Page 11 of Deck the Hauls

“No.” I shifted on my feet. “I had a bit of a break from the camera, but I’m very happy to be back on set again.”

“This industry can be soul-sucking,” he said, leaning against my trailer. “I don’t blame you. Hope your reintroduction goes smoothly.” He leaned forward, bringing a waft of cologne with him. “If you ever want to talk through anything, just let me know. Oh, did Charles mention they rewrote the Thanksgiving scene? It’s pretty last minute given we’re filming on Saturday, but that’s HolLove for you. Hey, we could run lines tonight if you want? Might help us learn them more quickly.”

“Thank you. I’ll let you know once I’ve read the script.”

All I wanted to do when filming wrapped today was to go back to my Airbnb, make myself a hot chocolate and snuggle under the covers with the new script, playing Mariah’s Christmas album on repeat, until I forgot about Phillip and the journalist’s voicemail.

CHAPTER FIVE

DANA

I ran my hand over another section of exposed tree trunk lined with crisscrosses, my jaw clenching. What the hell was doing this to the trees? Reddish-brown pellets surrounded the tree. Could it be a deer or a squirrel?

The tree would have to be marked down. This mysterious animal wouldn’t be helping the cash flow issues Roz mentioned.

I pushed myself up, dusted off my knees, and continued down the row of firs, assessing each one. A black and white chickadee flew overhead. It settled on the top of a seven foot tree and began to sing. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee.

“Can you tell me who’s been eating our trees, buddy?”

The chickadee paused, cocked its head, and then continued its tune.

A loud bang startled it, sending it flying into a neighboring tree.

I glared in the direction of the sound. “How about telling me what that film crew is up to, hey? Did they wake you at five a.m. as well?”

The chickadee squawked and flew off.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” I said as the chickadee disappeared out of sight.

Roz had warned me that they’d be filming next to the fir trees today—and had even asked me yesterday to cut down a tree they could use for the scene—but I hadn’t prepared myself for that amount of truck doors slamming and loud voices before dawn. That rude awakening, combined with a voice message Mom had left saying she wanted to talk about Thanksgiving plans, had sent me spiraling into a bad mood that I hadn’t been able to shake. It didn’t help that I kept worrying about what the film crew was doing to my precious firs and wondering how Emily was. She might be interested to hear about the new damaged tree trunk and the pellets I’d found…

I stopped. Get a grip. A stunning, talented actress wasn’t going to be interested in animal poop.

“Arrrgh!”

I froze. Was that Emily screaming?

It was definitely a woman. My pulse quickened. She’s probably fine. They would have safety officers on the set, wouldn’t they?

I should check it out. Make sure Emily and the trees are okay. I started toward the area I’d been avoiding all morning. This was probably a bad idea. But what if Emily was in trouble?

At least there’d been no more shrieks.

“Help!”

Shit. That was definitely Emily. I sprinted through the firs. She better not be stuck up another tree.

“Help!”

Emily’s voice sounded louder, more panicked. I pushed myself harder, my legs and chest burning. I jumped over a fallen branch and burst into the field that edged one side of the tree farm. I skidded to a halt.

About thirty pairs of eyes stared at me, along with two large black cameras.

“Dana?” Emily stood on a box holding a large gold star and clinging to the top of the fir I’d chopped down for filming. It had been cut in half and covered with snow. Behind her, the row of firs that formed the edge of the tree farm were also covered in snow.

Shit. Emily wasn’t in trouble. She was acting the very scene she’d been trying to practice on Tuesday.

“Cut!” yelled a bald Black man, as he strode toward me. “Can I help you? We’re trying to film a movie here.”