future action figure with your face on it?”
Garrett flushed deeper and shook his head.
“Too bad. Sounds cool.”
Garrett shoved it in his back pocket. “We should talk about tomorrow’s dinner.”
Chapter Five
Friday morning, the doorbell rang and I signed for a package. The envelope contained a passport with my information and a picture of me two pages in, the same image as my studio ID. I stared at the dark navy book and possibilities ran through my mind: Ashley’s dad had arranged for me to visit her in London. Scoop Out had arranged the passport because the next episode would be shot in a Tuscan village. I couldn’t even envision a third reason for me to have a passport. I pulled the barstool to the counter and examined each page of the booklet with patriotic fervor while eating a bowl of pears with cottage cheese.
Garrett came down as I finished. I got up and made him a quick breakfast sandwich with a side of granola and vanilla yogurt. So far, this gig was cake compared to the Fry Hut and cooking for my family. I slid the easy meal over the counter and pointed to my passport. “Check it. The studio got me a passport.”
Garrett nodded. “We’re going to Edinburgh today.” He pronounced the city name like Ed-in-burrow, and then ate a couple of bites while I stared at him. “Overnight, so you’ll need to pack a bag.”
My mouth dropped open. “Edinburgh. As in Scotland?”
He nodded. “Family’s pestering me to come home for the weekend. Cousin’s wedding and the like tomorrow. I’ll need my own cook.”
“You need your own cook for the weekend so you’re flying me to Edinburgh?”
“Aye.”
“I have an episode to tape on Monday.”
“We’ll be back Sunday night.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
He looked at the clock. “We don’t have to leave until one.”
I screeched and ran to my room to pack. Packing to come here had taken hours. I popped back out and saw him eating the crackers with some from fruit from the blue bowl. The red bowl with the sugar cookies remained full. “What will I need to bring?”
He looked bewildered.
“Clothes, Garrett. What does a personal chef wear? Jeans? Shorts? Sundresses? Is it cold?”
“That’s fine,” he said, gesturing to the jeans and T-shirt I wore now.
I threw everything I could fit in my bag and drug it out by noon while Garrett sat in front of the TV. I said, “Do you want lunch or shall we eat at the airport?”
Garrett sighed and shoved off the couch. “We can eat on the plane.” He eyed my bag and took it from me. “Come on then.”
“Where’s your bag?”
He waved off the question. “I’m going home. I have everything I need there.” He wore jeans and a green T-shirt so I hoped he was right.
I crossed my fingers, hoping he’d let me drive. I knew how to drive on the right side of the road. “Want me to drive?”
“No.”
I shot out a text to Ashley as we left. I tolerated Garrett’s driving better if I wasn’t watching him swerve and speed. Enough of the other drivers dodged us, so we made it to the private airfield. We parked and walked across the tarmac to a sleek white jet.
A crewmember pushed a set of stairs up to the plane and returned to take my bag from Garrett. “Good to see you, Mr. Campbell.”
“Thanks, Rodney. This is Marissa.”
“Afternoon, Miss.”
“Hi.”
We climbed the steps into the plane. The whole experience was the opposite of the rushed, crowded boarding at Intercontinental airport. The interior differed too. Inside, the plane had cream leather seats, plush carpet, and entertainment gadgets. “The studio sent this?”
“My family wanted to make sure I’d come home for Cousin Deirdre’s wedding. They don’t want me to miss out on seeing her take the plunge into eternal devotion and legal bliss.”
Family jet. Well, that was one way to get a guy to come home. I tried to wrap my head around that much money and couldn’t. “Ah.” Going away for one night
Garrett flushed deeper and shook his head.
“Too bad. Sounds cool.”
Garrett shoved it in his back pocket. “We should talk about tomorrow’s dinner.”
Chapter Five
Friday morning, the doorbell rang and I signed for a package. The envelope contained a passport with my information and a picture of me two pages in, the same image as my studio ID. I stared at the dark navy book and possibilities ran through my mind: Ashley’s dad had arranged for me to visit her in London. Scoop Out had arranged the passport because the next episode would be shot in a Tuscan village. I couldn’t even envision a third reason for me to have a passport. I pulled the barstool to the counter and examined each page of the booklet with patriotic fervor while eating a bowl of pears with cottage cheese.
Garrett came down as I finished. I got up and made him a quick breakfast sandwich with a side of granola and vanilla yogurt. So far, this gig was cake compared to the Fry Hut and cooking for my family. I slid the easy meal over the counter and pointed to my passport. “Check it. The studio got me a passport.”
Garrett nodded. “We’re going to Edinburgh today.” He pronounced the city name like Ed-in-burrow, and then ate a couple of bites while I stared at him. “Overnight, so you’ll need to pack a bag.”
My mouth dropped open. “Edinburgh. As in Scotland?”
He nodded. “Family’s pestering me to come home for the weekend. Cousin’s wedding and the like tomorrow. I’ll need my own cook.”
“You need your own cook for the weekend so you’re flying me to Edinburgh?”
“Aye.”
“I have an episode to tape on Monday.”
“We’ll be back Sunday night.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
He looked at the clock. “We don’t have to leave until one.”
I screeched and ran to my room to pack. Packing to come here had taken hours. I popped back out and saw him eating the crackers with some from fruit from the blue bowl. The red bowl with the sugar cookies remained full. “What will I need to bring?”
He looked bewildered.
“Clothes, Garrett. What does a personal chef wear? Jeans? Shorts? Sundresses? Is it cold?”
“That’s fine,” he said, gesturing to the jeans and T-shirt I wore now.
I threw everything I could fit in my bag and drug it out by noon while Garrett sat in front of the TV. I said, “Do you want lunch or shall we eat at the airport?”
Garrett sighed and shoved off the couch. “We can eat on the plane.” He eyed my bag and took it from me. “Come on then.”
“Where’s your bag?”
He waved off the question. “I’m going home. I have everything I need there.” He wore jeans and a green T-shirt so I hoped he was right.
I crossed my fingers, hoping he’d let me drive. I knew how to drive on the right side of the road. “Want me to drive?”
“No.”
I shot out a text to Ashley as we left. I tolerated Garrett’s driving better if I wasn’t watching him swerve and speed. Enough of the other drivers dodged us, so we made it to the private airfield. We parked and walked across the tarmac to a sleek white jet.
A crewmember pushed a set of stairs up to the plane and returned to take my bag from Garrett. “Good to see you, Mr. Campbell.”
“Thanks, Rodney. This is Marissa.”
“Afternoon, Miss.”
“Hi.”
We climbed the steps into the plane. The whole experience was the opposite of the rushed, crowded boarding at Intercontinental airport. The interior differed too. Inside, the plane had cream leather seats, plush carpet, and entertainment gadgets. “The studio sent this?”
“My family wanted to make sure I’d come home for Cousin Deirdre’s wedding. They don’t want me to miss out on seeing her take the plunge into eternal devotion and legal bliss.”
Family jet. Well, that was one way to get a guy to come home. I tried to wrap my head around that much money and couldn’t. “Ah.” Going away for one night
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