I don’t have to look to know she’s talking to me. I start straightening up the candy rack near the register. “He’s hanging in there.”
“Thought about baking him a pie,” she says. “Does he have a favorite? Apple? Cherry? Thought it might be pumpkin, or maybe pecan.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate whatever you make,” I say, “but he’s more of a chocolate cream pie guy.”
“Chocolate,” she mutters. “Should’ve known.”
The radio moves on to Lisa Loeb’s Stay, and that’s about when I decide I’m done with this day. I stroll to the front corner of the store, to where Marcus, the manager, hangs out in an office tucked behind Customer Service. Marcus is tall and slim, with brown skin and black hair that’s starting to show signs of impending gray.
“I’m going home,” I tell him.
“Now?” He glances at his watch. “It’s a little early.”
“I’ll make up for it,” I say, clocking out.
Marcus doesn’t argue. He knows I’m good for it, which is why he gives me leniency.
“Actually, I know how you can make up for it,” he says. “I need an extra shift worked, if you’re willing to pull a double on Friday. Bethany asked for the day off but there’s no one to cover.”
I want to say no, because I hate running registers, but I’m too nice for that. We both know it. I don’t even have to say a word.
“Do me a favor,” he says. “Stop by on your way out and tell Bethany I’m approving her request.”
“Will do,” I say, walking out before he can ask me for anything else. I stroll down the cereal aisle on my way through, snatching a box of Lucky Charms off the shelf. Bethany stands at her register, skimming through a magazine she grabbed from the rack beside her.
I glance at it, rolling my eyes.
Hollywood Chronicles.
The epitome of trashy tabloids.
I set my cereal down on the conveyer belt and pull out a few dollars. Bethany closes the magazine and tosses it down in the bagging area before ringing me up.
“Marcus approved your day off,” I tell her.
She squeals. “Really?”
“He told me to tell you.”
“Oh my God!” She shoves my cereal in a white plastic bag. “I didn’t think there was anyone to cover my shift.”
“Yeah, well, I could always use the overtime.”
Bethany squeals again, reaching across the lane to grab ahold of me, squeezing me in a hug. “You’re the best, Kennedy!”
“Special day?” I guess when I pull away, holding the money out to her before she can even tell me my total, hoping she’ll take it instead of hugging me again. Alanis Morissette’s Ironic is coming on, and if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to lose my sanity.
“Yeah… I mean… sort of.” She blushes as she shoots me a look. “It’s kind of stupid, really. There’s a film that’s supposed to be shooting in the city. My friends and I are hoping to go down and maybe, you know... see what we can see.”
I smile softly. “There’s nothing stupid about that.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Of course not,” I say. “I went to a movie set once.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? You?”
The way she says that makes me laugh, although I probably should be offended by her incredulous tone. It’s not like I’m some uptight old lady. I’m not Mrs. McKleski. I’m only a few years older than her. “Yes, really.”
“What movie?”
“It was just one of those teen comedies. The titles all kind of sound the same.”
“Who was in it? Anyone I might know?”
She wants to hear all about it. I can tell by the curious gleam in her eyes, but I have no desire to get into that story. “It was so long ago that I really can’t even say.”
Bethany counts out my change, and my eyes drift to the magazine she’s been reading as I grab my bag. All at once, my insides freeze, ice running through my veins, the cold striking me straight to the bone. Plastered on the cover is a face I know. Even wearing a black hat and dark sunglasses, ducking his head, he’s easily recognizable.
My gut burns, twisting and coiling and ugh ugh ugh…
He’s standing beside a woman with platinum blonde hair. While he shies away from the camera, she’s wide-open, looking right at it, her green eyes vivid in the photo. Black leather covers her supermodel frame, while red lipstick accentuates a set of pouty lips. Her skin is a deep tan, like the woman lives on a beach somewhere.
Ugh, it makes me sick.
Even I have to admit she’s beautiful.
Below the photograph of the pair is a massive caption, written in bold:
JOHNNY AND SERENA’S SECRET WEDDING
My eyes linger on those words.
I think I’m going to throw up.
“Do you believe it?” Bethany asks.
My gaze lifts to meet hers. “Believe what?”
“That Johnny Cunning and Serena Markson eloped.”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know why it even matters to me. Don’t know why my chest feels tight at the mere insinuation that a wedding might’ve happened somewhere, at some point, a wedding where he was the groom but I wasn’t present. I feel like an obsessed, lovesick fangirl, convinced the heartthrob was supposed to be mine, but he wasn’t.
“I think, where Johnny Cunning is concerned, anything’s possible.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Bethany says, picking the tabloid back up as I head for the exit. “Really hoping to run into them this weekend.”
My footsteps falter. “Them?”
“Yeah, the movie that’s filming? It’s the new Breezeo one.”
Something happens inside of me when Bethany says that, something that knocks the wind out of my sails. Whoa. It’s a crushing, soul-sucking sensation that starts deep in my chest, right where I used to keep my heart. It’s gone now, locked away in a steel-reinforced safe, padlocked and hidden where no one can get to it without my blessing, the spot where it used to beat now nothing more than a black hole that desperately pulls at the rest of me, trying to swallow me up at the sound of that word.
Breezeo.
“They’re still making those?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but even I can hear the change in my tone. Pathetic.
“Of course!” Bethany laughs. “How do you not know? I thought everyone knew.”
“I haven’t really been paying attention.”
More like I’ve actively avoided, but that’s another long story.
“You’ve seen them, though, right?” Bethany narrows her eyes. “Please, tell me you’ve at least watched the others.”
“I’ve caught bits and pieces,” I admit.
She throws her hands up dramatically, like my answer is absurd. “That’s just… insane. Oh my god, you need to watch them! The stories are amazing… so funny and just… I don’t even have words! And Johnny Cunning, that man is serious eye-candy. You’re totally missing out. I’m dead serious, you need to watch them!”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good,” she says, smiling like she won something. “The first one is called Transparent and the second one is Shadow Dancer.”
“And the one they’re filming now?”
“Ghosted.”
I look away from her when she says that.