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Daphne thrust out the tray.
“You’re the best, Dana,” Sofia said as she snatched a cookie.
Daphne smiled. While she suspected Sofia was overdoing her enthusiasm, it was in a genuine way that didn’t make Daphne feel like she was being patted on the head. Daphne might be uncomfortable playing cookies-and-coffee-bearing assistant, but the truth was that she would personally love a “Dana” of her own.
Daphne was playing a legitimate role, and Sofia’s happy coffee slurping reminded her of that. It was just awkward because, well, she should be the one with a Dana. But the role reversal was her choice, and she honestly preferred hiding in the kitchen and baking cookies and mentally working through revisions. That was the weird irony of being a published author. She didn’t want to entertain and charm a film crew. But she did want the recognition that came with having written the book.
Can’t have it both ways, kiddo.
Or, maybe you could, if you’d found a way to do it that didn’t involve hiring an actor-who-is-actually-an-accountant to play you.
“Sugar and caffeine to tide us all over until dinner,” Chris was saying as she roused from her thoughts. “And on the topic of dinner, as your host, I should recommend a restaurant. I was thinking of…”
He trailed off, brow furrowing as he turned to Daphne. “What’s that place I like, Dana?”
Ooh, nicely done. “Which one, sir? The Mexican or the Caribbean?”
“They’re both excellent.” He turned back to the others. “I heartily recommend either, depending on your food preferences. I think one requires reservations.” Another glance Daphne’s way.
“I’d recommend reservations for either, and I can do that, having the numbers—and the restaurant names—on my phone.”
He smiled. It wasn’t a Chris smile, she thought, with a pinprick of surprise that she could tell them apart. There was the Chris Ainsworth smile and the Chris Stanton one, and this one was pure Zane Remington. For a guy who insisted he wasn’t an actor, he had his parts down pat.
Zane’s smile was perfect for the role, with just the right touch of self-aware self-deprecation. The guy who pretended to be a little abashed that he couldn’t remember a restaurant name, when really, he was proud of the fact he didn’t have room in his brain for such trivial data.
“What would I do without you?” he said.
“Accidentally wander into that burger joint because you remember it, when the only reason you do is because you got food poisoning there the last time?”
The others laughed, and Chris added the perfect I am such a hopeless genius heavenward eye lift.
“So true,” he said with a sigh. “Now if you could make reservations for three for, say…” He checked his watch. “Six?”
“Actually, no,” Sofia said. “We are getting such good footage. I thought we’d stay and catch the sunset.”
“That would be past my bedtime,” Chris said. “It is the Land of the Midnight Sun, after all.”
“Also the sunsets aren’t great here,” Daphne said. “With the mountains and all.”
“Then we’ll skip the sunset but use the extra hours of daylight for more filming. Let’s get dinner delivered.” Sofia pulled out her phone. “What app service do you use here?”
“Uh, Dana Express,” Daphne said.
“Unfortunately for Dana, yes,” Chris said with a smile. “We’re outside the city limits. So Dana will need to order and pick up. I’ll ride along with…”
He trailed off and didn’t finish that sentence. Which was good. Yes, she’d love to have him along to talk, but it made no sense for him to join her. Also, she wasn’t keen to leave the house with a film crew in it. While she’d hope they wouldn’t snoop, she’d only done the most superficial rearranging. Her bathroom drawers still held most of her toiletries and her closet still held most of her clothing.
“Let me pull up a menu, and you can tell me what you’d like,” she said. “I’ll arrange pickup for six.”
CHRIS
It was now eight. Dinner was eaten, and the film crew were playing the guests from hell, lingering on the flimsiest of pretenses. Sofia had said they wanted to film more, but they were still at the table, with poor Daphne inside washing dishes.
Time to be more proactive. Give them one last video opportunity, and then they could be on their way. And he knew just the thing. Oh, it wouldn’t make for great television, but that was the point. Not only would it be so boring they might decide to leave, but it would give him Daphne time without excusing himself from the shoot.
“See those ripples on the water?” Chris said, pointing at the lake. “Fish are jumping. Perfect for a little fishing. I often do that after dinner. Dana and I row out, and we fish for tomorrow’s dinner while I contemplate nature and imagine my next scenes. We could get footage of that.”
“That sounds…” Sofia began tentatively, as if hating to tell a bestselling novelist that his idea sucked.
