Page 22 of Formula Dreams
“Better than slow,” she fires back, flying past me when the corner of my cart catches the edge of a display shelf.
The crew trails behind us, three separate camera angles running to keep up.I imagine Timmy’s nearly giddy with excitement or pissed we’ve gone off script.
We zigzag through the aisles like we’re trying to take pole at Silvercrest, not shopping for frozen peas.Francesca nearly knocks over a pensioner-looking actor, who beams at her anyway.I take a shortcut through dry goods.She doubles back and beats me to the drink aisle.
There’s one bottle left, and our carts come to a screeching halt.We reach for it at the same time.
Our hands brush—my fingers close around the neck of the bottle just as hers slaps on top.She glares at me.I tighten my grip.
“I don’t lose,” she says softly.
“Neither do I.”
For a second, I forget the cameras.It’s just her… golden brown eyes narrowed and her chest rising and falling.There’s a spark I can’t name and I can see it on her face… she feels it to.It might be hate, it might be lust, but it’s something.
Timmy’s voice breaks the moment.“Perfect!That’s the energy.Hold that!”
We release at the same time, almost as if the bottle burns us, but really… I think it’s skin against skin that has us scrambling backward.
“We’ll take it from the point they reach the bottle,” Timmy says, coming in to reset it.“Remember… there’s supposed to be a bit of a back-and-forth tugging, so work that into the next take.”
I glance at Francesca as Timmy walks away.She’s resetting her ponytail, eyes fixed anywhere but me.
“Try not to throw elbows this time,” I say, too quietly for the crew to hear.“You nearly took out the old man by the tinned beans.”
Her head snaps toward me.“He smiled at me.”
“Probably because you scared him.”
She rolls her eyes.“Says the guy who cornered like he was trying to murder a trolley.”
I smirk.“Can’t help it if you’re slower in tight sections.”
Her eyes narrow.“You nearly took out a produce display trying to pass me.”
“Still made it there first.”
“Only because I doubled back.If I’d taken the left aisle, you’d still be figuring out how to turn your cart without clipping the milk fridge.”
I step closer, just enough to test the edge of her space.“So now you’re blaming poor route planning for losing?Do you need a race engineer to do your grocery shopping?”
She lifts her chin.“Just stating facts.”
“Well, you go ahead—take the pity win if it’s all you’ve got.”
That jab lands.She shifts her weight, stepping a little too close for my comfort.“Keep telling yourself that,” she whispers, “if it helps you sleep at night.”
We’re eye to eye now.Too close for this to be just acting.And for a second, I’m not sure if we’re about to go another round or kiss.
Timmy claps his hands three times in quick succession.“Places, everyone!We’re rolling again!”
Francesca turns without a word, but I don’t miss the blooming color in her cheeks.
Three takes later, the scene is nailed.Francesca and I battle it out each time, neither one of us wanting to lose, even though the outcome is predetermined.Timmy calls it a “light twist to preserve the rivalry,” which basically means we each walk out of the store with a bottle after all.
In the scripted version, Francesca spots a second one tucked behind some tonic water like it’s fate smiling on her, while I take the one we fought over.
Next up is the self-checkout scene where both of us are scanning our items in sync.The script calls for us to notice each other and then turn the process into another race to see who can finish the fastest.Timmy promises that will be the setup for the next commercial we shoot for Drivex, and I want to stab myself in the ears so I don’t have to listen to his enthusiasm.
