Chapter 6

By ten the next morning, my dining table was dressed like it was auditioning for a magazine spread. The delivery had arrived early — stacks of flaky croissants, glossy fruit tarts, warm quiches cut into wedges, smoked salmon laid out on a wooden board beside capers and lemon slices. A few indulgences too: truffle-scented potatoes, tiny jars of jam, and a tower of pastries that smelled like butter and sugar heaven.

I’d gone overboard. On purpose.

The doorbell rang once, then again in rapid succession. My friends always arrived as a unit, loud and alive, like a storm front.

Lila swept in first with a tote bag of strawberries and oranges. Simone followed, already rolling her eyes at the abundance of food, while Naomi trailed behind with a soft smile and a bundle of fresh flowers.

“You weren’t kidding,” Simone said, surveying the table. “This isn’t brunch. This is a spread fit for royalty.”

“Good,” I muttered, already reaching for the bottle of champagne. “Because I need a drink first.”

They exchanged glances, then looked back at me.

“Okay, Cece,” Lila said, using the nickname only she could get away with. “Out with it. What’s going on?”

Naomi placed the flowers gently in a vase. “You said you needed to vent.”

“And you dragged us here at ten on a Saturday morning,” Simone added, stealing a croissant. “So the least you can do is start the show.”

I popped the cork, poured champagne into three glasses, and topped them with orange juice until the mimosas glowed like sunlight. Then I poured one for myself, took the first long sip, and felt the fizz burn against the back of my throat.

“I’ll explain,” I said finally, setting the glass down. “But you’re going to need context.”

They leaned in together, expectant, ready.

I opened my laptop on the table, the screen lighting up as I pulled it closer. My fingers hovered over the trackpad, the wine from last night still echoing in my head, the images I’d already searched flashing bright behind my eyes.

With a few clicks, Rowan’s face filled the screen — those sharp freckles, that crooked smile, the same jacket she’d worn in the audition. A dozen windows open, grainy photos and glowing reviews staring back at us.

Lila’s brows lifted. Naomi’s lips parted. Simone’s smirk turned sharp.

I picked up my mimosa again, buying time with another sip, and muttered, almost to myself, “Her name is Rowan Hart.”

The words felt heavier than they should, like speaking them out loud gave them a weight I hadn’t expected.

Lila leaned in, squinting at the screen. “She’s cute,” she said simply, her voice low and even, though her eyes were sharp. “But this look on your face? That’s not just cute.”

Simone laughed around a bite of croissant, pointing at me with a flaky fingertip. “Oh, I knew it. The great Celeste Raines has finally met her match. I should’ve brought confetti.”

Naomi didn’t laugh. She tilted her head as though she could read the tension in my shoulders. Her hand brushed mine where it rested on the table, grounding me. “You look… unsettled,” she said gently. “Talk us through it.”

I drained half my mimosa before answering. “It was the audition yesterday. She came in for the lead. And…” My throat tightened. “We read the scene together.”

Simone leaned forward, smirking. “And?”

“And we were following the script,” I said, forcing the words out. “Every word. Every beat. Even the kiss. It was written that way.”

Naomi’s brows lifted, patient, waiting.

“But it didn’t feel written,” I admitted. My voice dropped to a whisper. “The moment she looked at me, the world went quiet. The room, the producers, the director — everything just… vanished. It felt like we were the only two people there.”

The memory surged, hot and undeniable. “And then, right after, she leaned in and whispered to me that she felt it too.”

Lila’s eyes widened, her voice firm. “She said that? To you? In the room?”

I nodded, staring into the golden fizz of my drink. “She straightened my shirt, looked me right in the eye, and said, I felt it too. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Simone slapped her hand against the table, grinning. “Oh, I love her already. Bold. Dangerous. Absolutely terrible for your self-control. Perfect.”

Naomi, ever steady, asked softly, “And how did that make you feel?”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Like I was falling. Like someone had pulled the rug out from under me, and I didn’t even want to catch myself.” I took another sip, steadied myself. “Even my manager noticed. She cornered me afterward and said if she could see it, everyone else in that room could too.”

Silence fell again, thicker this time. Their eyes were on me, waiting, protective and curious all at once.

I shook my head, pressing my fingers against my temple. “I don’t know what to do. They gave her the part.”

Before any of them could answer, I tipped back the rest of my mimosa, the glass emptying in one long swallow. The burn of champagne and juice wasn’t enough to chase the heat still in my chest, so I poured another, filling it to the rim.

“And I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle this.”

The words sat there, raw and vulnerable, until my friends moved to fill the silence.

Lila leaned forward, her voice steady, protective. “Then you don’t handle it alone. We’ll make sure of that.”

Simone smirked, raising her glass in mock salute. “Honestly? My advice is to enjoy it. Chemistry like that doesn’t happen every day. Just… don’t burn down your career in the process.”

Naomi reached out, resting her hand gently on mine. “You don’t need to have all the answers right now. You just need to be honest with yourself. That’s the first step.”

I nodded slowly, their voices circling me like anchors, but the image of Rowan’s smile — bold, certain, unforgettable — still glowed in my mind like a flame I couldn’t put out.

I set my glass down, the fizz of champagne lingering in my throat. “We’ve got the table read on Monday. With the whole cast. Rowan will be there. And I need you guys to come.”

Lila raised a brow. “To a table read?”

“Yes.” My voice was steadier than I felt. “Sit in the back, watch us. See what I mean. See that I’m not imagining this.” I shook my head, the words rushing out. “I need you to tell me I’m not crazy.”

Simone grinned, tearing off a piece of croissant. “Oh, honey. I wouldn’t miss this circus for the world. I’ll bring the commentary.”

“Simone,” Lila warned, though a smile tugged at her lips. “We’ll come. But only because I want to see this girl with my own eyes.”

Naomi’s smile was calm, certain. “We’ll be there. And no matter what happens, we’ll tell you the truth. You can count on that.”

Relief washed through me, sharp and fleeting. I raised my glass again, letting the bubbles burn down my throat.

“Good,” I murmured. “Because Monday’s going to change everything.”