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I frown, my hands stilling over a bowl of cherries. “Pretty much since puberty?”
“Fuck,” she says, her tone more sympathetic. “Is this all awful for you? I know he was married before. It’s gotta suck having him back around after already going through him being taken off the market.”
I wave her off. “Please. It’s not like I’ve been waiting at the door for him. I’ve dated plenty since he left. Good sex has a way of making you forget things.”
“Yeah, but…I mean, you never forget your first love.”
I snort. It’s a silly notion. I didn’t love Ian. What I felt for him was just teenage hormones and a too-intense crush on the first boy who ever gave me attention—romantic or not. That’s all.
“Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal,” I assure her.
She doesn’t look convinced. “Mhm.”
“Don’t you have something you’re supposed to be doing?”
“I’m checking in with the talent,” she says matter-of-factly. “Part of the job.”
“I’ll bet.”
More footsteps sound behind her, heavier ones this time, and when I turn my head to peer over her shoulder, Ian meanders on set wearing his Druids jersey and a disgruntled expression that looks insanely good on him.
“Hey,” I call, the word coming out as more of a croak.
Ava turns her body, glancing at Ian for a moment and then back at me to where I’m surely gaping like a stranded goldfish. A smirk colors her mouth, and I have to rein in the urge to elbow her in the gut.
“Hey, Ian,” Ava says as Ian steps closer to the counter where we’re gathered. “Dee here will give you another rundown of the takes we’re getting first. I have…stuff to do. Over…there.”
She brushes past us, shooting me a thumbs-up and winking like she’s just been incredibly smooth. Normally, I would be calling her out, but as it is, I’m doing well not to drool over the aforementioned ginger giant who looks perturbed and cranky, which somehow makes him even more endearing.
“I didn’t know they were going to put makeup on me,” he grumbles.
“Your toxic masculinity is showing,” I remark dryly.
He scoffs. “I don’t give a shit about that, but she said she wanted to make my lips kissable. What the fuck does that even mean? They’re all shiny and sticky now. Feels weird.”
My eyes dip down to the lips in question, finding he’s absolutely right. And they are kissable, so much so that the urge to lean in and taste them is as powerful as it is wrong, and I manage a tight smile instead.
“That’s show business, Cupcake.”
He eyes the ingredients laid out in front of me. “What are we making, anyway?”
“A cherry clafoutis,” I tell him. “It’s a French pastry.”
“Another thing you picked up over there?”
“Among other things.”
“Speaking of picked up.” He makes a face. “Jack told me all about some douchebag you dated over there.”
“Jack is biased,” I laugh. “Etienne was nice.” His frown deepens, and some hopeless part of me wants it to be jealousy that has him looking so sour, as silly as that is. Maybe that’s what leads me to say, “Plus, he was really hot. Dirty talk is ten times better in French.”
The only reaction Ian has is a barely-there clench of his jaw, but that could just be him feeling awkward. Most likely is, if I’m being honest with myself. I can’t say why I feel the urge to keep pushing his buttons.
“Definitely not something I need to hear about, I think,” he says quietly.
God, I wish it was more than just seeing me as a sister. I really do. And here I am telling Ava how over Ian I am. Maybe I really believed that, before I saw him again. Maybe you really don’t forget your first love. Crush, I correct. Crush.
“Anyway,” I say, reaching to the other side of the counter and grabbing the pink cloth there. “I have your apron right here.” He eyes it like I’ve just asked him to put on a Speedo in the studio, and I can’t help but laugh. “You don’t give a shit about your male ego, remember?”
