Hot Mess - Elise Faber Page 0,33

I run up and join Lizzy?” Ry shouted, taking several steps in that direction.

“No!” she called back. “Wait for me.”

Then she hustled after her bouncing-in-place daughter, catching up with her before Ry lost patience and darted across a street or driveway where someone might be backing out and not see her.

As she moved, she forgot about Brian and the For Sale sign. In fact, as they caught up with Lizzy, also clad in Star Wars gear, as they made it through the madness of school drop-off and playground supervision, and as Finn walked her to her classroom, stepping inside the door and out of sight of the nosy-nellies to brush a kiss across her lips, she completely forgot all about their woolgathering conversation in the first place.

Later, she would wish she hadn’t.

But in that moment, she cherished her tingling lips and just waved goodbye.

“What are the chances of you putting on thirty pounds of muscle again?” she said, after pausing the movie like Finn had asked.

“Zero.” He glanced up from his cell, where he was taking notes about the film he’d brought over for them to watch after Rylie had gone to bed. “I didn’t see a carb for outside of six months. There is absolutely no way I could ever do that again.”

Her lips twitched. “Until the next role calls for it.”

A sheepish grin. “Okay, so you’re probably right. If the conditions were right, I could do it. But let it be known I was a grumpy asshole during the entire shoot.”

“If I wasn’t eating carbs, I’d feel the same way.” She took a sip of wine from her glass. “This is really good, by the way.”

“The wine or the movie?”

She snorted. “Well, since you somehow figured out my favorite type of wine”—she paused, waiting to see if he’d dish on how he’d figured that out, but when he didn’t, she went on, keeping her own suspicions for how (or whom—cough, Pepper) to herself—“I’d have to say the wine.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“But just note, the movie is all right, too.”

“A ringing endorsement,” he deadpanned.

There was something about his tone . . . Shan set her wine down and shifted on the couch, facing him fully. “You do know this film is incredible, right?”

“It’s good,” he said, shrugging as he made another note then set his phone on the table. “But it’s not going to change people’s lives.”

Hmm.

“And is that what you want to do?” she asked carefully. “To change people’s lives?”

Silence.

Then, “I know it makes me sound like a selfish, egotistical asshole, but, yes. I do.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing,” she said. “I mean, there’s a part of me that wants to know I’m doing something important and valuable.”

“You’re teaching America’s youth. I don’t think you have to go far to find your value.”

“Maybe.” She sat back. “But many times I sit back and wonder if I’m doing enough. If I’ve used my platform effectively to really help them become well-adjusted, good people. Or if it’s all pointless in the end because the world is so harsh and unforgiving and many of them will turn out to be assholes anyway.”

Finn tilted his head to the side, studying her for a long time.

Long enough that she felt guilty for calling her students future assholes.

But then he took her hand, laced their fingers together. “I’m supposed to be the one with the words.” A soft chuckle. “Though, I guess that they’re usually written for me, so it shouldn’t be a surprise.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You always are able to articulate aloud the words I don’t know I’m thinking.”

She frowned.

“Did you know that I chose my latest project by closing my eyes and picking from the pile of scripts—well, emails with scripts attached—at random?”

“Um—”

“And that it’s shit. Not because of the writing or even the story, but because I couldn’t see myself in the role. Nothing felt original or fresh or new, and it hasn’t for years.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said.

“My favorite part of acting has always been trying on someone else’s skin for a while”—he made a face—“that sounds terrible, but I . . .”

She waited.

“Stepping into someone else’s life, trying it on for a while, figuring out all of the little pieces that go into making a person react the way they do. Why they say things, or how they speak, or what becomes that critical thing for them to drag their heels on.” His eyes lit up. “Because everyone is different,