Avery arrived at Stage Nine earlier than she needed to, hoping the quiet would help her settle, but the stage was already alive with noise. People from the art department clustered around a scaled model of the living room set, construction workers stood near a partially rebuilt wall, and the air buzzed with overlapping conversations. She took a breath and stepped inside, reminding herself that today had to move smoothly. If they didn’t finalize the set structure now, tomorrow’s shoot would be a disaster.

Jonah waved her over. “Morning. You look like you slept four hours.”

“Three,” she said.

“That explains it.”

He handed her a folder. “Art team wants to propose changes. Again.”

Avery skimmed the notes. “The room doesn’t need to be wider.”

“They think it looks better on camera.”

“Do they think that, or does Evan think that?”

Jonah smirked. “You’ll find out in about thirty seconds.”

Right on cue, Evan walked in from the side door with a rolled blueprint under his arm. He didn’t look tense, but he also didn’t look relaxed. That middle area he lived in whenever they had to work closely together.

“We’re starting with the wall,” he said.

Avery nodded. “Let’s go.”

They approached the rebuilt door frame. The construction lead tapped the wooden beam. “We reinforced everything. Shouldn’t shift this time.”

Avery tested it with her knuckle and nodded. “Good. Let’s approve it.”

Evan compared the measurements on his sheet. “Matches what we planned.”

For a moment, everything felt purely professional.

Then the art lead hurried over. “So, about widening the living room—”

Avery lifted a hand. “Start with why.”

“Better movement for actors. Better camera dolly path. Cleaner frame.”

Avery shook her head. “The scene needs to feel tight.”

The art lead didn’t back down. “But if the space is too tight, the shot won’t land.”

Evan leaned closer to the miniature model. “Show me where you’d extend it.”

The art lead pointed at a small wall. “Add six feet here.”

Avery stared at him. “Six feet changes the entire mood.”

“It opens the shot,” he argued.

“It destroys the tone,” she said.

Evan stayed quiet longer than she expected. Too long.

Jonah leaned in and whispered, “Just breathe.”

Avery didn’t breathe. She waited.

Finally, Evan said, “Let’s test both options.”

Avery blinked. “You want to build a temporary wall?”

“A small one. Just for spacing.”

“We don’t have the time,” she said.

Evan kept his voice steady. “Better to test now than regret later.”

“It’s unnecessary,” she said.

“It’s safer.”

They stared at each other long enough for Jonah to clear his throat loudly, breaking the moment.

Avery finally said, “Test the camera path first. If it works, we keep the room as is.”

Evan paused. “Fine. Camera test first.”

The dolly operator rolled in the rig. Avery stood to the side, arms folded tightly across her chest. The first test run clipped the corner. The second scraped the tape mark. The third hit a different angle entirely.

“Again,” Avery said.

Evan gestured for the operator to reset.

Avery crouched near the corner, adjusting the tape by an inch. “Try it now.”

The dolly glided through perfectly.

The operator nodded. “Clean.”

Avery stood. “We keep the size.”

The art lead opened his mouth, but Evan spoke first. “We keep the size.”

It wasn’t a victory. It was relief—clean, simple relief.

They moved on to the kitchen area. Avery walked through Liam’s blocking, imagining each step. “Shift this counter half a foot,” she instructed.

Construction workers measured. Evan checked the blueprint again. “If we shift it, the backlight needs adjusting.”

Avery didn’t look at him. “Then adjust it.”

He hesitated. “Okay.”

For a few minutes, they worked in sync again. No tension. No history. Just two people trying to keep a production from falling apart.

Then a PA sprinted over, out of breath. “Furniture delivery issue. Half the pieces won’t be here until tomorrow.”

Avery rubbed her temples. “Which half?”

“Table, chairs, cabinet.”

Evan exhaled. “We can’t dress the set.”

Avery shook her head. “We don’t need the whole set. We need what’s in frame.”

Jonah checked the list. “Couch and lamp arrived. We can build the shot around those.”

Avery nodded. “Good. Do it.”

Crew scattered quickly, adjusting plans. Avery jumped into the layout, guiding the placement of the couch and lamp. She checked angles, spacing, and sight lines.

As she moved to shift the couch a few inches, a ladder behind her suddenly wobbled when a grip let go too early. She grabbed it instinctively. Evan reached it at the same time from the other side.

Their hands stopped inches apart.

They steadied the ladder together, neither speaking.

Avery stepped back first.

Evan stepped back second.

Jonah walked by and muttered, “You two are going to kill me one day.”

Avery ignored him.

“We need to mark the couch,” she said.

Evan nodded. “I’ll get the tape.”

He walked off quickly—too quickly.

Avery stared at the floor until her breathing evened out. She needed control. She needed calm. She needed distance she couldn’t get.

The art team rolled the couch into position.

“Two feet left,” she said.  

“More.”  

“More.”  

“That’s it.”

She stepped into the actor’s path, replaying the scene in her head. She could see the exact emotional rhythm. She didn’t need anyone to validate it.

Evan returned, handing her tape without looking at her. She accepted it without looking at him.

They knelt down at the same time, marking placement points. Their shoulders were close, but not touching. Both pretending not to notice.

Both absolutely noticing.

Avery stood quickly. “Lamp next.”

Evan nodded again. “I’ll get it.”

He left with the same controlled distance he’d used all morning.

The PA returned. “Lighting team needs the layout in ten.”

“We’re finishing now,” Avery said.

Jonah watched her closely. “You okay?”

“I’m working.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Avery gave him a warning look. “Jonah.”

He put his hands up. “Okay. Okay.”

The floor supervisor arrived with a clipboard. “Everything approved?”

Avery scanned the set. “Yes. Send it to lighting.”

Evan walked back over, stopping a few feet away—far enough to be respectful, close enough to still be part of the circle of work.

Avery felt the weight of him there, even without looking.

And for a moment, she wondered if eighty days would be enough time—or nowhere near enough—to learn how to breathe around him again.