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Zach moves closer. The ceilings are only nine feet, and his arm brushes mine as he stretches on tiptoe to wipe some dust from the bottom of the light. His touch is light but sends shockwaves down my arm, as though it’s been years instead of minutes since the last time we touched.
“Remember how we broke the original?” He huffs a laugh, still standing close enough to touch. “We were playing keep away with Britta’s doll.”
“You threw it too high, right into that light. Glass shattered everywhere, not to mention what it did to the doll’s face.”
“Ithrew it too high?” Zach shoots me a teasing smile. “Me? The boy who went on to be Paradise Valley’s record-breaking quarterback? I think you’d better check your memory.”
“So, your aim improved. But you were the one who broke that light.” I give him a little push, and things almost feel normal again.
Zach stumbles back with a laugh, opens his mouth to say something else, and our eyes meet. Without saying a word, we realize what we’re doing and both go quiet. Each of us takes a step to put space between us. Then our eyes return to the burned-out light.
“You’re right,” he says, without any of the humor that was in his voice seconds ago. “I’m probably the one who broke it.”
“We should definitely replace it.” I point my gaze toward the bedroom and walk purposefully toward it, all business. Because that has to be our normal now.
“Cut!” Ike yells, and I stop. “What was that?”
“What was what?” I ask, turning.
Zach drops his eyes to the ugly brown carpet.
“You had great energy. It was perfect. Why’d you pull the plug on the banter?” He points to the spot where Zach and I had been standing. “Go back and do it again. Tell the story but make it better. More laughing. More teasing.”
I glance at Zach, then we both move back under the light, leaving at least a foot between us. We do the scene three times before Ike gives up and has us move onto another one.
And another. And another.
The “magic,” as Ike keeps calling it, never returns. We try, but the minute we get too close or one of us touches the other, we pull away. All day long, we keep an unnatural space between us. Every time we fall back into a comfortable place, we whiplash back to being weirdly distant, then become even more awkward with each other.
No one laughs. No one is having fun. We’re all just trying to get through the longest day ever.
By the time Ike calls “cut” for the last time, I’m certain most of the footage will be cut. Ten hours of our precious time has been wasted. Ike must have said, “Let’s get back some of that chemistry from yesterday,” at least a dozen times. Every time, things only got more uncomfortable between Zach and me.
Ike’s not happy. The crew’s not happy. And I don’t know who’s more miserable: me or Zach.
While the crew packs up, Ike pulls Zach and me into a back bedroom and shuts the door. “What was that today?”
My eyes dart to Zach, but I don’t wait to see if he looks back. Heat creeps up my neck, and my cheeks burn. The awkwardness is as palpable as the humidity in Savannah on a summer day.
The success of this show depends on me. The jobs of everyone working on this show depend onme. There is so much competition in home-reno shows—mine has to stand out from the rest. I thought the concept of rehabbing an entire resort would be that hook, but it may not be enough.
“Yesterday,” Ike continues, one decibel away from yelling. “I was sure we had the next big thing. You could be the new Chip and Joanna, the way you were collaborating but also joking around with each other. You had the same natural, unforced energy they do. What happened?”
Zach and I glance quickly at each other. I think it’s the first time all day I’ve really looked him in the eye, and the worry I see there sends a shockwave of emotion through me. In general, Zach’s dark blue eyes are magnetic. This isn’t the first time I’ve been pulled into them and not been able to look away. It is the first time I’ve lost my breath and been tempted to dive deep into their Adriatic-blue color.
The feeling pulsing through my veins isn’t friendship.
Far from it.
“It’s my fault, Ike,” Zach says, pulling his gaze from mine. “People were getting the wrong idea, that Georgia and I are a couple. My girlfriend didn’t like it.”
Ike opens his mouth, then closes it. The muscle in his jaw twitches as he tucks the folders he’s holding under his arm and jams his hands into his pockets.
“Look, man. I get how your girlfriend’s feelings are a concern, but with reality TV, the viewers drive the content.” Ike spreads his feet wide and looks up at Zach. He only comes to Zach’s chest, but he’s doing his best to take up as much space as possible in this face-off.
Zach narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “What are you saying?”
Ike pushes out his chest. “I’m saying the content on Georgia’s accounts exploded this week, and it’s because people like the two of you together. You don’t have to pretend you’re a couple, but if this thing is going to work, you can’t act like a couple on the verge of divorce the second week in.”
