“Well, it was dark, so I couldn’t really tell a lot. There was definitely some smoke damage to the siding on the back, and maybe on the porch. I didn’t go inside last night.”
“And you’re okay, right?” he said. “I mean, you and Trae weren’t inside the house making out when the fire started, right?”
“Not funny,” she snapped. “Where do you get this whole making out and viral thing, anyway? We had dinner, he brought me back to the house so I could pick up my truck, and that’s when I smelled smoke and called nine-one-one.”
“Obviously, you haven’t seen TMZ,” Mo said.
“Until five minutes ago, the only thing I’d seen this morning was the inside of my eyelids.”
She put him on speaker and typed “TMZ” into her phone’s search engine. She felt the blood drain from her face when she saw the teaser headline: REALITY STAR TRAE BARTHOLOMEW GETS STEAMY WITH COSTAR ON SAVANNAH LOCATION SHOOT. Right below the headline was a series of fuzzy snapshots—Trae leaning across the table, staring into Hattie’s eyes, Trae kissing her, Trae feeding her a bite of dessert. And yes, Hattie in the driver’s seat of her truck, with her head buried in Trae’s shoulder.
“Oh God,” she moaned. “This group of women was at the table near ours. And then some chick just walked up to my truck while we were parked outside the house, waiting to hear from the firemen. Super fans. They must have sent in those photos. I’m sorry, Mo. It never occurred to me…”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, his tone brusque. “This is exactly what the network was hoping for.”
“But it’s so gross,” she protested. “These pictures make it look like…” She shuddered. “Like we were ready to climb into bed together. And that’s not what happened. It was one kiss.”
“Listen, Hattie,” Mo said. “Better get used to this stuff. The more eyeballs on you and Trae, the more eyeballs will be on the show in the fall. I gotta go now. See you at the house.”
“Wait. Are we even going to be able to shoot today? I mean, it was a big mess when I left last night.”
“Absolutely we’re shooting today. Fire equals drama. Speaking of, now we gotta track down whoever shot that video of the fire that was on the news this morning.”
“There’s something else I need to tell you, Mo.”
“What’s that?”
“That cop, Makarowicz? He came to the house to talk to me last night, after the fire was out. He’s wondering … and I am, too, if maybe that fire was intentionally set. By the same person who reported us to the city for code violations.”
“You’re talking arson? Who would do something like that?”
“Not sure. Maybe the guy whose family used to own the house?”
“Creedmore? C’mon, Hattie. That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But Makarowicz said he’s going to go talk to the guy.”
“If it is Creedmore, maybe that’ll spook him, and he’ll decide to leave us the hell alone.”
Mo disconnected and Hattie’s phone beeped to alert her to an incoming call from Cass.
“Hello,” she started.
“Are we best friends or not?” Cass yelled.
“Of course we are. I didn’t call you about the fire because…”
“Who cares about the fire? I just saw on the news that nobody was hurt and the house is still standing. I’m talking about you getting hot and ‘steamy’ with Trae.”
“It was one kiss!” Hattie protested. “We went to dinner at Sundae Café, and it so happened that there was a table full of pushy fans who took pictures of us. Calm down, Cass. I swear to God. It’s not what it looks like.”
“Who kissed who?” she demanded. “I need details.”
Hattie got up and went into the kitchen with Ribsy following right behind. She popped a pod into the coffeemaker, and scooped some dry food into Ribsy’s bowl.
“He kissed me,” she said reluctantly. “What was I supposed to do? Slap his face?”
“Did you want to slap his face? Looking at those photos it kinda looks like you were enjoying yourself.”
“I don’t know,” Hattie muttered. “Getting kissed by a gorgeous guy like Trae? It’s not exactly torture. On the other hand…”
“What? You’re afraid of what people will think?”