Page 31 of Highlands Summer Wedding
I didn’t see the problem. “Well, it’s not quite five yet.”
Max dragged a hand down his face. “The shoot is all the way back at Kilt Rock.”
He flung the blankets aside, revealing navy boxer briefs that left little to the imagination. Rushing to his suitcase, he yanked out clothes and dressed in seconds—shirt, pants, thick socks, boots.
His eyes darted to my barely-there sleepwear. Then away.“What were you even doing in my bed?”
I scooted to the edge of the bed, then stood. “Like I said, trying to reach the alarm to turn it off.”
He let out a long sigh. “I don’t even have time for breakfast.”
“Don’t you have breakfast on set?” I asked, moving to the door.
He shook his head. “That call time is for me. Crafty comes at 7.”
“I’ll get you some coffee or something.” I headed to the kitchen with him following close behind.
He scrambled around the living room, stuffing papers into his backpack alongside his tablet and headphones.
His phone buzzed with a call.
“Go for Max,” he answered.
Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know we discussed changes, but with this weather window, any delay could be costly.”
“Right, understood. I’ll figure something out. Maybe I can dictate the revisions in the car.”
He stared at the ceiling. “You’re sure?”
“Alright then. Sorry, but I really need to run.”
After starting the coffee, I ducked into my bedroom to change clothes. The coffee machine sputtered out its final drops as I reentered the kitchen. I filled a travel mug and splashed half-and-half into it until it reached the exact milky brown color he liked.
Handing over the coffee, I asked, “Everything okay?”
“I gotta go.”
Max took a gulp of his coffee, slung his bag over his shoulder, and bolted for the car—his laptop forgotten on the counter.
I snatched it up along with some granola bars and raced out to the car behind him.
“Thanks,” he said, slipping the laptop into his backpack.
“I’m coming with you,” I said, zipping my fleece.
He glanced at me over the roof of the car before he tossed his backpack into the backseat. “You don’t have to do that.”
I smiled brightly and jumped into the passenger seat. “I’ll be your assistant. You dictate; I type. That way, you can focus on the road.”
He climbed in and started the engine, then paused with his hand on the gearshift. “You sure?”
I locked eyes with him. “Absolutely. It’s the wrong side of the road, and you’re already running late.”
He nodded and put the car in reverse. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER 14
The script landed in my lap as we pulled out. One hundred five pages—thin for a period feature.
