Page 36 of When I Picture You

“I tried something new,” Lola said, the corners of her mouth lifting, pleased that Renee heard the difference.

Alejandro cleared his throat. “Guys?”

“Right!” Renee checked the viewfinder. “Okay, Lo. Can you explain what you’re rehearsing for?”

Lola still had a faint grin on her lips when she answered, “The set at Corkscrew Fest is going to be the very last show forWild Heart.”

“So this is a goodbye,” Renee said.

“Or a good riddance,” Lola said without thinking.Shoot. She shouldn’t have said that on camera. “What I meant was, I love the songs onWild Heart, and I’m so grateful my fans love them too. But when you have a big album like that, you can’t let yourself get stuck. I’m ready to move on.”

Lola paused. In her mind,Wild Hearthad become just as associated with the tragedy of Ava as the canceled album: if she’d gotten to release that, no one would be talking aboutWild Heartanymore. That was what she’d actually meant bygood riddance.

“Move on to what?” Renee asked.

For once, this question didn’t trigger an avalanche of anxiety. Lola just said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

They started another run-through. As Lola waited offstage for her cue, she felt good. Maybe if this kept up, she could ride the feeling into a productive writing session. What she’d said to Renee had given her hope: maybe the next big thing for her was already there, waiting for her to uncover it.

Lola strutted onstage. The first number went perfectly, but theywere halfway through the second when something went wrong. Someone pushed in through the side door, letting in a wide beam of sunlight that silhouetted the figure. Lola kept singing, but when she heard someone ask about security, she faltered.

Lola couldn’t make out who the stranger was, but no one was stopping him from heading confidently toward the stage—not even the camera tracking him. Lola’s pulse ratcheted higher until it throbbed in her ears. The intruder had to be someone she knew, to be allowed into her rehearsal—but obsessive fans sometimes managed impossible things.

Just as she was about to panic, the man came into focus, and though her heart was still racing, Lola knew what she had to do.

“Nash!” she cried.

She shoved the microphone into its stand, hopped down from the stage, and flung herself into his arms. With her face pressed into his neck, she smiled, genuinely, at the familiar scent of his Black Orchid cologne. Nash lifted her off the ground and spun her in a circle, then pulled her into a kiss—or what looked like one. He held her face in his hands, then she put her hands over his, forming a wall to block what their mouths were or were not doing.

Nash released her but kept her in his moony-eyed gaze. His wavy blond locks were swept back, his lips cherubically pink. Nash was a professional actor, but even still, his ability to gaze at her like he was head over heels was impressive.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, weaving his fingers into hers.

“What are you doing here?” Lola said. “You’re supposed to be in Montana.”

“I had a break in filming, so I decided to surprise my girl.” Nash winked at her. No matter how many times Lola had explained to Nash that he didn’t need to act like some Old Hollywood cowboy to convincingly date a woman—and in fact, doing that was kind ofgay—he would not stop winking at her. Probably because it always made her giggle.

“I’ve missed you so much!” Lola said. “I wish our schedules matched up better.”

This scheduling problem had been pre-identified as the fracture point for their relationship. With their breakup two months away, and Nash filmingHorsebreakerin Montana while also promotingFit to Live, they were supposed to mention their busy lives whenever possible.

“I never get to see my baby,” he said, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear.

Lola clicked her tongue at him. She’d told Nash thatbabyas a term of endearment gave her the ick, so naturally Nash had turned that into an inside joke. He pulled her against him again and whispered into her ear, “My itty-bitty baby.”

“Nash!” Lola threw her head back and slid her arms around his waist. They were used to ensuring their relationship read as romantic on camera—not the cameras of a film set like Nash was used to, or photoshoots like Lola was, but to the cameras of paparazzi and cell-phone stalkers.

But there was another set of cameras here.

Micah and Gloriana were watching with smug satisfaction, but at the back of the space was Renee, her arms crossed and shoulders bunched up. Even from this distance, Lola could tell she was grinding her jaw. Renee hadn’t been in on the surprise, Lola realized—even though it must have taken a lot of coordinating to get Nash here at the right moment. Renee stalked over to Micah, pointed at the side door, then followed him out into the parking lot.

As Lola watched her go, Nash slipped behind her, his arms over her shoulders, and leaned down so their faces were side by side.

“Baby, you’restaring,” he said into her ear. “Who is she?”

***

In the parking lot, Renee shaded her eyes with her hand. “Want to tell me what’s happening here, Micah?”