Page 112 of Let’s Make a Scene

“Jasmine already made that offer,” she says, “but I want to do it now. I have all this energy that I want to send somewhere.” At my questioning look, she squeezes my hand. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything later.”

I guess we’ll just add it to the long list of things we need to talk about.

At first I’m hesitant, but it’s clear that she means it, that she’s glad to be working, that she’s fully in the scene again. I’m watching her as closely as any camera. Feeling her start to panic during our first take had taken years off my life. This time when we run through the whole scene, she’s totally present, and slowly we manage to fall into it together, the Emilia and Edward of it all.

“Cut,” Jasmine calls after the fourth take. “I think we got it.”

“That was fucking great.” Logan grins. “Or should I say—” He cuts himself off abruptly, though the words great fucking practically hang in the air. His eyes widen in panic and he clears his throat. “A moving, consensual scene performed by two professionals.”

He and Jasmine huddle over the monitor, watching the footage back, while Cynthie and I slip into the robes that Nisha offers us.

“That last take was amazing,” Nisha says. “I got goose bumps.”

“Thanks.” Cynthie nods. “That one did feel good, right?” She looks to me.

“Yeah,” I agree. “We really connected.”

“That’s it exactly!” Nisha enthuses. “You could see it, the love between the characters. It was beautiful.” Jasmine calls her over then, and she leaves us alone.

Cynthie absently reaches for one of the prop letters that are strewn across the bed behind us, smoothing the paper with her fingers.

“It’s amazing that the prop department made all of these.” She sighs. “Hundreds of love letters from Edward to Emilia, and they’re so romantic. It means something, doesn’t it, that she had them for all those years, that she could pull them out and look at them, and see their love story. ‘My soul aches for you,’ ” she reads, then she looks up at me and grins. “And what do we get? A string of aubergines in a WhatsApp chat.”

“I happen to be excellent at crafting a romantic WhatsApp message,” I say. “Full sentences. Not an aubergine in sight.”

“Swoon.” Cynthie laughs. “I bet you even use Oxford commas.”

“Naturally.”

“Okay, we have it,” Logan calls, grabbing our attention and giving us a thumbs-up.

“Moving on,” Jasmine agrees, and the small crew begin the process of clearing out of this setup, on to the next.

Fortunately, Cynthie and I are finished for the day. In fact, we have the whole weekend off, a rare occurrence in such a packed filming schedule. Brooke and Declan are walking behind us as we leave, and I throw a casual arm around Cynthie’s shoulder. It’s become a habit to touch her whenever we see the documentary crew. Sometimes I want to follow them around, just so I can hold Cynthie’s hand.

As she leans into me, yawning, it feels ordinary in a way that thrills me—like it’s something we do all the time, like I can touch her because she’s mine.

“I’m exhausted,” she admits.

“It’s been an intense day,” I point out, king of the understatement.

“How about a cup of chamomile tea?” Cynthie suggests.

I grimace. “No thanks.”

“It’s soothing.”

“So is sweet, sweet coffee.”

“Coffee is literally a stimulant, you addict.”

We bicker as we make our way into her trailer, waving goodbye to Brooke and Declan. My arm drops from Cynthie’s shoulders, and I feel the cold bite in the air as she steps away from me. This too has become habit: shifting in and out of our togetherness based on who’s around. Only, this part… I don’t like. Constantly stepping back from her is starting to feel painful, especially after what happened this morning. It’s not like either one of us can claim that was about anything other than what we wanted. There was no one to perform for then.

Cynthie boils a kettle, placing a mug of brackish water on the table in front of me. I sniff it dubiously. It doesn’t just look like a swamp; it smells like one too.

“I don’t see how this can possibly be good for you,” I say. “You’re all falling victim to some sort of scam run by the tea companies.”

“Ah, yes, Big Tea.” Cynthie nods wisely, slipping into the seat across from me. “Just stop moaning and try it while I text Hannah and tell her the scene went well. She hates when it’s a closed set, but at least it gave her the opportunity to sneak off and spend a few days with her parents.”