Mitch nodded slowly. “Okay. Well, next step…we need to go over a schedule. We’ll have to rehearse before we film for the first time. We need to check lighting, angles, and go over material. And we’ll have to plan a few appearances. Nothing major. A trip to a coffee shop will work. Be prepared for selfie central. If your selfie game is weak, I can give you pointers. I’ll create a joint account for us on other platforms, like Instagram. Do you have Instagram?”
I shook my head and chuckled at his flabbergasted expression. “I don’t have time. I barely check Facebook.”
“Oh, boy. I’ll handle it. And not to worry, I won’t post anything without your approval.”
“I trust you, Mitch.”
“Thanks. For everything. I think we’re about to do something amazing. I can’t wait,” he gushed.
We shared a smile that felt like a handshake or signing our names on a dotted line side-by-side. Or some version of a commitment that came with a virtual eraser. This wasn’t binding. It was just for fun. A new way to push old boundaries and to remind myself that complacency was a form of death. And I wasn’t giving in or giving up yet.
3
We agreed to meet the following evening at his place to begin what Mitch referred to as “basic boyfriend lessons.” According to him, we needed at least a one-hour rehearsal before we attempted to do anything in front of a camera. We lived a few blocks away from each other, which made an end-of-day meeting convenient. I showered at school after my second practice and grabbed something to eat on campus to avoid traffic and ended up arriving fifteen minutes early. I thought about going home, but it hardly seemed worth the trip. Besides, I didn’t want to chance running into Derek. Not until I had my story down.
I parked my battered Highlander on the street in front of a pristine white stucco house with green shutters and pretty window boxes. A low hedge lined the path to the front door decorated with a giant floral wreath. I didn’t see the garage, though. I pulled out my cell and reread Mitch’s last text message as I stepped onto the front porch.
Park in the alley behind the street. I’ll be home by 8. Come any time after.
I glanced at the time. Seven forty-five. Hmm. I could wait in my truck or—
“Hello, dear. Can I help you?”
I jumped back in surprise and almost landed flat on my ass. “Oh! Yeah, um…I’m sorry. I’m—I’m looking for Mitch.”
An old woman wearing a leopard print tracksuit stood in the open doorway. She had snow-white hair and sinewy, birdlike features that gave her a fragile look. But the mischievous glint in her blue-shadowed eyes hinted at a sense of humor that reminded me of Mitch. She must be his grandmother.
“Mitchell should be home soon. He usually pops inside to say hello, but I haven’t seen him yet. Stay where you are for a sec. The boy’s got big opinions about safety. Let me give him a call real quick. What did you say your name was?”
“Evan. Evan di Angelo,” I said, offering her my hand.
“Aren’t you charming?” She smiled brightly and shook my hand. Then she pulled a huge phone from her pocket and pushed a button before holding it to her ear. “Hello, sweetheart. You have a visitor. A handsome young man named Ivan.”
“Evan.” I corrected her in a low voice.
“Oh. It’s Evan. Evan of the angels. That’s what your name means, dear.” She patted my hand, then refocused on her conversation with a series of “mmmhmms” before addressing me again. “Mitchell would like to speak with you. He sounds flustered. That must mean he likes you.”
I stared at the bedazzled hot pink case for a second before taking the cell and putting it to my ear. “Hi, Mitchell.”
“You’re early and you’re in the wrong place. You were supposed to meet me in the alley, not at my grandmother’s front door.”
“I’m good. How are you?” I replied flippantly.
I tried not to chuckle when he growled in response. I could just imagine him stuck at a traffic light on Pacific Coast Highway with steam coming from his ears. In a way, I understood. My parents were excruciatingly embarrassing whenever I brought friends over. I always worried they’d dig out my baby books. It had happened before, so it wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility.
“Ugh. I’ll be there in five minutes or less.”
“Take your time…honey.” I disconnected the call, then handed his grandmother her phone. “Thanks. He’ll be here soon. I can wait in my truck.”
“Nonsense! Come inside,” she insisted.
She held the door open, pausing in the foyer to give me a thorough once-over. “Are you hungry? I made raspberry thumbprint cookies today. Mitchell’s favorite. You can test them out for me and tell me all about yourself while you wait. I’m Maryanne, by the way.”