Acting on impulse, I sidled over to the catering table and grabbed a bottle of juice, then meandered back toward her and waited for a moment when she didn’t seem busy. I found my chance when the director called for the cast to meet with him and disappeared; she seemed to wilt as he walked away, and I could see she was tired.

“You’ve got to be sweltering,” I said as I came up beside her. “Have some juice before you collapse, you poor thing.” She took the bottle, looking startled, and I stuck out my hand. “Grace Harrington.”

She smiled and shook my hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks so much for the juice. I keep meaning to get myself something, but I forget. Oh, sorry—I’m Zoe, by the way.” She flashed an embarrassed smile, then drained half the bottle.

I laughed. “Wow, good thing I got to you when I did!”

She grinned and blushed, holding a hand to her forehead. “Note to self: the sound stage is really hot.”

“First time here?”

“Yeah. Snagged an internship with this production company, but when I got here they kind of shoved me off on Zach. I’m just sorta doing whatever he needs me to do, and trying to learn as much as I can about film in between trips to the snack bar and quests for random props.” She rolled her eyes and smirked. I liked this girl.

“You still in college?”

“Yeah, senior at UCSD.”

I gaped. “You don’t commute all the way from San Diego for this, do you?”

“No!” she laughed. “I have the semester off for the internship. I’m subletting a room in a house in Long Beach.”

“You have friends living there?”

“No, just a sublet thing I found through the paper. Surf shack, falling apart, but dirt cheap, which is good, since this isn’t paying me anything.”

I frowned. “Doesn’t sound ideal.”

She shrugged and took another swig of the juice. “Eh, its not ideal but its not as bad as it could be. Gotta sleep somewhere, right?”

“Do you have any friends up here?”

“No. The neighbors are all beach bums; not my crowd. I don’t know how much time I’ll have to hang out with people anyway, with the hours I’ll be putting in here.”

“Sounds lonely.” I knew exactly how that felt. Ideas began to take shape. “Hey, why don’t you come to dinner with us tonight? We’re just barbecuing.”

“You and?”

“My husband, Jack.”

She did a double take. “Jack Harrington is your husband?” I nodded. “Oh, I … I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“You wouldn’t, trust me. Besides, cooking for one sucks.”

“I just—wow!” She waffled. “Are you sure that’s all right?”