From where she was standing, Ellie’s knees went weak, her legs suddenly wobbly, and for a brief, panicked moment, she remained frozen there like that, unsure what to do. Graham was completely oblivious, waving as he drew closer, his smile widening. Over his shoulder, the photographers had abandoned Olivia’s autograph session and were tracking Graham with their lenses. The words that Mom had spoken earlier now flashed through Ellie’s mind—Once something like this is out there, you can’t take it back—and she found herself moving away.

I can’t, she thought, hoping he would understand.

But of course he didn’t. She caught his eye only for a moment, just long enough to see the confusion in his face, and she felt a quick stab of guilt. But it was too late. Already, she was cutting around the side of the bait shop, the shortcut down to the beach. And then, like the best of magicians, she made herself disappear, leaving the rest of the three-ring circus behind her.

From: GDL824@yahoo.com

Sent: Tuesday, June 11, 2013 12:18 PM

To: EONeill22@hotmail.com

Subject: weather report

E,

We came in early because of the wind. I’m gonna go ahead and assume that’s what carried you off too. We’re working late tonight, but I’ll try to stop by afterward…

G

All afternoon, Graham was tailed by a kind of low-grade panic, making it impossible to concentrate. As they waited for the weather to improve, he pretended to study the script, but his mind was elsewhere. Outside, the wind buffeted the sides of the trailer, and he rubbed his eyes and willed himself to focus.

It took two hours for the weather to shift, the world going quiet again, and there was a new urgency to the production as they headed back out on the water, trying to make up for lost time in the last of the good light. Graham could feel everyone’s impatience with him as he stumbled through his lines, tripping over the words, missing his positioning, fumbling with the gears even as an expert called out instructions from off camera. The water was choppy, biting at the sides of the wooden boat, and even though the wind had weakened, the hair people were still fighting a losing battle in their efforts to keep Olivia’s ponytail in check.

Graham kept his feet planted wide near the bow as Mick conferred with two of the cameramen, deciding whether to pack it in once again or press on and see what they could get. The Go Fish rose and fell on the blue-gray waves, the deck canting from side to side. If Graham’s performance was being taken into consideration, he was pretty sure they’d be heading to shore. The scene called for raw emotion and hard-earned declarations of love. It required anguished looks and choking voices, but Graham was simply unable to muster that kind of passion at the moment. Not today. Not for Olivia. Not after watching Ellie walk away from him.

He should have still been flying after last night. When he’d kissed her, it had felt like the striking of a match, something hard and bright in his chest, a part of him he hadn’t even realized was waiting to be lit.

But this morning, he’d seen the look on her face across the harbor path, just before she turned away, and it had pushed the breath right out of him. He couldn’t blame her. He shouldn’t have waved in the first place. As soon as he had, he’d felt the surge of attention at his back, and anyone in her position would have done the same thing when faced with such a mob. But even from a distance, he could read her expression so plainly it was like she was speaking the words aloud: I’m sorry, she’d managed to say, without saying anything at all.

And then she was gone.

It was probably just a moment of panic. He was probably overreacting. But still, Graham couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been walking away from more than just the crowds and the cameras.

The sun had already set behind the steeple of the church when they docked for the second time, but the day was far from over. They were scheduled to shoot another scene outside one of the local bars this evening, and as he crossed the road toward his trailer, Graham could already see the enormous lamps being set up, a small oasis of artificial twilight on the otherwise darkening street.

A production assistant was calling to him from across the lot, but he wasn’t needed on set for another twenty minutes, so he kept his head down, pulling his phone from his pocket as he walked. He scrolled past e-mails from his agent and publicist, his business manager and a girl he’d met at the gym before leaving L.A. But there was still no word from Ellie, and as he bounded up the steps of his trailer, he hit the call button, listening to it ring. He was already assembling the message he would leave if she didn’t pick up—something casual and upbeat to hide his growing worry that she hadn’t responded to his e-mail—but when he opened the door, he was pulled up short by the sight of Harry, who was sitting at the small table inside. He lowered the phone again, fumbling to switch it off.

“Who was that?” Harry asked, setting aside a sheaf of papers.

Graham didn’t answer. He reached into the mini fridge for a bottle of water, then sat down opposite his manager.

Harry smiled, but it was a smile with a warning inside it. “The redhead?”

Graham tipped his head back and took a swig of water, his eyes on the ceiling. When he’d finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, in a voice that didn’t entirely sound like his own, “What redhead?”

“C’mon,” Harry said. “Everyone saw you chasing her earlier.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You’ve got to cool it with these locals.” He leaned back in his chair and scratched the back of his head. “You think I haven’t seen this happen before? You get out of L.A., and suddenly there are a thousand girls screaming your name—”

“It’s not like that.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Harry said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “But the point is, this isn’t the right moment for you to suddenly turn into some kind of skirt chaser.”

Graham snorted. “When is the right moment for that kind of thing?”

“I’m serious. We’re at a crucial juncture here, and your image is important. I don’t need you out with a different girl every night.” He pulled a tabloid from beneath the stack of papers on the table in front of him, sliding it over to the edge. “Just one.”

Graham regarded it warily, surprised to see a glossy photo from yesterday’s shoot. It had been taken during the moment when he first lifted Olivia for the big kiss, the two of them still in motion, eyes shut, arms entangled, a moment that could easily be construed as more than just acting when taken out of context. The caption below read: “On-screen chemistry or real-life romance?”

“Nice work,” Graham said, letting it drop.

Harry beamed. “It’s why you pay me the big bucks, remember? Though you’d make my life a whole lot easier if you’d stop chasing the redhead and just take Olivia out to dinner one night.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s your job to make my life easier,” Graham said, standing up from the table. He reached over to toss his water bottle into the overflowing garbage can beside the fridge, and then, for good measure, sent the magazine flying in there as well. “And she has a name, you know.”