without making it a thing.
I drummed my fingers against my armrest, the urge to close the distance tugging at me.
But this wasn’t the moment to pull her attention.
Tonight was hers as much as it was mine, and despite how wretched it was to be this close to her and not be able to tell her everything, she deserved to bask in the spotlight of being a nominee without having me sour the moment for her.
As far as Every Day went, it had been a mixed bag so far, with us losing out on Best Supporting Actress and Production Design but taking home awards for Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Makeup and Hairstyling.
I’d clapped appropriately for the wins and losses, smiling appreciatively when our winners thanked me by name, but the truth was I’d hardly given myself a second to celebrate our successes.
All I could do was wonder what Sierra was thinking way over there. What had she just whispered to Ro next to her? Had she actually thought that last joke was funny, or had she just laughed because it was expected?
I was spiraling hard and anyone watching me would think I was stalking her—or worse—the way I was attempting to memorize every little nuance she made. I was losing my mind and it would only get worse if I couldn’t speak with her. Tell her how sorry I was. How important she’d become to me.
How Lord Meowington was still pissed at me that I’d been foolish enough to let her walk out of my life. I didn’t think the cat angle would work, but I was willing to try anything at this point if she would simply stand still long enough to let me speak.
The orchestra played the end-of-sequence number and I tried to turn my attention back to the Oscars. This was everything I’d worked for. My career’s crowning moment.
And all I could think about was her.