Page 33 of The Likelihood Of You

Jacob

It took a little over two hours after Florence left last night, and two cans of maple and vanilla air freshener, to get the burnt pastry smell out of the kitchen and to mop up all the sprinkler water that turned the room into a slip-n-slide.

That part I wasn’t truly mad about, though.

Or perhaps I was, because Wes has called cut about eight times since me and Nate started this scene. I’ve played it off like I forget which line comes next: in reality, the picture of Florence sprawled across me with rosy cheeks and dripping wet hair was all I could get my mind to focus on.

“You guys are supposed to hate each other; you're galactic enemies, for fucks sake!" Me and Nate synced our eye rolls. "I just really need to see the angst… okay? Angst. A.N.G.S—”

“Wes, we can spell. We’re not four.” Nate interrupts, which shocks me just as muchas it does Wes.

“Since when did you have a mouth of you, Patricks?” Wes spits out, and I focus all my attention on Nate, beyond anxious to hear his response.

“Since you decided it would be a valuable use of everyone’s time to give us a fourth-grade spelling test in the middle of a fucking movie shoot, which is already running behind schedule.” Nate rubbed a hand across his stubble, a hand that I could see was trembling, one of his telltale signs he felt an attack coming on.

He takes a step back and waves the same hand at Wes. “I’m taking five.”

When Nate retreats, Wes drops his attention onto the clipboard in his hands and mutters, “The fucks the matter with that prick?”

I hated people who assumed that when Nate got angry, which was very rare, it was because he’s just an angry guy, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Snapping at people who spurred on one of his anxiety attacks wasn’t a common thing for Nate. Usually, he walked away without talking, but something was on his mind today, and Wes, unfortunately, made him snap.

That didn’t mean the dick with the clipboard deserved any ounce of sympathy, though.

“Maybe get a mirror, and you’ll find your answer.” I turn my back to Wes and stalk after Nate. “I’m taking five, too,” I shout back to Wes. “You know…F. I. V. E.”

I couldn’t make out what Wes shouted back to me, nor did I care.

After knocking quietly on Nate’s door and hearing a mumble from behind it, I swung the door open gently, finding Nate in his egg chair (one of the things that he made sure to have in the production lot incase something like this happened) pulling at the hem of his costume and his eyes tightly closed.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” I asked, taking a seat on the egg chair opposite him (he wanted one for me, too).

He swung his legs around and planted his astronaut-style army boots on the ground, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his face with his palms. “I’m great.” His voice comes out all ruffled and robot-like from how his hands were blocking his face, and I know I shouldn’t have, but a little laugh slipped out of me.

“Yeah… you look it.”

A robot laugh came from behind his hands, and if he was capable of laughing, I knew he was calming down. “What’s going on? Why’d you snap at him, man?”

A rush of air left his mouth as he pushed back from his knees and rested his spine against the back of his chair. “It’s just been one of those weeks. I feel like everything’s happening all at once, and I’ve barely had time to sit and process it all.”

“What’s overwhelming you?”

He staggers out a sigh. “You know how I mentioned that book adaptation? That big romance novel that got to the New York Times Bestsellers list like… a week after its release, that’s being made into a movie?” I nod at him. “Well, they’ve officially cast me as the lead, Harry.”

I feel my smile grow. “Nate, that’s amazing! That’s a really great gig.” I paused, noticing how he wasn’t mirroring my excitement. “Is that what’s stressing you out?”

He goes all stiff again. “Well… they’re in the process of casting the female lead… and… ” He takes another deep breath. “One of the casting director’s options is—”

Three timid knocks echo from the door, our heads both whipping over to the sound before the voice I’ve had replaying in my head all night comes from the other side.

“Hey, Nate? It’s Florence… um… everyone’s asking if you can apologise to Wes because I’ve run out of my maple pecan plaits, and we think he might actually explode if something doesn’t calm him down. Which… doesn’t sound like a bad plan, but maybe apologising will be less messy?”

That Goddamn accent.

My smile grew bigger the more it slicked my ears, like a super sweet glaze I’d become addicted to, so much so that I had to bite my cheek so Nate didn’t catch it. I turned to Nate, who had his hands back in his face again. “Come on, man, let’s get this over with. Then we can go home and plot the downfall of his career.”

Nate peaked up at me. “Fine.” He gets up with a groan, which I feel in my bones, before he shakes himself off and opens the door, revealing Florence.

She jumps a little when the door opens, after a few blinks her eyes find me; and I swear I see the corner of her mouth twitch with a smirk, only for a second, but it reminds me of the way she looked last night… before we both burst out into a fit of laughs as my kitchen nearly burned, and drowned, around us.

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