Page 16 of Dream On, Ramona Riley

April:Seriously though, this is it

Ramona:What is it?

April:Your way in. To the movie. Noelle!!!

Ramona frowned, the realization of what April meant settling over her.

Noelle.

Dylan would be working with Noelle.

Dylan would be costumed, fitted, made up. She’d be on set. Obviously she’d be on set, but…she’d be on set.

Ramona’s thoughts swirled. She wasn’t a schemer like April. Should she simply ask Dylan for a favor? No, not now. Not yet.

They didn’t even know each other…

“I’m ready,” Dylan announced, then popped her hands on her hips. She’d pulled her long brown hair back into a ponytail as well, the apron tied tight around her slim frame. “How do I look?”

Adorablewas the first word that popped into Ramona’s head, but she banished it like a ghost in a haunted mansion.

“Good” is what Ramona settled for, focused on her actual task. “Okay, let’s start with a tour, shall we?”

Dylan nodded vigorously, but Ramona caught a flash of nervousness behind her eyes, which was also adorable, which meant Ramona had to exorcise that word for the second time in thirty seconds. This did not bode well.

Her phone trilled again.

April:So how is she?? Does she remember you???? I mean, of course she does

Ramona’s chest went tight, and she felt her mouth tremble a little, something settling over her bones that made her feel small and young.

“Hey,” Dylan said, tapping her elbow. “You okay?”

Ramona tucked her phone away, shook her head to clear it. “Yeah!” Too bright, too loud. “Yeah,” she said more calmly. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Dylan smiled and they held each other’s gaze for a split second before Ramona yanked hers away, then focused on training her first kiss who didn’t remember her in the slightest how to effectively carry multiple plates of cheeseburgers and fries.

Chapter

Four

Dylan had neverworked so hard in her life.

After only an hour, her lower back was killing her, she’d broken two nails, and she was pretty sure she had a blister on her left heel. And on top of all that, she’d made a complete idiot of herself in front of a cute girl.

Several times.

“Oh, god, no, don’t touch the glass part of the coffee carafe,” Ramona said, snatching Dylan’s hand away. “It’s hot.”

“Right,” Dylan said, her cheeks burning red for the zillionth time in the last thirty minutes. The awful part was, shewasn’tan idiot. Sure, she’d never worked in food service, but she did have common sense, for god’s sake, and she knew not to touch the glass part of a fucking coffee carafe. She was just nervous—more nervous than she thought she’d be, more nervous than she’d ever been onSpellbound’s set—and her trainer’s freckles and swaying hips and overall sweetness were not helping matters.

Dylan lifted the coffeepot by the handle and then faced the dining room, which was full of patrons, a great number of them looking at her, smiling, waving even.

She smiled back but couldn’t get herself to show her teeth. Shefelt as though she was facing a pit of vipers. Not that the townsfolk had been anything but nice to her, but Dylan had underestimated the effect ofDylan Monroewaiting tables, and how everyone would be watching her, phones at the ready. Laurel had gone with her to the café this morning, but Dylan refused to let her manager walk her inside like a child on her first day of school. She’d wanted to be an everywoman, just plain ole Dylan showing up for a shift, but she was pretty sure pictures of plain ole Dylan were going to show up online tomorrow, frizzy haired and sweating with her apron covered in ketchup and mustard and coffee and honey and god only knew what else.

“Just walk slowly,” Ramona said beside her. “Ask before you pour. ‘Coffee?’ That’s all you have to say.”

“Right,” Dylan said, but she couldn’t seem to coax her feet to move. This was a bad idea. Killin’ Dylan was going to turn into Disaster Dylan, she just knew it.