Page 36 of Dream On, Ramona Riley

Dylan smiled, remembering those lashes. They were so long. And dark. She wondered if Ramona used mascara, or if—

“Dylan?”

She jolted from her thoughts as Laurel shook her arm. “They’re ready for you. And I’ve got to go.”

Dylan all but whined. “Do you have to?”

“I’ve got a partners’ meeting I can’t miss. I’ll be back later this week.”

“That’s two days away.”

“Big-girl panties.”

Dylan sighed, then patted her hips. “Fine. I’ve got them on. Pulled all the way up.”

“Careful, it’s not a thong,” Laurel said, and hugged Dylan tight before shoving her toward the gazebo, then took off through the grass in her three-inch heels, calling out, “Think small town!” as she went.

Dylan forced herself to keep moving, spotting Blair standing by the gazebo’s stairs and laughing with Gia Santos, a tall woman with short black hair and thick, turquoise-rimmed glasses. Gia was a seasoned director and writer of rom-coms—she’d developed this script with the book’s author—and was a lesbian married to cinematographer Zara Hollister, and was also famously demanding. She wanted what she wanted out of her actors, and exactly when she wanted it.

“Hi, there,” Dylan said from a few feet away, and both women immediately stopped talking, aiming too-bright smiles in her direction.

Dylan caught a whiff of mustard, swallowed a gag.

“Dylan, hey, great, you’re here,” Gia said brusquely, shaking Dylan’s hand with one soul-squeezing pump. “Let’s get you both in the gazebo.”

“Dylan,” Blair said.

“Blair,” Dylan said, hating the already-stilted tone to both of their voices. She rolled her shoulders back, tried tothink smalltownand breathe normally as she settled on the white bench inside the gazebo next to Blair, but her stomach refused to unclench.

Crew members swarmed, setting up the mics, getting the cameras adjusted to their positions. Vee came and blotted her face, then Blair’s, then yanked some strands of hair out of Dylan’s braid so they feathered around her face.

“Okay, thanks, Vee,” Gia said.

Vee started to leave, but Dylan latched on to the assistant’s wrist. “Stay,” she whispered desperately. Vee’s eyes widened and they fiddled with the strands of hair around Dylan’s face a bit theatrically, but Dylan would take any delay she could get right now. So much for her big-girl panties.

“Vee, get out of there,” Noelle said from where she was tapping on her iPad in the grass.

“Sorry,” Vee whispered, then vanished.

Dylan’s throat thickened, her heart galloping throughout her entire body.

“All right, I trust you’re familiar with this scene,” Gia said.

“Yes,” Blair said.

Dylan could only nod.

“We need unsure and shy from you, Dylan,” Gia said, adjusting her headset. “Blair, I know you missed the read-through, but I think you can handle it. Mallory is brash and full steam ahead. But with nuance. Be aperson, not a character. Let’s make our fellow queers proud, shall we?”

“Hell yes,” Blair said, smiling and fist-bumping Gia.

Dylan just nodded again, like that fucking bobblehead version of herself she knew went for hundreds of dollars on eBay.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Gia said, then yelled, “Places!” as she jogged down the gazebo’s steps, turning to face Dylan and Blair. Giaasked a few more questions of the camera crew, the sound, then Dylan heard the word “Action,” and she completely forgot what she was doing.

What her name even was.

Blair said something—her line, Dylan presumed, but Dylan couldn’t remember what it was or what she was supposed to say next.