Page 58 of #Moonstruck

There were some where I watched Ryan walk through the forest looking for me. One where I stood on the opposite side of that river (the Hoh River, I learned), and Ryan couldn’t figure out how to cross and get to me.

Then we shot a scene where we walked across an open meadow ringed by trees. We were supposed to walk toward each other, and when we met in the middle, we wouldn’t touch, but just stand as close as we could without doing so.

Every time we shot this, every time, I trembled as we stood in the center. To be so close to him, to smell him, to feel his warmth but not be able to do anything about it, was maddening.

I had no idea it could possibly get worse.

As darkness descended, the director told me I was done for the day but to be back at six the next morning. Ryan promised he would get me there on time. He had to stay behind to film some other scenes of him singing in a couple of different outfits: one modern, one a billowy set of clothes they would turn a wind machine on. They had set up a room with a green screen in one of the trailers and planned on filming him there. Ryan asked Lauren to make arrangements to get me to a hotel nearby. “I didn’t want to drive another five hours to get to and from Seattle, so I had Piper make some reservations. If that’s okay.”

It was okay. I also didn’t want to be trapped in a car alone with him for two and a half hours tonight and two and a half hours tomorrow morning. Especially not with how I was feeling right now.

He watched me the entire way to the wardrobe trailer, and I wondered if he felt even a little bit the same way I did.

When I changed into my street clothes, it took me a minute to find my phone. I’d had it in my pocket, but it wasn’t there now. I eventually found it under some hanging dresses. I texted Fitz to let him know what had happened and that I’d be staying the night near the national park. To ease his mind, I made sure to add that I had my own room.

Lauren found the driver, who took me to the hotel. The lodge was cute and clean but definitely rustic. I wondered if Ryan had ever stayed in a place so ... not five stars before.

Even though I told myself I wasn’t waiting up for him, I waited up for him. I kept checking my phone to make sure it was working. But he didn’t call or text, which surprised me.

I spent another night not able to sleep as I ran the events from the day on a continuous loop through my brain. How close we’d come to touching but hadn’t. How much I craved his touch. Wanted to be held by him. It was like I couldn’t turn off my mind, and it was filled with nothing but Ryan.

I knew I had to get up early to get back to set. I kept telling myself, “If I fall asleep now, I’ll get at least six hours of sleep.” Then it was five hours. Then four. Then three. I counted all the way down until it was time to get up and get dressed.

When I got out of the shower, there was a message on my phone. I clicked on it eagerly but was disappointed to see it was from Lauren. She said a car would be waiting out front for me.

Just for me, I discovered. Ryan had a slightly later call time and wouldn’t be driving in with me.

I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

The car brought me to the set and a waiting Lauren. She took me to hair and makeup and then wardrobe. They found a coat for me, as it tended to be cooler in the mornings.

Bay wanted to take advantage of the fog in the forest. A driver dropped Lauren and me off at the location where we would be filming. They had me film some solo shots. They asked me to be sad, and I thought about my mom. They asked me to look like I was in love, something I’d never experienced. So I thought of Ryan and how he made me feel. Bay seemed happy with whatever I was doing.

Ryan showed up about half an hour later. I had hoped I’d be more immune to the costume and how he looked in it today.

I was not.

The director had us stand in front of a wide moss-covered tree. “For this shot, I want you two to stand as close together as you possibly can. Ryan will be singing the words to you, Maisy. You can ghost your hands over each other.” He stepped in to demonstrate what he meant. He ran his hand over the curve of my cheek without touching me. “But no kissing or actual contact at all. I want more of that longing, staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Okay? Roll the music! Let’s give this a shot.”

Gulping, I stepped as close to Ryan as I could. If I so much as breathed deeply, I would have touched him.

The intro played, and when the lyrics started, Ryan sang to me.

He sang softly, his voice deep and husky and beautiful. It did something strange to my heart. I felt his hands just above my arms, running from my wrist to my shoulders. It made all the hairs on my arm stand straight up.

Then I tried to look into his eyes. It was too much. My lips parted as he sang the words over them. As if I could inhale his beauty and make it a part of me.

“Perfect! Ryan, move your head like you want to kiss her, but you can’t.”

His lips above mine, so close but so far, were torture. Exquisite, agonizing, wonderful, terrible torture.

I let my eyes fall shut, feeling his hands now hovering near my waist. Like he wanted to pull me in tightly.

“Open your eyes, Maisy! Really look at him!”

When Fitz was in college in a psychology class, he had talked about this study where people who spent four minutes staring deeply into each other’s eyes felt like they were falling in love.

I could now totally attest to the truthfulness of that statement. Especially since I did it for a lot longer than four minutes.

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