Page 32 of One Happy Summer

“That sounds interesting,” he says, turning his head toward me. I realize I’ve been staring at the side of his face like a weirdo since the chuckle that did strange things to my insides, and I quickly look away.

“I think it will be good for my career,” I say to the twinkling sky above us.

“Why’s that?” Briggs asks. “Isn’t it pretty similar to other roles you’ve taken? Like the Zenith Trilogy?”

Ah, the Zenith Trilogy. That was a fun one, and where I first worked with Declan Stone. It wasn’t until the third movie came out that we started fake dating, which turned real for a bit beforeit turned fake again. And then it just got weird, like so weird. Too weird to even think about right now.

It’s all a big publicity game. That’s the part of this work that I hate the most--putting on a show outside of movie making. If I could get rid of any part of the job, it would be that. Oh, and probably not being able to go to Target anytime I want to without the paparazzi following me everywhere.

“Yes, but this one is the most epic,” I tell Briggs. “It’s epic-er than the other ones I’ve done.”

“Epic-er?”

“The most, most epic,” I say, feeling silly but also comfortable enough to be this way around Briggs. It’s refreshing—he’srefreshing.

He turns his body toward me, now on his side, his arm tucked under his head, and I do the same, turning toward him.

“If you could have any role, what would it be?” he asks.

I let out a breath. “I don’t know. I like doing all the sci-fi and fantasy movies, but I think I’d like to try my hand at a rom-com sometime.”

“A remake ofNotting Hill?”

“Heck no,” I say, giving him my best appalled look. “That movie is perfection and should never be remade.”

“Agreed,” he says. “I’ve only really seen it the one time, but it should never be redone.”

“Never, ever.”

“Why do they keep remaking movies? Have we run out of new ideas?”

“Guaranteed audiences,” I say. “Humans love nostalgia.”

We stare at each other for a bit, the sound of the ocean tides and buzzing and chirping insects in the background.

“I’m sorry about your stepdad,” I tell him after a little while.

I know it isn’t my fault that I didn’t know he’d passed away. I’ve learned to be good at reading people—you kind of have to be in the business I’m in. I’ve gotten very good at catching the small details, the nuances. A solemn glance, a sad smile. But nothing registered with me at dinner tonight. And Briggs hasn’t been very forthcoming about himself, I’ve noticed.

“Thanks” is all he says.

“Were you close?” I prod, deciding I’m going to get him to talk right now on this trampoline under the stars.

He rolls over to his back, weaving his fingers together and laying them atop his chest. He’s quiet for a few seconds, and I wonder if maybe I won’t be able to get him to open up. But then he takes a resigned-sounding breath, a clear sign he’s going to talk.

“We weren’t all that close, no,” he begins. “He was my mom’s husband for more than half my life. But it was mostly strained, and I blame myself for that. It was hard for me to treat him like a father-type person when I already have a dad. At the end of theday, Keith was a good guy. It was incredibly sad when he passed away. Especially watching my mom and Scout and their grief.”

I continue lying on my side, once again studying his profile as he talks. His glasses are off because glasses and trampolines make a bad combo (he’s apparently broken a pair or two on this very trampoline). I like the glasses on him—they only add to his attractiveness. I know I called him cute-bookshop-boy previously, but he’s more than cute. With that perfect-shaped masculine nose, and that well-defined jawline, as well as his thick head of dark-blond hair . . .cuteis not the right word. Cute is for bunnies and puppies and little trinkets you can put in your pocket. Briggs isn’t any of those things. He’s handsome. Attractive. Dashing.

“What about your dad? Where is he?” I ask, still looking at his profile like a creeper. I don’t even care. It’s a pretty place to look.

“He lives in Naples,” he says.

“Italy?”

He chuckles. “No, Naples, Florida. It’s a beach town about an hour and a half from here.”

“Oh, got it. So, what’s your relationship with him like?”

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