“Surprise him,” Hunter suggests, stealing another piece of bacon. “And a little hard to get never hurt anyone. It drove me crazy when Brit kept blowing me off, I had to move heaven and earth for a single date.”
Brit smiles smugly. “Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.”
He laughs. “And, uh, not to get crude, but flashing a little leg never hurt anyone. Oww!” he exclaims, as Brit hits him in the arm. “I’m trying to help,” he protests.
“No, this is good stuff,” I agree, making mental notes.
The sound of footsteps comes in the hall. “Hello?” Blake calls.
I panic. Tegan squeezes my arm. “Shh,” she orders the others. “Subject closed.”
Brit immediately turns back to the stove. “Who wants blueberries, and who wants chocolate chips?” she asks loudly.
“I do!” Tegan exclaims.
“Which one?”
“Both!”
By the time Blake walks in, they’re all focused on getting plates and cutlery down and serving up breakfast.
“Where did you go?” he asks, looking annoyed. “You missed it. I managed to canter, and I didn’t even fall.”
“Great job,” I say, breezy. I want to cheer for his achievement, but I remember Hunter’s advice, and slide off my stool instead. Hard to get. I can do that. “I have to get going,” I say brightly. “You guys have fun.”
He looks confused. “But what about breakfast?”
“I have plans,” I smile broadly. “Thanks for having us over,” I tell Brit and Hunter. “See you Monday!”
As I walk away, I can hear Blake talking behind me. “What kind of plans?”
“Just some guy,” Tegan’s voice replies. “You know Zoey.”I head out with a smile. He might think he does, but I’m going to show Blake he doesn’t know me yet.
9.
Hunter is right: I need a little mystery. Ever since arriving in town, I’ve tried to spend as much time near Blake as possible—and it’s got me nowhere. Now, it’s time for something new.
So, for the next week of filming, I keep my distance. Instead of bringing Blake his morning coffee and Mrs. Olsen’s muffins, lingering near his trailer to say hi or chat between takes, I make sure I’m always too busy to send him anything other than a distant wave. “Sorry, can’t talk,” I say whenever he comes over, cutting him off before he can even say a word. “I’ve got a million things to do!”
I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. What if he thinks I’m even less interested than before? But after a couple of days of being too occupied to say more than a couple of words to him, I notice something.
He’s watching me.
Call it a sixth sense, but I can feel his gaze on me now, following me around the set. I act like I don’t notice, but I catch him staring sometimes, in between takes or when I run out to give Dash new pages or bring him lunch.
So I give him something to stare at.
I’m not like my friend Elise—I would never rock up to set wearing three-inch heels and a miniskirt, but I make an effort now to look sleek and pulled together. Tight jeans and low-cut sweaters, loose dresses I belt at my waist, worn with knee-high boots and lipstick. My outfits are always practical, but on a set filled with sweatpants and work boots, I’m starting to stand out. In a good way.
“I like your scarf,” Kira tells me on Friday, a begrudging note in her voice. We’re filming up at the ranch today, working on those horseback riding scenes Dash wanted. Overnight, the place is packed with vans, cables, lighting rigs and more.
“Oh, thanks,” I smile. “Here’s the location schedule you wanted for next week,” I deliver the papers, “and the budget breakdown, and a latte: no fat, extra shot with vanilla, right?”
She blinks. “Yes, thanks. But I thought you couldn’t get a decent coffee for miles?”
“You couldn’t,” I smile. “But I talked to the girl at the diner and had a delivery of no-fat milk and all the syrups sent for them. I figured, since we’d be in town a while…”
“Good thinking,” Kira looks at me again, impressed. “You’ve got a great attitude. Most assistants don’t bother with the small stuff like coffees and copying.”
I give a shrug. “It’s the little details that make the big things happen. Dash is way less grumpy when he gets his espresso first thing,” I explain, “and if he’s happy, he doesn’t yell at the crew so much, and Lila doesn’t take ten takes to get her scenes right. Everybody wins.”
Kira laughs. “There’s a future for you in this business yet. Now, can you go catalogue the spare batteries? One of the lighting guys was supposed to do it, but I don’t know where he went.”
I turn away, beaming. I know it’s not exactly glamorous, but I like contributing, even in the smallest ways. The movie is a huge mass of moving parts, and even knowing that I’m one tiny cog in the machine is still a thrill for me.
Plus, now that I’m not so focused on being at Blake’s beck and call, I’m learning more too, especially from Dash. If the movie set is a huge, chaotic whirlwind, then he’s the eye of the storm: the one person that makes everything run. I don’t know how he does it. Every decision, every shot, it all goes through him. Blake and Lila may be the main characters, but he’s the one standing behind the camera, urging them on to play the scene more raw; wring every last drop of emotion from the dialogue. It’s like he has the whole movie already in his head, and we’re just helping him bring his vision to life.