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"Can I get an autograph from the famous Ms. Myers?" Michael asked happily, offering that devastatingly charming smile.
Emma's breath hitched, but seeing the playful glint in his eyes helped ground her.
The frantic buzzing in her head dialed down to a manageable hum. She offered a shy, genuine smile in return.
"I think I should be the one asking you that," Emma softly replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Fair enough," Michael chuckled, gesturing to the empty canvas chair beside him. "Take a seat. The ground here is notoriously uneven, and I'd hate for my leading lady to sprain an ankle."
Emma hesitated for only a second before sitting down next to him.
Almost instantly, the heavy, suffocating awkwardness between them dissolved.
Michael leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracking a crew member who was violently pumping a massive, industrial-grade smoke machine right next to the woods. A thick, opaque cloud of grey smog was slowly rolling over the fake grass.
"I'm convinced your director has a personal vendetta against clear visibility," Michael observed dryly, crossing his arms. "Or he's secretly trying to hotbox the entire county of Somerset."
Emma let out a sudden, bright laugh, covering her mouth.
"It's not fog," she corrected, using air quotes. "It's 'atmospheric tension.' At least, that's what the cinematographer told me right before I inhaled a lungful of artificial, berry-flavored vapor."
"Berry?" Michael raised an eyebrow, taking a performative sniff of the air. "I was guessing burnt cotton candy with a hint of exhaust pipe. It pairs beautifully with the lingering smell of my impending nicotine withdrawal."
Emma bumped her shoulder playfully against his arm, surprising herself with her own boldness. "Well, considering you survived the Great Vanity Van Incident of Tuesday, I think you can survive the cotton candy smog. You're tougher than you look."
"Barely," Michael deadpanned, though his eyes were sparkling with amusement. "My ego is still in intensive care. It is very humbling to be ruthlessly disciplined by a girl wearing an oversized detective trench coat. You were absolutely terrifying, for the record. I thought you were going to put me in a headlock."
Emma threw her head back and laughed, the sound warm and melodic.
Michael found himself staring at the way her nose crinkled when she smiled.
He quickly looked away at a crew members, suddenly feeling very hyper-aware of his own heartbeat.
"To be fair, the trench coat gives me unearned confidence though it is not part of Pip's outfit," Emma admitted, leaning a little closer, her voice dropping into a whisper. "Take it off, and I'm just a girl who tripped over the same heavy-duty power cable twice this morning. In front of the entire sound department."
"Only twice?" Michael asked, feigning deep, impressed shock. "That's professional-level coordination. You are a physical marvel, Emma. As an author, my biggest occupational hazard is carpal tunnel and occasionally dropping a heavy hardcover on my own foot. If I tried to walk through that cable minefield out there, I'd end up in a full body cast."
"Oh, please," Emma smirked, looking him up and down. He was wearing a normal a jacket that made him look like he belonged on the cover of GQ, not sitting in a muddy field. "You look like you never trip. You look like you just dramatically glide everywhere."
"I do glide," Michael nodded solemnly, leaning in so their faces were just inches apart. "It's a requirement when you reach the New York Times Bestseller list. They revoke your walking privileges and issue you a hoverboard. It's in the contract."
Emma bit her lip, trying to suppress her giggles, but her eyes were shining.
She looked right into his dark eyes, and for a fleeting, electric second, neither of them said a word. The sarcastic banter faded, replaced by a heavy, magnetic pull. Emma felt her stomach had a dozen butterflies.
"He is so incredibly funny," she thought, her heart racing. "And he smells really good. Like expensive cologne and old books."
Michael stared back, completely mesmerized by the little gold flecks in her hazel eyes.
"Say something witty," his brain commanded. "Do not just sit here staring at her."
He cleared his throat, leaning back slightly to break the overwhelming tension, though the charming smile never left his face.
He watched her for another moment, piecing together a memory that had been nagging at the back of his mind since he first saw her laugh.
"By the way," Michael said casually, resting his ankle on his knee. "Tell your sister she owes me a new laptop."
Emma blinked, her laugh fading into a look of absolute bewilderment. "What? How do you know my sister? And what laptop?"
Michael smiled, a nostalgic look crossing his features.
Michael had a very peculiar habit. Whenever he was writing, he entered a state of absolute tunnel vision.
A bomb could go off next to him, and he wouldn't look up from his keyboard. But a few months ago, while sitting in a cafe, that focus had broken. He had glanced up and seen a girl sitting right beside him with her two siblings. It was Emma. But he didn't stared and it was just a glance.
Watching Michael's amused expression, the gears in Emma's head slowly started to turn.
A fuzzy memory of a guy typing furiously at a cafe suddenly snapped into sharp focus.
Her jaw dropped. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed in a wildly high-pitched voice, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "It was you! In the park, sitting! In the cafe, typing!"
"Guilty as charged," Michael grinned.
"Oh, wow. That is an insane coincidence," Emma said, leaning in closer, feeling entirely comfortable now. She playfully narrowed her eyes at him. "Wait a minute. Were you stalking me?"
Michael didn't miss a beat.
He looked her right in the eyes, his voice dropping slightly.
"Well, becoming your stalker was certainly a distinct possibility, considering how incredibly beautiful and successful you are. But alas, it really was just a coincidence. I live in Florida too."
Emma's eyes went wide. "Wait... you live in Florida? All this time I could have just driven to your house and met you?!"
"You can come over now, too," Michael offered smoothly, his charming smile returning in full force. "I make a surprisingly excellent cup of coffee."
A furious blush returned to Emma's cheeks, but this time, she didn't want to hide it.
They continued to flirt, the banter light and electric, until the distant sound of the assistant director shouting "First positions!" echoed across the field.
Emma groaned quietly. "I have to go. If I'm not there, they'll just start shooting without me, and I'll get yelled at."
She clearly didn't want to leave the chair.
She stood up reluctantly, turning back to look at him.
She deployed a weapon she didn't even know she possessed: the ultimate, expectant puppy-dog eyes.
"Are you... are you going to come to the set every day?" she asked softly.
Michael looked at those big, hopeful eyes and felt his heart do a pumping more blood than ever.
He thought for a second. "Well, maybe not every single day. I do have some work. But I will be staying in England for a while."
Emma's face instantly glowed like she had swallowed a sunbeam. She was so overwhelmingly excited that she instinctively leaned forward, arms raising to pull him into a massive hug.
At the very last millisecond, she realized what she was doing, froze awkwardly in mid-air, and quickly converted the motion into a bizarre, aggressive wave.
"Okay! Great! I will... talk to you tomorrow, then!" she stammered, spinning around to quickly walk away before she died of embarrassment.
Michael stood by his chair, watching her retreat.
"Ask her," his brain commanded. "You are a bestselling author. Put some words together."
Before he could overthink it, his mouth opened automatically.
"Emma," Michael called out.
Emma stopped and turned around, looking hopeful.
Michael took a few steps toward her, suddenly feeling an emotion: pure, unadulterated nervousness.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Listen, I... I have literally never asked for someone's phone number like this before," Michael admitted, his voice carrying a genuine, vulnerable tremble.
"But, if it's alright with you... can I have your's?"
Emma was absolutely thrilled.
Her heart hammered a chaotic victory march against her ribs.
"Yes! Of course!"
She instantly whipped her phone out of her jacket pocket.
Michael pulled his out at the exact same time.
They both looked down.
"Wait," Michael laughed. "You have a Samsung S23 Ultra?"
"You have an S23 Ultra too?!" Emma gasped, looking at his identical device.
They both burst out laughing at the bizarre coincidence.
As Emma dictated her number, Michael looked up from his screen.
He caught her gaze, and time seemed to stop entirely. He was absolutely mesmerized. Up close, in the natural sunlight, her hazel grey eyes were stunning.
"She is perfect," he gushed in his mind, completely lost in the warmth of her gaze.
"She is genuinely the most beautiful girl I have ever seen."
Emma, still laughing, looked back into his dark, intense eyes. Her thoughts was having a full-blown crisis.
"Is this just a crush? Is this a celebrity crush because he wrote my favorite book?" She looked at his charming smile. No. This is a huge, massive, completely terrifying, real-life crush."
"Got it," Michael said softly, saving her contact.
"Great! I really have to run!" Emma beamed, pointing her thumb toward the set. "See you, Michael!"
"See you, Emma."
He watched her sprint happily toward the cameras. He was still staring at the spot where she had been standing when a voice suddenly whispered right into his ear.
"Yep. You are in love."
Michael violently jumped, nearly dropping his phone. Evans had popped out from behind a him like a perfectly groomed ninja.
"You would never talk to a girl like that," Evans said, nodding sagely, crossing his arms. "The stuttering? The blushing? The 'I've never asked for a number before' routine? Textbook. You're done for."
"Shut up, Evans," Michael sighed, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He stared at his manager for a moment, thinking. "By the way, when do we actually have to go back to America?"
Evans shrugged casually. "I haven't even looked at flights. Honestly, I haven't bought tickets. I was thinking we could just treat this as an extended vacation for the both of us."
Michael raised a single, skeptical eyebrow. "An extended vacation? Or are you just running away from your pregnant wife because you don't want to build the IKEA crib?"
Evans's face went pale.
He immediately began babbling incoherently, his hands waving in the air. "It's not running away! It's strategic distancing! The instructions are in Swedish, Michael! They gave me an Allen wrench that doesn't fit anything! The nursery is a danger zone! She threatened me with a diaper!"
Michael just smirked, turning his attention back toward the set, his mind already miles away, thinking about a pair of hazel grey eyes.
"Let's go, you have a shoot to attend to... I still can't believe you are not going to sell that book," Evans said, looking at Michael.