First message
The first week of filming had taught Harry several things.
The director was incapable of giving concise notes. His co-star drank an alarming amount of coffee. And the wardrobe department seemed determined to make every costume he wore uncomfortable in at least one specific place.
He’d just finished a scene and slipped into the small changing room, already pulling his shirt over his head when the door opened.
Harry froze.
One of the wardrobe girls stood there, a garment bag clutched against her chest. Her eyes widened before immediately dropping to the floor, a blush spreading rapidly across her cheeks.
“Oh—God. I’m sorry.”
She stumbled backward, reaching blindly for the door.
Only to knock an entire stack of garment boxes from the nearby table.
They crashed loudly onto the floor.
She went completely still.
Harry stared.
She stared at the mess.
Then at him.
“I’m—I’m so sorry— I’ll come back for that.”
And she disappeared around the corner before he could say anything else.
Harry remained in the doorway, shirt still half-undone, staring after her.
He’d seen her around set all week. Quiet little thing. Always carrying pins, garment bags, coffee—whatever the wardrobe department needed. He didn’t know her name.
Apparently, he knew something else now.
She blushed spectacularly.
A slow grin pulled at his mouth.
Interesting.