Chemistry

by Tess Oliver

  Jameson grabbed a plate full of the pasta, and the two of us headed out to one of the splintery picnic benches on the shady side of the tent. Harlow's absence had made a casual lunch together much easier.

  "Hmm, yummy," I said after my first bite. I casually pushed out the little broccoli trees to the edge of my plate deciding they were the one offending ingredient. "No wonder it was the main scuttlebutt around the camp today."

  Jameson had that deep kind of chuckle that you could almost feel down in your soul. And he never overused it, like he knew it was that cool and cool things were never cool if they were overused. "Scuttlebutt," he repeated. "There's a word I'll bet the caterer wasn't expecting to hear in regards to her pasta." He reached over and stabbed my discarded broccoli with his fork. "I see you still eat like a four-year-old. Are you still hiding brussel sprouts under your napkin at the holiday table?"

  "No, I've asserted my independence on green vegetables. I just refuse to put the little blighters on my plate. I mean, why continue with the pretense that I'm actually going to consume something green."

  He finished chewing the broccoli. "You eat avocado."

  "Yes, well mother nature got one green food right. What can I say. It tastes like butter while everything else just tastes like vitamins, minerals and fiber."

  He smiled and shook his head. "Man, I've missed hanging out with you, Keezy. Being back together on set—it feels so natural, so right."

  His comment felt like a weird pitter patter in my chest. It was genuine. It made me happy to think he felt that our working together seemed right, but it also reminded me just how much I'd missed him. I needed to get off the subject or risk blurting out something stupid like I still love you. And it was just the kind of ridiculous thing I would do.

  Strangely, I went straight to my least favorite topic. Actually, it wasn't so strange. It was a form of self-preservation. "What plans do you and Harlow have for the holidays?" I marveled at how airily I asked the question as if it was no big deal at all to me that they would be snoogling under the mistletoe and cuddled on the couch in front of the fire nibbling gingerbread men. Although, probably not gingerbread men because Harlow was kind of a health food stickler. And since the weatherman was predicting eighty degrees for Christmas day, I could wipe out the image of them sitting in front of the fire too. Good ole So Cal weather, you rock.

  Jameson swallowed another bite of food. "I think I'm stuck going to her parents' place in the Bahamas."

  I put on my best look of pity, drooping my face like a basset hound. "Ah you poor, poor man. I hear the Bahamas are horribly wonderful this time of year."

  "Trust me, spending that much time with the Newton clan in a beach house is nothing short of horrible. They're all so fake with each other, so polite and serious, like your typical blue blood snobs."

  "Guess they are the total opposite of the Greenes and the Slates. I still remember that Thanksgiving at your house when the football game turned into an all out brawl and your brother ended up with a broken nose. But by dinner everyone was laughing and yucking it up and making fun of his crooked nose. I sat there, taking it all in and thinking so I'm not the only one with a crazy ass family."

  "I think ours could go toe to toe when it comes to crazy." He pulled out his phone. "Which reminds me. Check out the picture my mom sent of Orbit."

  Orbit was sitting in front of a decorated tree wearing an elf hat and big ears. "Aww, I miss him. I used to love to hold him by those big jowls and kiss the top of his head." I mimicked the whole thing once, and it took me back in time enough to make that pitter patter more like a tap, tap, tap. "I'll bet he misses you."

  "I miss him and since my holiday plans have been made for me—" he added with no small amount of derision, "I won't see him until New Years."

  I shrugged. "Part of the sacrifice when you're in a committed relationship."

  "I guess so," he said quietly to the plate in front of him. He lifted his face and our gazes clashed with sparks, at least I felt the sparks. It happened so often I was starting to think it was more my wishful thinking than reality. "What are you going to be up to? Holiday dinner with the whole clan?" he asked.

  I rubbed my nose to stall for time. I hated sounding pathetic, but my plans were pretty damn pathetic, even though I had made them. "Uh, not too sure yet. I'm going to wing it. I sort of just need a quiet break after all this filming."

  "A quiet break. That actually sounds good." He put down his fork and picked up his drink. "So, are you ready for—you know—"

  I knew exactly what he was referring to, but I decided to let him spell it out so I could get an idea of how he felt about it. I raised my brows in question.

  "You know—the rain scene."

  Wasted effort. I got nothing.

  I did another drawn out nose rub. I had no idea where I'd come up with that unladylike stall tactic. "Um, I guess I'm ready. I mean, it's just another day on the set, right? Only there'll be fake rain, of course."

  He nodded and took another drink. "Yeah, that's how I feel. Work is work. I'm sure we'll get it right just like we've been doing. We'll have to, otherwise Sawyer may cancel Christmas."

  I forced a smile and pretended to be amused, only all I could think about were his words that 'work is work'. That certainly clarified one thing for me—we may have rekindled some of our onscreen chemistry, but for Jameson, that was where the rekindling ended. He was at work and I was part of the job.

  Thirty-Three

  Jameson

  The interior stage had been remade into a rustic meeting hall, a place where the town dance was to be held. The carpenters had quickly constructed a wooden dais for the musician extras to set up their three piece country band with a fiddle, guitar and piano. They had been practicing while I was in hair and makeup, and they sounded pretty good. Sawyer had decided rather than put up three actors to pretend to play instruments, leading to the extra chore of adding in the music score at a later time, that he might as well just have musicians play live music. It was definitely easier to dance to live music instead of just imagining it. The town dance scene would be filmed in two parts, the first back at the farmhouse with just me and Kinsey, and the second at the dance with a lot of extras, who were being coached by a choreographer to make the whole thing look like an informal dance in a small town. It was the last filming of the day. Tomorrow the set crew would create rain. Kinsey and I would definitely be alone on set, as long as we didn't count the cameras and sound people and the director and his assistant and a half dozen other people who would linger on purpose just to see how the scene went down. Kinsey hadn't seemed the least bit worried about the rain scene, which helped put my mind at ease too. I was sure we could pull it off, make it look real and then both walk away as if it was just another day on the set.

  Deciding to stay clear of the chaos on set while the extras went through their routines and the equipment crews were getting everything just right, I pulled up one of the crew's chairs and sat down to go over the next scene. Early on, Shelby had suggested I read the actual diary entry first. I'd found it really helped get my head in the right place. Shelby had always been one of my favorite people. Throughout the years, she had been an incomparably loyal best friend to Kinsey. That only made me admire her more.

  I opened the script to the right page.

  Dear diary, I suppose I should start writing dear friend since you are so much more than a collection of paper in a slightly battered leather cover. I'll start again, Dear friend, what a whirlwind of a day. How strange that sounds. I used to reserve whirlwind to describe days that included elegant and slightly wild parties filled with brassy jazz bands, bengaline silk hats, gold plated baubles, beads hanging down to satiny hip sashes, and, of course, well dressed boys with flasks of illegal liquor hiding in their suits. But the town dance right here in my new, sometimes dreary hometown could have easily been held up to the whirlwind standard.

  And to think I very nearly missed the entire event. It would have been equivalent
to Cinderella missing the ball. I bring up Cinderella only because it all felt like a fairy tale, and, I can tell you, there was also a one and only prince. Most definitely not the man snoring heavily next to me. However, just like Cinderella's evil stepmother, the human trumpet forbade me to go to the dance for no apparent reason except that he was in one of his usual foul moods again. The dark periods, which were only interrupted by what I could refer to as the occasional gray periods (his good days) seemed to drop down on us more often and for longer periods of time. There was plenty to be glum about with the lack of rain, the crops doing poorly, the constant dust storms and my seemingly barren womb (something that bothered him more than me), but the town dance had the promise of shining a little light on things. I'd spent all my spare time, which wasn't much, stripping one of my fancier confections, a panne velvet evening dress that I no longer had use for, of its lacy trim. I sewed it to the décolletage of one of my nicer cotton dresses so that I could look nice for the dance. Tom noticed me spending time on what he considered a frivolity. He'd asked gruffly why I was bothering with lace on a dress. "It's for the town dance," I'd answered innocently. His harsh laugh brought me instantly to tears, through which he easily spoke, letting me know that he would be away from the farm all day and that I would certainly not be going to the 'silly' dance.

  I spent the next hour crying into my handkerchief. Tom couldn't stand to hear it and left early for his errand. I had no idea where he was going, but I suspected he was driving a long distance for some moonshine. I didn't really care.

  It was well into the day when Nate's boot heels sounded on the steps, sending me into a flutter. After the kiss on the front porch, Nate had been spending more time away from the farm, in town, most likely with a woman, I told myself and just as quickly assured myself he was there for errands and other things. He avoided me most of the time, but, occasionally, when his brother was nowhere near, we allowed ourselves a secret caress or longing look. But the kiss was never repeated, which both broke my heart and, at the same time, helped keep me from falling into a million pieces. But this afternoon, when he entered the house and found me wiping away tears, he asked what had happened. It seemed he'd jumped to the conclusion that Tom had struck me, and his entire body tensed with anger. I quickly assured him it was only me being childish because I had planned on attending the dance but found that Tom didn't want me to go. "Well, my brother isn't here and probably won't be back until late tonight," he said. "I was thinking of going to the dance. You can go with me." I fretted and debated the whole idea for about five seconds, then decided I would go. I lost my head in my exuberance and threw my arms around him to hug him and show my appreciation. Yes, I did that, Dear friend. Like I said, it has been a whirlwind of a day and the impromptu hug was only a small piece of it . . .

  Kinsey was pacing behind the set, looking unusually serious as she flicked her thumb across her phone. I walked over to her.

  "Why so glum?" I asked.

  I'd pulled her from her thoughts. "Huh? Oh." She smiled. "I'm looking for that one video, you know, the one where the real dad pulls the stepdad out from the wedding church pews so he can join him in walking the bride down the aisle. The stepdad is practically bawling about the gesture."

  "And you are searching for an obscure viral wedding video because?"

  She pointed to her eyes. "Tears. I need tears for this next scene, and I can tell you that the Mojave Desert is not great for producing tears. Unless sand is blowing." She put her finger to her chin in thought. "Maybe that's what I should do." She stood still and held her hands out to her sides. "O.K., I'm ready."

  "For what?"

  "Kick some sand at my face. I'll try not to blink."

  I laughed. "Come on, Keezy, I'm not going to kick sand at you. Just think of something that makes you sad. I'll see you once the action starts." I was still laughing to myself as I headed around to find my mark.

  "All right, let's lock it up," Sawyer called.

  The slate clacked and the action started.

  Nate enters into the farmhouse to find Cassie standing in the kitchen wiping away tears with the edge of a dishtowel. The dress Cassie had been working on for the dance is hanging over a kitchen chair. Nate discretely touches it without her noticing.

  Nate: What's wrong, Cassie?

  Nate steps forward with urgent steps, tense with anger.

  Nate: Did he hit you?

  Cassie puts the dishtowel down as she shakes her head.

  Cassie: No, he didn't. And he has never raised an angry hand to me since that day with the chickens.

  Cassie smiles faintly.

  Cassie: I don't know if I have you to thank for that, or maybe I'm just not giving him the credit he deserves. Although, today it felt a little like a slap across the face.

  Nate: What do you mean? Is it something he said that made you cry?

  Cassie shrugs and focuses on the carrots she's cutting.

  Cassie: It's just me being childish and silly. I really wanted to go the dance, but Tom had to go on an errand. He told me I couldn't go. I was working on a dress and everything. But that's all right. I figured I'd get a head start on tomorrow's supper.

  Nate walks over to the dress with the lace added. Once again, he runs his fingers over it, slowly, as if imagining he was touching Cassie.

  My mind skipped right to Kinsey wearing the same dress on an earlier set. The thin, calico cotton clung to her slim hips and long thighs, revealing every hot curve.

  Nate walks back over to Cassie. Stands on the opposite side of the work table.

  Nate: It just so happens I'm going to the dance.

  Cassie: I imagine there wouldn't be much of a dance at all if Nate Biggs didn't make an appearance. I can just hear the disappointed sighs now.

  Nate: (Smiles) There would still be a dance, there just wouldn't be much dancin'. I'll be back here at the house at five.

  Cassie: (Confused) Why are you coming back here?

  Nate: To pick you up for the dance.

  Cassie puts the knife down.

  Cassie: But what about Tom?

  Nate: Do you want to go to the dance, or do you want to sit home alone and think about the music, the refreshments and all the dancing you're missing? Tom won't be home until late. He won't even know you went. Unless, of course, you complain about your feet being tired from dancing.

  Cassie squeals with happiness.

  No one squealed like Kinsey. She had her own unique squeal that was nothing short of adorable, and it hadn't changed in nine years.

  Cassie circles the table and throws her arms around Nate.

  Kinsey leapt into my arms with exuberance. As her body slid down along mine, it became more than apparent that I wasn't quite ready to feel her body against mine. She flashed me a teasing eye twinkle. We stayed in each other's arms, staring into each other's eyes for a good few seconds after Sawyer yelled cut.

  "Cut and fucking awesome scene. We'll move right to the dance because the extras are waiting and ready and the late afternoon chill is starting to seep in."

  Kinsey tucked her hair behind her ear and looked down attempting to hide the blush in her cheeks. "Sorry if my hug was a little too enthusiastic," she said with a short laugh.

  "Enthusiastic, yep that's a good way to put it. In fact, seems like we were both a little enthusiastic in that scene. I apologize for that."

  "Not at all." She winked at me and turned to walk away.

  "Those tears looked genuine," I said before she left me. "What sad event did you conjure up to produce real tears?"

  Her lips pursed and she seemed to be looking for a response. "It was just something that happened a long time ago, almost a decade in fact. Lately, those feelings have been kind of fresh, so it was a good choice." With that, she walked away. It didn't take a genius or even a dumbass like me to figure out what she was talking about.

  Thirty-Four

  Kinsey

  Jameson's strong hands grabbed my waist. I braced my hands against his s
houlders and my feet left the ground as he spun me around. I shrieked with delight, loud enough to be heard over the lyrical twang of the fiddle. Sawyer had yelled 'that's a wrap' a half hour earlier, after we'd put the finishing touches on a great dance scene, the part of the story where for a few blissful hours Cassie and Nate forgot that they were stuck in a tragic situation, two people hopelessly in love who could never follow their hearts. They danced and laughed and shared what Cassie called the 'the worst tasting punch that ever tasted so delicious'. Sawyer had yelled cut, but everyone on the set was so amped up about the success of the scene and the upcoming holiday break, we decided to break into our own party. The musicians kept playing the same mix of blues and country they'd played for the scene, and everyone left their posts and equipment to swarm the small dance floor.

  After a few twirls, my head was dizzy, but it wasn't from being spun around in a circle. Jameson pulled me against him. I smacked into his chest and threw my arms around his neck as our feet trotted and slid to the music. Every second in his arms, staring into his magnetic gaze, twisted the knot around my heart a little tighter, but I didn't have the willpower to pull away. I wanted to be there, snuggled against him, our bodies swaying in perfect unison to the song. We'd grown so close again, it felt as if we had never been apart.