Page 46 of Take It Till You Make It
“Did you have to audition?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah. They flew me out, and I did a bunch of readings alone and with Aunt Chandra and then with Daniel Harlen.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about him.” I peek at Crispin, wondering how different it would be right now if Daniel had stayed.
“Then, after the screening, River surprised me with a big congratulations party at Sarah’s aunt and uncle’s restaurant.” She tells us how she thought River had just left the theater without saying goodbye and how surprised she was to find the place packed with people she’d known her whole life.
“It was such a special night. I still can’t believe Tod made that all possible for me.” She stares at the table, lost in fond memories. Then she blinks up at us. “Oh, but that’s when Brook hung out with Tod. She challenged him to slapsies and beat him hands down.”
I chuckle. “I see what you did there. Very punny.”
“Oh!” She laughs. “That was accidental.”
“So, how is this guy, with clearly inferior reaction time, better than me?” Crispin asks.
Sally shakes her head. “I never said he was better than you.”
“You indicated such when you said Brook – seriously, Brook & River? – was fine around Tod Strapper, so she’d clearly be fine around me.”
Sally stares at him with a blank face. “First of all, they are obviously water people. They sailed around the world for four years, for cripes sake.”
Crispin tips his head in acceptance of her argument.
“Second, you, sir, are paranoid! Not once was anything I said indicating a rank of celebrity. I was simply indicating that Brook is comfortable around it.”
“Have you ever met Tod Strapper?” I ask.
Crispin shakes his head.
Sally snickers. “I’ll be sure my friend Sarah drags him to our premier.”
Crispin cocks his head. “I don’t know. I might have to challenge him to slapsies.”
She shakes her head. “Oh my gosh, you are so insecure!”
I sit back in my seat and watch them bicker about Crispin’s insecurity. I’ve seen some of this dynamic between them on set, but I don’t film with both of them that often. Seeing how relaxed Crispin is around Sally makes me understand better why she never saw his arrogant side. But it also makes me realize that even if he is Crispin Moore, teen heartthrob, he truly does battle with insecurities like we all do, and has his own ways of camouflaging them. In some strange way, it makes me like him more to know he’s not perfect.
Chapter Eighteen
I answerthe door with my hands in the air. “Why don’t you just text me that you’re here? There’s no need to inconvenience yourself by having to find parking.” My voice falls off at the end as I truly take in the sight of him. He’s wearing black jeans and a charcoal button-up. He’s let the natural wave of his hair run wild so that it frames his dark eyes and seems to point a beacon to his high cheekbones. Man. I have to concentrate on not letting my knees puddle to the floor as I weep over his beauty. And then he gives me a little half smirk, and I gulp down a sob of appreciation. How is this my life?
“Where would the fun be in virtually honking and waiting on you? A gentleman always comes to the door.”
“If I write a thank-you letter, would you deliver it to your mom for me?”
He chuckles, following me into the house when I gesture for him to. “Hello, Mrs. Quill.”
“Hi, Crispin. Do you go by Crispin? Or Chris?” Mom is seated sideways on the couch so she can greet him.
“It’s always been Crispin. It’s a family name passed through the generations. We are apparently directly related to Saint Crispin, the patron saint of shoemakers.”
I turn to face him, hands on my hips. “And you’ve cast your lineage aside to follow your dream of acting? How irresponsible.” I spin and march into my bedroom to get my stuff while he chuckles behind me. I hear Mom ask something else, but I don’t hear specifically what. As I gather my stuff, my heart feels light.
I freeze, meeting my own gaze in the mirror as guilt sluices through me. Suddenly, all the care I took to look nice tonight feels wrong. Like having straight, clean hair and wearing a flirty blouse is a crime against my dad’s memory. Logically, I know my happiness shouldn’t cause self-reproach, but it does. I’m grieving my father, and it feels wrong to experience both feelings at once. Tears fill my eyes as I have a silent war over my emotions. I counsel myself that Dad would be happy I’ve made new friends. Encourage me to go out. He would never have wanted Mom or me to stop our lives over losing him. That’s what spurred me to take the role in the first place. These things that I’m doing are exactly what my dad would have wanted for me. It’s okay for me to enjoy it too. I blink away the tears and stare at myself in the mirror.
“Moving forward won’t make you forget him. Moving forward honors him,” I whisper. I’m not sure I believe it, but it’s enough to release the guilt and return to the living room. Even if my smile is forced. “Ready?”
When Crispin swings his attention to me, his gaze softens in a way that literally blows any remaining guilt out the open sliding glass door. “You look so pretty tonight.”
