“Cough ’em up,” says Lachelle, holding out a palm. “I want to see what you decided about the colors for the tree stuff.”

I wave a hand. “They’re back at home. I want you to see it all together. We’re still on for the run-through tomorrow?”

“For sure,” Lachelle says. “You should come, princess. Cecy and I are going to set it up back here like a conference room. Meg’s going to do the whole thing.”

“Really?” Lark looks back and forth between us. “That would be okay?”

“Absolutely,” I say, still struck by Lark’s insecurity, the way she’s always worried about her welcome somewhere. “The more the merrier.”

“Bring your boyfriend,” Lachelle says, nudging my shoulder with her hip. “I’m dying to meet him. I’m definitely going to ask him about the marginal tax rate.”

I laugh, but feel a thread of discomfort. I need to tell Cecelia and Lachelle about Reid, about how I met him. But I’ve been putting it off, and whether that’s because I’m still ashamed about what I’d done that had brought him back in here, or because I’m worried that Reid and I won’t make it past this summer—that’s a mystery that’s hidden even from me.

“He’ll probably have to work.” And anyway, he’s seen them all already. When we’re together, I show him the latest. When we’re not, I snap photos and send them to his phone. No matter how busy he gets, he’s always interested.

“Capitalism,” Lachelle says, shaking her head. Then she peeks out to the front of the store, spotting her clients talking with Cecelia. “All right, get out, you two. I have money to make.”

Lark and I both laugh, scrambling dramatically to pick up our things. On our way out, I wave at Cecelia, who’s still chatting with Lachelle’s clients, but she pauses long enough to mouth, Tomorrow? at me, and she gives me a thumbs-up when I nod.

“They’re so nice,” Lark says, when we’re out on the sidewalk. I open my mouth to agree, but she speaks again. “I’ve been wondering if I should think about going back to work, you know?”

“Yeah?” I know my eyebrows are probably halfway up my head. Lark never talks about working as though it’s something she’s planning to do again. It’s always about past projects, past goals she’s set aside. Scripts Cameron doesn’t like for her.

“I used to love being on set. I loved being around people.”

“I think you should go back, too, if you want to. You’re so talented.”

She gives me her closemouthed smile. “You think?”

“Please. It wasn’t our favorite movie for nothing,” I say, ignoring the twinge I feel at having repeated Sibby’s words. “Why not call your agent?”

“Maybe,” she says, but she looks unsure.