about this place. All the sneaking around and making out against trees.” As much as cast and crew hookups are technically frowned upon, they still happen. Just more quietly than they did in my dad’s day.
“Ruby does feel a little summer camp,” I admit. “I’m sure there will be cabin visits a’plenty. Time to place our bets.”
“Tate and Devon Malek,” Charlie says automatically.
I gape at her. “Can you see directly into my brain?”
“I know you have a thing for those obscenely deep dimples and those flirty eyes? Forget it. I know your weakness.”
I tilt my chin up for her to clean my jawline. “I feel exposed.”
“You need to get some action going,” Charlie says. “I’m tired of knowing the tabloids are lying about all these men you supposedly have on the hook.”
Trey samples a few shades of lipstick on his arm. “My vote was going to be Charlie and the writer guy.”
“The screenwriter?” I ask.
Charlie nods and begins blending foundation into my skin.
“Oh yeah?” I ask. She nods again. “A pretty, creative type?”
She looks at Trey over the top of my head, squinting. “I wouldn’t say pretty, exactly. I’d say gorgeous, bearded, looks like he could throw someone around a bed pretty well.” She looks at me, takes in my skeptical expression. “I’m not joking, Tates, he did immediate things to my blood. Think Tom Hardy but taller, and I bet he’s even more capable with his hands.” Pausing for effect, she says, “I mean, he wrote a screenplay about a lovesick farmer.”
“Is this why you’re wearing leather pants your first day on set?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny.”
I frown. “I guess I assumed the writer would be the usual: nerdy and bald, or willowy and sensitive. I’ll have to mentally realign.”
Trey pulls out the chair beside me. “Can we talk about me now?”
I laugh. “Yes, Trey baby.”
“Are we sure sure Nick Tyler is straight?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s hardcore into the ladies,” Charlie says. “And a bit of a player. Related: he’s my second bet for Tate getting laid on location.”
“You seem awfully sure I’m going to be getting laid when you know pretty well it’s been dry as the Sahara around here.”
Charlie grins. “I’m getting back-to-nature, wild-farm vibes. It can’t be helped. There’s something in the air out here.” She looks at me, and the exact angle of her face, of her expression reels me back to when we were kids, running down the creek bed together, our hair in tangles behind us, fingertips blackberry-stained.
“Remember that summer?” she says, and I don’t need her to say more. It was 2004, a sweltering summer in Guerneville, with the heat warping the pavement, the river a clear, glittering green, and the lingering scent of charcoal barbecue lasting all day and night. My childhood sweetheart Jesse and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and Charlie could barely keep her hands off all the tourists.
“The Sexy Summer,” I say, nodding. God, that feels like a different lifetime.
She snaps her fingers. “It’s gonna be another one.”
“Fine,” she says, waving him off. “The Sexy September.”
Frowning, Trey says, “That feels a little more pumpkin spice latte and a little less sweaty roll in the hay, but it works. Putting my money on Tate and Devon, Tate and Nick, or Charlie and Hemingway.”
“Or Trey and the shy adorable camera guy who surprises you one night with a kiss up at the Community House,” I suggest, and his eyes light up.
He laughs. “Oooh, or maybe a sassy, sarcastic grip pulls me behind the trailer for a grope?”
“Why not both?”
The door to the trailer swings open, and Nick Tyler ducks as he steps in, already smiling that panty-dropping smile. In his reflection in the mirror, I see Trey waver where he stands.
“Were your ears ringing?” Charlie asks him. “We were just talking about you.”
“Oh yeah?” His voice is a deep, Southern vibration. “What were you saying?”
“Wondering who you’re gonna hook up with on set,” she says.
Nick’s head falls back and he lets out the laugh I’ve heard in theaters, the delighted, low belly rumble that makes women all over the world turn into giggling fangirls. “I thought we don’t do that sort of thing these days.”
“I’ll never tell,” Trey says.
Nick looks around at us, nodding knowingly. “So this is the trouble trailer, then?”
Charlie bends to perfect my concealer. “Always.” Standing, she reaches out a free hand. “I’m Charlie. That’s Trey.”
He takes it. “Pleasure to meet you, Charlie. Trey.”