Page 254 of Banter & Blushes

Because I just heard with my own ears that the man I called “an almost movie star” to his face is not only not almost—he’s the whole actual package.

And I told him to mop the floor.

And he did it.

Back in my apartment, I release Winston like he’s a carrier pigeon that’s just completed a high-stakes operation. He immediately waddles to his food bowl and starts chewing like he was the one who had a brush with fame.

I stare at the wall.

Then the couch.

Then the corner where I keep my vacuum and the one sad umbrella I’ve owned since college.

My mouth is dry. My hands are clammy. I can feel the mortification building, a tsunami of secondhand embarrassment—except the embarrassment is firsthand. And it is vast. A canyon of cringe.

I told him he was “enjoying being mistaken for someone famous.”

Heisfamous.

And I doubled down, too. “Almost movie star” I said.

I cover my face with both hands.

What is wrong with me?

I pace the room, my brain conducting a highlight reel of every dumb thing I’ve said to him.

I sit heavily on the couch.

“I gave a movie star Trust Issues,” I whisper.

Winston lifts his head slightly, then drops it again.

And then there’s the real kicker.

I liked him.

As in, enjoyed his company. Looked forward to seeing him. Felt… something. Not in a swept-away, helicopter-rides-and-private-chef kind of way, but something quieter. Something steadier. Something that felt, terrifyingly, like it might matter.

Which makes this worse.

Because now it’s not just embarrassment—it’s a full identity crisis.

What is this feeling? It’s like being dumped by someone I wasn’t even dating, while also discovering I’ve been the unwitting star of a hidden-camera show titledGirl Fails to Notice Famous Person in Her Immediate Vicinity.

And then my brain, never one to pass up an opportunity to kick me while I’m down, supplies this little gem:

He probably thinks it’s adorable. The clueless small-town bartender who doesn’t even recognize him. How quaint.

I snort.

“What am I, a character in a romcom? Am I supposed to fall for him now, kiss him on a pier, and magically overcome my trust issues with one montage?”

I grab a muffin from yesterday’s batch and glare at it.

“I trusted you. This was supposed to be a chill day off. And look what happened.”

I try to eat the muffin, but even it tastes like poor life choices and sea salt regret.

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