Reel (Hollywood Renaissance 1)

“You sure you don’t want to come home with me?” Takira asks from her bedroom across the hall. “I know you dread seeing your family.”

I snap my suitcase closed and walk over to her bedroom where she’s still packing.

“I don’t dread seeing them.” I roll my eyes at her knowing look. “Okay, I don’t enjoy seeing Terry and Brandon, but I miss my mama. My aunties and cousins. And I want all my mama’s food.”

“Oh, are we indulging for the holidays?”

“I still won’t eat red meat or pork, but mac and cheese, stuffing, deviled eggs, yams, sweet potato pie, collard greens, corn bread? Babeeee, all them bets are off.”

I sprawl on her bed, wallowing in the stillness I’ve had so seldom the last few months.

“Besides,” I continue, “Terry and Brandon are going to visit his mama’s people in Virginia. I doubt I’ll see them much, if at all. I’m coming back for New Year’s Eve.”

“Aww.” She turns from her closet and pokes her lip out. “It’s my parents’ fortieth anniversary, so we’re giving them a party on New Year’s Eve. You’re welcome to join us in Texas. I don’t want you ringing in the New Year alone.”

“Girl, me, Ryan Seacrest, and that big ol’ apple dropping will be just fine.”

“You sure? ’Cause if you want to—”

“I promise I’ll be okay.”

My phone pings, and I reach into my back pocket for it to check the incoming text.

Livvie: Thank you again for the cookies! You’re so sweet.

Me: No problem! It’s not much, but I hope you enjoy them.

Livvie: They’re so good! I already ate half of them and am hiding the rest from my boyfriend. LOL!

Me: I’m glad! Merry Christmas. See you after the break.

Livvie: Byeeeeee! Merry Christmas. ??

“That was Livvie,” I tell Takira with a smile. “Thanking me for the Christmas cookies.”

“Well I’m glad slaving over that hot stove making all those cookies paid off. Everybody seemed to love them.”

“It was fun and easy.” I shrug. “No big deal, and the crew especially work so hard. I wanted them to know how much we appreciate them.”

The doorbell interrupts us, and I hop from the bed.

“I’ll get it.”

I shuffle down the hall, practically skipping at the prospect of days with no hair and makeup, no fittings or rehearsals or dance routines or dawn pick-ups. When I open the door without even checking the peephole, the man on the other side is the last person I expected to see.

“Canon?”

It goes without saying he looks bitable. His hair is longer than I’m used to seeing it. The cream-colored cable-knit sweater is stark against the mahogany of his skin. The sleeves are shoved up, exposing the corded muscles of his forearms.

“Hey.” He peers over my shoulder into the house. “Can I come in?”

“Oh. Sure. Yeah.”

I step back to let him in, suddenly self-conscious of my bare feet and shiny face; of the fact that I’m wearing no bra under my maxi dress. My hair is its own solar system, the big coils puffing in orbit around my head.

For a few seconds we simply stare at each other in the privacy of the foyer, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It’s a thirsty silence. We’re drinking each other in, taking long gulps of one another when we’ve been alone so little.

“Oh!” I say, grasping for anything that resembles normal conversation. “I have something for you.”

“You do?”

He follows me into the living room, and I bend to retrieve a festive tin from under our Christmas tree.

“I couldn’t find you today when we broke,” I explain, offering the cookies to him.

He pops the lid, peering down at what’s inside and yielding a tiny curve of his lips. “Gingerbread.”

“My mama’s recipe.” I laugh self-consciously. “Buttercream icing. I gave them to everyone, but I didn’t see you today.”

I never see you.

I don’t have to say it for us to both know how little time, by design, we spend together. He closes the lid and frowns, tracing the raised pattern of the wreath decorating the tin.

“I didn’t get you . . . shit. I guess I didn’t get anyone anything. Some boss, huh?”

“I’m not tripping, and I know the rest of the cast and crew aren’t either. We know you’re busy.”

“So are you.” He tucks the cookies under his arm. “But you found the time. You always seem to find time for people. Thank you.”

His eyes intent on my face, the admiration in his words, warms my cheeks.

“It’s really nothing. It took . . . took no time.” I laugh, needing to shift the attention. “So what brings you by?”

He glances around the living room and up the hall. “Are we here alone?”

“Um . . .Takira’s in her room. We could talk outside?”

“That’d be great, yeah.”

I lead him out back to my favorite part of this house. We step into the courtyard, the lush grass tickling my bare feet, licking between my toes. A lemon tree lends the air the invigorating scent of citrus.