Page 15 of The Fate Of Us

She grabbed my hand, softly brushing her thumb over my skin with a gentle smile,while I felt an innocent smirk lift in the corner of my mouth. “Are you sure you don’t want to be a writer? Because that sounded scripted. You just came up with that?”

She squeezed my hand and nodded before letting go and sliding off the stool, makinga beeline for the front door. “I don’t think this line of hangry people would appreciate it if I told them I was closing to pursue a writing career.” The lock twisted under Flo’s hand, the people on the other side, lining around what I knew was the whole block, practically buzzed with excitement. You could see it in their smiles.

Flo flicked her head to me. “Call me… if today gets too…”

“I know… I will.” I assured her, holding her emerald stare.

“Want to use the fire exit out back?” she asked, nodding her chin towards the back ofthe bakery.

I nod, spinning around on the stool and slipping my hightops onto the floor. “Are yousure I can’t stay here—”

“Save the dramatics for the cameras.” she pleaded, gripping the door handle, ready tolet half the city inside. “Now go, let me feed the masses in peace. Rory! Cora! It’s go time!” she shouted over her shoulder. “Have a good day, Add’s.”

“Love you!” I called back, my feet readying to jog toward the exit, but not beforesneaking around the counter and stealing two perfectly iced Bakewell tarts from the tray and running to the back before Flo scolded me.

Chapter six

Adaline

Interestingwastoosmalla word to describe today. Any word was too small.

Todayfelt like that one scene in Indiana Jones, where the boulder is chasing him down a slope, no idea when it’ll catch him, but knowing that when it does, it will snatch every breath that was sitting in his lungs.

That was what today was.

I’d barely stepped foot on set, and already I’d been ambushed by wardrobe about alast-minute costume fitting, been handed several line changes, and the face of makeup I’d beaten on this morning had already merged with my obvious upper lip and T-zone sweat.

I was currently sitting in the dressing room I’d been told would be mine until the NewYork shoot was done, trying my hardest to make the beige walls and Hollywood-light mirror somewhat feel like mine, even if they had belonged to thousands of other people before I stepped foot in here.

Little things, like a photo booth strip of me and Flo, and one of me and Goldie, helptransform the room. Other things, like the good luck card from my grandparents from my first ever blockbuster movie and several film camera pictures from my favourite projects, all help too.

Anything to make it feel like mine, like I was meant to be here.

The ball of blue tack I’d thrown in my bag this morning felt gross in my hands, but itdid the job, pining up all the photos on the border of the mirror. I fluffed out the green checkered blanket on the basic brown couch, the urge to dive under it and take a power nap racing through my mind, and eventually panting myself back to normal after spending way too much time struggling to hang the strings of fairy lights that I hang around the whole room.

I haven’t brought as many things to the dressing room as I usually would, seeing asthough we were only staying in New York for six weeks and the rest of the shoot was being spent in my least favourite city on the planet.

It’s ironic that I hate L.A. so much. It was where I was born, where I became theperson I am today, and where the memories that make me smile just thinking about them happened. But just the thought of flying into L.A.X. was enough to make that custard tart start to bubble in my stomach.

In reality, I should thrive there. More so than I did when I was little. It’stheplace thatwas single-handedly built for people like me: the ungodly famous and disgustingly rich. But I’ve never had that kind of connection with it. I think growing up around the bright lights and being exposed to the city’s secrets from such an early age made me resent it. The only thing I liked about it was that my sister was there. And the beaches.

They were the only things that made the fact that I was about to spend timethere sound durable.Everything else, the traffic, the misogynists, my parents, mine and Nate’s past—theywere things I’d deal with when I faced them.

I reach up onto my toes, a faint cramp building in my calves as I switch on the last setof fairy lights, when I hear a few quiet knocks on my door before the hinges creak open.

“Anyone home?” I hear a slightly high-pitched voice ask, the delicate charm that hung off every word she spoke told me it was Amber before my eyes had a chance to fall on her.

Her gasp made my head spin to face her as she charged towards me. “Oh good, you’rehere! How’ve you been, pumpkin?” She squeals, falling straight into my chest as her long blonde locks almost choke me.

“Oh, I’m good. It’s nice to… see you.” I managed, flashbacks that kindlyremind me that Amber’s hugs are the equivalent of being strangled by a boa constrictor Barbie crowding my head.

Thankfully, she lets me go after a few seconds, the airflow allowing me to suck insome deep breaths to restore my lungs and shuffle down my cropped vest that was ruched up by her whole body death grip.

“God, when was the last time I saw you? Was it the Met Gala afterparty last year?” she asks, hands raking through her hair.

“I think it was, yeah. You’ve done some cool stuff since then; congrats on the moviewith Meryl Streep, by the way!”

She waves her hand towards me. “Oh, please, that’s nothing compared to theDefenders franchise you got whisked into. I bet you could retire now if you wanted.”

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