This Is What Happy Looks Like(22)
As the frontrunner finally made it up to Graham, he dropped his camera bag, panting. “Who was that?”
Graham only shrugged as the guy snapped a few half-hearted pictures of him standing alone on the lawn.
Afterward, when he arrived back down at the set, Mick looked up from his notes and stubbed out his cigarette, his eyebrows raised.
“Well?” he asked. “Are we feeling more inspired now?”
Graham smiled. “Yes,” he said. “We are.”
From: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, June 10, 2013 10:22 AM
To: [email protected]
Subject: this afternoon
Ellie!
(Just giving you a proper Russian salutation, now that I know your name.)
I’m done shooting at 4 pm today. Want to go in search of an authentic whoopie pie?
Yours,
Graham!
Chapter 7
The reception in the shop was only ever spotty at best, so Ellie spent the morning flitting between the cash register and the ancient desktop computer behind the counter, grateful that her mother wasn’t in yet to ask any questions. Last night, she’d explained away Graham’s visit by claiming he was looking for Quinn, and this morning, she’d managed to avoid Mom altogether by ducking out early to open the store.
The truth was, Ellie wasn’t sure what to say, or even how she felt about any of this yet. All she knew was this: as she logged on to the computer for the sixth time this morning, she was desperate to see that familiar e-mail address show up on the screen.
It didn’t matter that she’d only just seen him out on the green. It didn’t matter that she now knew who he was. It didn’t even matter that it was Graham Larkin, of all people. For more than three months now, this was the thing she’d most looked forward to—that breathless moment as the page unfurled itself on the screen, bringing with it the promise of a new e-mail from him. That small chain of bold letters and numbers—[email protected]—was all it took to set her heart pounding.
Now it was like her brain was split in two. One half understood that the person writing to her was just down the street. But the other half still couldn’t let go of the more general idea of him, the comforting and mysterious stranger with whom she could talk about anything. His sudden presence here had thrown her wildly off balance, and even as she noticed—with a little thrill—that a new e-mail from him had indeed arrived, there was something disconcerting about it. It was like talking to someone on the phone from across the room; even though you could see his lips moving, and even though you could hear the words, it was hard to process the fact that the two things were somehow the same.
The e-mail was just like him: clever and sweet and a little bit funny. And he wanted to see her again. She closed her eyes and let her fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment. When she opened them, she hit the reply button and thought about all the reasons there were to say no.
The problem was, she wanted to say yes.
Sorry, she began, typing slowly, one key at a time. Then she erased each of the five letters and sat back with a sigh. Most girls, she knew, would be delighted to find out they’d been corresponding with a movie star. But to Ellie, it just seemed unfair. She wanted nothing more than to spend time with GDL824 this afternoon. It was Graham Larkin she wasn’t so sure about.
She was still staring at the screen when the door to the shop was thrown open, and she only just managed to close her e-mail as Quinn arrived breathlessly at the counter. Last night after Graham left, Ellie had discovered a text from Quinn that said simply !!!. But Ellie had no way of knowing whether those little exclamation points signaled enthusiasm or anger or something in between.
And so she hadn’t written back, even though she wanted nothing more than to sit down with her best friend and marvel over the fact that somehow—unbelievably, ridiculously, impossibly—the random guy from California she’d been trading e-mails with for months had somehow turned out to be Graham Larkin.
Quinn leaned against the counter, breathing hard. “I’m late for work,” she said, coughing a little. “But apparently we have a lot to talk about…”
“I know,” Ellie said, pouring her a glass of lemonade from the pitcher they offered customers. She swallowed hard, realizing how nervous she was to look up and meet Quinn’s eyes. Just yesterday, she’d helped her get ready for her big date, had watched the way her friend lit up at the prospect of the evening. Yet through some strange quirk of chance, Graham had ended up on Ellie’s front porch at the end of the night, and she felt awful that—however unknowingly—she might have ruined things for Quinn. “Listen, if I’d known it was him—”
But Quinn only shook her head. “I don’t care about that,” she said. “I mean, I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been fun to have a fling with a celebrity this summer, or that it’s not hard to get my head around the idea of you and Graham Larkin, but…”
Ellie braced herself. “But?”
“I can’t believe you never told me,” she said, looking genuinely hurt. “All this time you’ve been keeping it a secret? I thought the deal was that we tell each other everything.”
“It is,” Ellie said, lowering her eyes. “We do. It’s just that—”
She was interrupted by the sound of the village clock as it rang out over the town, a series of deep thudding tones, and Quinn swore under her breath.