by Jen Brady
He nodded. “The entire time. When I found that out, I pulled all your files and watched it. It was—” His voice broke, and when he cleared his throat to continue, his words were thick with emotion. “It was amazing.”
A twinge of annoyance worked at my mostly-elated heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried, but—” He broke off and leaned back, pulling his leg with him, as if he’d just realized how close we were sitting. “But you and Laurence had gone off together, and I couldn’t find you.”
“We what?”
“After his livestream about how you guys fell in love years ago and blah blah blah. Then you went to his boat or whatever.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Ted and I haven’t done anything since his dumb livestream besides film one reaction video, and we wouldn’t go to the marina in January. I went to the beach with my sister.”
Rick’s eyes lifted, and I saw what looked suspiciously like hope in them. He couldn’t slam any doors in my face in the middle of the mall. He had to listen to my explanation this time.
“I don’t understand why you got so mad at me. You watched the livestream. You saw him complaining about how I’d said no to his stupid prom-posal pizza. Why wouldn’t you talk to me?”
“Wait, you turned him down? That’s why you guys haven’t filmed anything lately?”
“Yes. You know that. You saw the video.”
“But he said . . .” Rick’s eyebrows mashed together as his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “You said no? Why?”
“Because I don’t have feelings for him like that.” I took a deep breath. “And because I’m in love with someone else.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded and finally let my gaze drop to his lips. I was done figuring this out. It could be sorted out later. Right now, all I wanted was—
In one smooth motion, he scooted closer to me again, cradled the back of my head with his hand, and pulled me to him. His mouth covered mine, and it felt so good to have our lips pressed together, I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest.
Just when we’d found the perfect, easy rhythm, he pulled back a little. I tried not to feel disappointed, even though I knew there was a lot more explaining to do on each of our parts and we needed to move the, uh, conversation off a mall bench.
Our lips stayed parted only a breath away. We were still so close that as he spoke, his bottom lip grazed mine as he murmured, “I’m in love with you, too.”
Then he kissed me so slowly and deeply I thought I was going to melt into a puddle at his feet, his earth-and-cinnamon scent settling over me. When he finally pulled away, he was shaking his head and chuckling.
“What?”
“I just realized I’m one of those people I can’t stand who makes out on benches in the middle of the mall.”
I laughed at the memory of the couple going at it the day Ted and I had walked into Rick’s shot. Wow, had I missed hanging out with him. He made everything easy and fun. Why had I discounted dating in high school? Sure, a lot of high school romances were superficial and pointless, but if you found someone who made your life better just by being in it, that was nothing to scoff at.
“We’d better get out of here then,” I suggested, reaching out to brush a piece of his messy hair off his forehead. “I have an idea for a new YouTube channel I want to run past you.”
His lips pursed. “Does it involve you and Laurence flirting and being all silly together?”
“No. It involves you and me sharing our movie-making expertise with an internet full of wanna-be filmmakers who could use a few tips.”
His lips quirked up and he looked at me with a sort of playful fire in his brown eyes. “I like the sound of that.”
“It also involves lots of time brainstorming on my couch.”
His small smile turned devious, and I knew he was remembering the last time we’d hung out in my attic. “And by brainstorming, you mean . . .”
I leaned in and pressed my lips to his scratchy cheek right in front of his ear and whispered, “Lots of kissing.”
“I like the sound of that even better.”
We stood, our hands finding each other’s and lacing together as we headed for the exit. My entire body tingled at how amazing it felt to be physically connected to him.
“Maybe we should wait,” I said, when we got to the glass doors and were greeted by the pitter-patters of rain. “It’s still raining.”
He tightened his hold on my hand. “Don’t care. We have an award-winning movie to watch while snuggled on a couch together.”
I bumped my hip into his. “The one time I listen to this crazy guy I met at the mall and park in the employee lot instead of the nice, dry parking garage.” I pushed the door open, and raindrops immediately hit my face. “I should have brought an umbrella.”
Rick squeezed my hand. “Umbrellas are overrated.”
Then he shrugged, smiling sheepishly, and pulled me to him for another kiss in the rain.
34
RICK
“WELCOME TO MOVIE MAGIC with Plumfield Productions. I’m Rick Bhaer, this is Joanna March, and you may be the creator of a future box office success.”
Joanna and I sat behind my kitchen table, which was full of ingredients, a large metal bowl, and a whisk. Bethany had the camera set up on the other side of the room.
“Today,” Joanna announced, “we’re going to teach you how to make fake blood that’ll fool your audience with items you probably already have in your pantry.”
Bethany made a grossed-out face. I had a feeling she wasn’t going to watch closely once we added the red food coloring to the corn syrup, chocolate, and dish soap mixture. Since we’d started our new channel a few weeks ago, I’d gotten to know her a bit, and I was pretty sure she was more into Hallmark movies than horror flicks.
Between Joanna and myself, we knew a ton of filming tips and tricks, so we’d shot a couple of quick videos about editing software and three-act script structure. We’d gotten so many views and comments that we decided to go for it and were now on our seventh episode: How to Create Creepy Realistic Fake Blood.
“But first,” I continued our intro, “we’d like to thank our Patrons, starting off, as always with a big shout out to our first-ever supporter—thank you, Deborah Waverly.” Joanna’s aunt had given us a sizeable donation to kick things off, and we made sure to announce her on every video. Apparently, she’d been bragging about it to all her friends on “The Facebook” (as she calls it). “For just a few dollars a month, you can sponsor our channel and get some great insider perks like our free monthly Q and A videos. To do so, you can click the link in the description below.”
Joanna picked up a piece of paper and snapped it for emphasis. “Thank you, especially to our new Patrons.” She brought the paper up to her face, like she was going to read the list but then lowered it and held it out to me.
“I think you should read it this time.” She had a sly smile on her face, and if I didn’t know better, I’d suspect I was about to become the next victim of a JoJo+Teddy-esque video prank. When I didn’t take it right away, she shoved it against my chest, her beautiful eyes now sparkling.
I took it from her hesitantly. “Okaaaay.” She was way too excited for me to read the names. I had a vision of myself announcing, on camera, sponsors like Seymore Butts and Ima Pig. At least it wasn’t live. We’d both agreed we’d had enough livestreams for this decade.
I cleared my throat, gave a wary glance to Bethany behind the camera, and started reading.
“Thanks to our new Patrons, Shauna McGovern, Mike Crandall, and Professor . . .”
I did a double take. Then a triple. There, in Joanna’s messy handwriting, was the one name I knew would never show up on a list of our YouTube channel’s financial supporters.
“Is this . . .” I swallowed. “Is this . . . the real list?”
Her smile broadened as she nodded. “The absolute real list. I wouldn’t mess with you about that.”
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She was being honest. I knew it by the sincerity in her voice and because we’d grown as a couple during the last three months. So if the list of Patrons she’d handed me was legit, that meant . . . .
“I don’t believe this,” I said, setting the paper down, then quadruple checking it.
A warm sense of contentment settled in my stomach as my throat constricted. Good thing this wasn’t live because the waves of emotion washed so violently over me then that I probably would have cried in front of all our viewers. We’d have to redo the entire intro, but I’d read that list aloud a thousand times if I could.
“It says Professor Fritz Bhaer,” I said, “but my dad always said making movies was a waste of time.”
“I was wrong.”
I turned to see Dad standing in the doorway, his arm tucked around my mom. They both beamed down at me proudly.
“Joanna showed us your movie. It was spectacular.”
That explained it. I knew it was too good to be true. Dad had finally come around to respecting a filmmaker, but it had been Joanna’s fourth-place winning entry that had done it—the film I’d barely touched. He was impressed with her, not me.
“That was all Joanna,” I admitted. “I just fixed a few minor details and sent it in.”
Joanna reached out and slipped her hand into mine. I wondered if I’d ever get used to how good that felt. “No,” she said, “I showed him Unsung Heroes of the Mall.”
“Although we do want a private screening of this witch movie we’ve heard so much about,” Mom piped up.
My face flushed as I thought of my last private screening of The Witch’s Curse. Joanna and I had ended up tangled up on her couch together making out for most of it. That definitely wouldn’t happen if my parents watched with us, which put me in a tough spot, because I didn’t think I could sit next to her and watch her brilliance for 87 minutes without kissing her.
I blinked hard to get the thoughts out of my head.
I glanced at Mom before turning my focus on Dad again. “And you . . . liked my documentary?”
“It was very well done. And this show you’ve started—” He gestured to our setup. “Sharing your knowledge with other young people passionate about movies? You could hide all your secrets, but you choose, instead, to become teachers, to show others what you had to figure out on your own, despite the fact that they could end up your very competition someday. That’s quite commendable. I’m proud of your integrity, son.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said.
“You might say it’s . . .” He grinned. “Bhaerly Believable.”
Mom groaned, but I wasn’t going to complain about his Dad joke.
I wasn’t going to complain about anything at all. I had two YouTube channels that were starting to take off, an amazingly talented girlfriend, and, finally, a family who supported my dream.
“Does this mean I can officially change my major to film studies?”
Dad looked at me over the top of his glasses. “We’ll talk about it.”
Hey, it was the best reaction I’d ever gotten out of him, so I’d take it. I definitely had his attention and the means to prove myself now, even without having placed in the Lights, Camera, Vance! contest. In my book, I’d won way more through this competition than a trophy like the one Joanna had on display on a shelf in her attic.
“You should start a channel about teenage bedroom makeovers,” Mom teased. “Joanna can work her magic for other slobs, and you can host and lend moral support to the hoarders you help.”
I was so thrilled with their new enthusiasm toward my videos that I intentionally held back an eye roll. I did break out a sarcastic “Ha ha, Mom.”
My parents had loved Joanna from the second I introduced them to her, but when she coached me through purging and organizing my room, she’d won my mom over for life.
“What about a channel about writing good term papers?” Dad suggested. “Heaven knows that’s needed, and you’re both brilliant writers. You should see some of the atrocities I get.” He shuddered and muttered under his breath, “Nicht gut.”
“We’re each maintaining separate channels and this one. And we have school. We can’t spread ourselves too thin.”
“I don’t know,” Joanna said, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. “Lots of YouTubers have a second channel. Like a life vlog. Our fans might demand to know more about us.”
Would we create more channels together? I guess that depended on how many people subscribed to our first one.
THANK YOU FOR READING! If you’re looking for more in the March Sisters Sweet Romance Series, check out Megan and Brooks’s story in Falling for the Tutor.
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About the Author
JEN BRADY HAS BEEN writing and publishing books since 2002. When she recently discovered the heart-thumping, sigh-inducing genre of sweet romance, she knew she had to dive in and write some happily-ever-afters of her own. The March Sisters Sweet Romance Series is a modern take on her favorite classic book, Little Women.
Besides reading and writing, Jen loves cute cat videos, nature, and ’90s nostalgia. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband, two kids, three cats, and dog.
You can find her on Facebook or online.
Acknowledgements
A HUGE THANK YOU GOES out to everyone who helped in the writing and publishing process:
Anne-Marie Meyer from Sweet Heart Books for creating all of the beautiful covers for this series and being a dream to work with.
My amazing beta readers whose comments each helped shape this final draft: Mevia Mastropietro, Elizabeth Powell, Danni Carlin, Nicole Lintemuth, Brianna Lynch, and Annette Boehmer.
Tyler Tichelaar from Superior Book Productions, the best editor/proofreader, author friend, and fellow Little Women enthusiast around.
Mark Lynch, my German culture expert, who messaged me back with fantastic ideas minutes after I sent him my question of “How would the German family in my book celebrate New Year’s Eve?”
I appreciate all of you! Thank you for taking this next step in my author journey with me.
