“I was really going to miss you and that chicken,” I told Kel.
“I knew you’d be back.”
I grinned at him and asked, “Were you that sure I’d wash out as a singer?”
“Of course not. I knew you and Harper belonged together, and I figured it was just a matter of time before you came to your senses.”
“You were right.”
I exhaled slowly and shook out my hands, while he knit his brows and tried again with the bowtie. “You know, he’ll be back after the premiere,” he said. “You seem really nervous, so you could just tell him whatever it is when he gets home.”
“No, I’ve waited long enough.”
“Well, the screening starts at seven sharp and the red carpet is probably already under way, so unless you want to keep it bottled up through a two-hour film, you should hurry.”
I said, “That’s definitely the plan.”
Finally, Kel stepped back and exclaimed, “Nailed it!”
I adjusted the cuffs of my crisp, white dress shirt and asked, “How do I look?”
He considered the question, then grabbed a nearby comb and said, “Scrunch down.”
I bent down and asked, “Is that a dog comb?”
“Not as far as you know.” He quickly combed my hair back before announcing, “You look perfect.”
I gave him a hug and said, “You’re a good friend, Kel. I’ll see you soon.”
Just then, Pepe started barking in the backyard, and Kel called, “Good luck,” before hurrying to see what the chihuahua was up to.
When I rushed out the front door, Loco followed me. “No,” I said, “you need to go inside. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” She ran toward the curb instead, so I slammed the door and ran after her. Fortunately, she waited for me beside the minivan instead of taking off down the street, and I sighed and muttered, “Fine. You can come.”
Audrey smiled at me when I climbed into the passenger seat with Loco. “The chicken wins as the best black tie accessory ever,” she said, as she pulled away from the curb.
“She insisted on coming along, and I didn’t have time to argue with her.”
While I sent Kel a text so he wouldn’t worry about where Loco had gone, my driver said, “Oh, I get that. I’m the mom of a teenager.”
Fortunately, Audrey was an L.A. native and knew plenty of shortcuts to dodge the worst of the traffic. As she sped us to our destination, she glanced at me and asked, “Why do you look so nervous? Going to surprise your boyfriend on his birthday should be a happy occasion.”
“I’ve always felt like an outsider in Hollywood, for obvious reasons. Nothing triggers my insecurity like a bunch of rich, gorgeous A-listers, and I’m about to fling myself right into the heart of their territory. On top of that, I’m planning to confess my true feelings to Harper, so it’s a miracle I haven’t chickened out yet.” Loco cocked her head and looked up at me, and I told her, “No offense.”
“I get it,” Audrey said, “and I’m proud of you for stepping outside your comfort zone. Now don’t you dare let any of those snooty movie stars intimidate you. Just march in there and remember, you’re every bit as good as they are.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Any time.”
Eventually, we pulled onto the street where the theater was located and ground to a halt. The road ahead was clogged with limos and town cars delivering celebrities to the red carpet, and my driver said, “Maybe you should hop out here. It’s going to take forever to get you to the front of this line.”
I gave her a hug and said, “Thanks for everything, Audrey. You’ve been great, and your teenager is damn lucky to have such a cool mom.”
She flashed me a big smile. “Yeah, she is. Now go get your man.”
I hopped out of the van with Loco in my arms and jogged right down the middle of the street, since traffic wasn’t moving anyway. The sidewalks were crowded with onlookers, and the entrance to the long courtyard that led up to the theater was blocked off by temporary barricades and a lot of security guards.
When I reached the security checkpoint, I stopped in my tracks and realized I’d forgotten one important detail—I didn’t actually have a pass that would allow me to get inside. Normally, assistants were handed one when they arrived with their employer.
As I stood there trying to come up with a solution, a very familiar voice asked, “What happened to Nashville?”
I turned to look at my twin, who was dressed just like I was, and said, “It’s lacking something extremely important.”
“Harper Royce?”
“Exactly. I’ve come here to sweep him off his feet, but I don’t think I’ll be allowed past security.”
“That’s not a problem.” He linked arms with me and marched us up to the podium. “Dallas Jaymes,” he announced, “and this is my date. He’s my clone. Don’t judge me.”