Page 17 of The Spirit of Love
Sam blinks, clearly having no idea what I’m talking about.
I stare at him, sure he’s messing with me. “Seriously?” I ask. “Zombie Hospital? You’ve never…”
More blinking. Sam clears his throat. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to stay with you, but…”
“It’s a big hit television show,” I say. “A juggernaut.”
“That explains it,” he drawls. “I haven’t had a TV in a while. Too hard to hook up cable or internet out here. But I don’t mind. There’s plenty to watch and think about. So, that’s your job? You work on a TV show about zombies?”
I nod. “Zombies are life.”
“And what exactly do you do?”
“I’m a…” I pause here, searching for the right word. There’s the one that’s described my profession for the past seven years, and the one that describes my profession starting on Monday. “I’m a director.”
“Director?” Sam says. The light in his eyes is unexpectedly satisfying. Like even though he’s never seen the show, he gets what this means. Not only that, he seems excited on my behalf. He lifts his mug and says, “Congratulations! Wow. I would love to hear what that’s like. When I was a kid, I used to think, someday…” He lifts a shoulder, looks around the cabin. “Nah. Maybe in another life. I’m still barely getting started here at Search and Rescue.”
“To tell you the truth,” I say, “my first shoot is on Monday. Until now, I’ve been working as a writer on the show. So, I guess we’re both on the brink of doing what we always wanted.” I meet his eyes, as warm as the fire beside us. “When you came along and saved my life,” I grant him and he smiles, “I was trying to get my thoughts together for Monday’s shoot.”
“Are you shooting here?” His eyes light up. “On the island?”
“No, back in LA on a soundstage. I just came here to clear my head. Though this would be a stunning place to shoot something. Someday.”
“It would be. I could show you around. There’s so much beauty here most people never get to see. Hidden treasures everywhere, if you know where to look. There’s this mind-blowing reef. We could go tomorrow—”
“That sounds amazing. But I have to prep for Monday.”
“Right. Of course.” He smiles like I didn’t just shoot him down.
“Boring, I know.”
“Not at all. I’m fascinated. I should have known.”
“Known what?”
He tips his head. “You give off the air of someone with a really spectacular career.”
“You, too—no, wait, that was just the blinding light of your miner’s helmet,” I tease.
“Whose batteries I’m currently charging, thank you very much.”
“Nice. A lucky future damsel in distress shall get the five-star rescue.”
“Tell me more about what you’re shooting on Monday,” Sam says, his southern drawl becoming a little more pronounced with his drink. He sets down his empty bowl and leans closer to me in his chair until I can feel the heat coming off his skin.
I have no idea what time it is. My carefully planned vacation weekend has been washed away. And somehow, I don’t care.
This isn’t like me. I don’t have fun with strangers. Especially Good Samaritan cowboy-types who probably still make their own Mother’s Day cards. But even though this is normally when I’d pack up the conversation, I find that I want to stay up talking to Sam, eating his stew, warmed by his fire, nestled in his enormous, soft, nice-smelling clothes.
“Okay, so there’s a boy on the show who has to choose life over being a zombie,” I say. “I know it sounds campy, but I want to direct the scene like it means something…more.”
“It’s a huge choice,” Sam says. “A person would really have to know what they were living for.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you? Know what you’re living for?”
I nod. “My family. I’m really close with my sister and herkids. You could say I live for them. And a job that challenges and surprises me most days. But also, little things.”
