The next two hours passed in a quiet flurry of creative energy. Harper perched on a throne-like chair in Ivy’s art studio, shifting between various poses under Ivy’s gentle direction. Sometimes, she lounged lazily, draping herself over the chair’s arm, her legs dangling over the side. Other times, she straightened up, her back taut and her expression regal, as though she were born to command.

Ivy worked with practiced ease, her pencil gliding over the sketchpad in swift, sure strokes. Her amber eyes flitted between Harper and the page, capturing the essence of each pose. When Ivy finally set her pencil down, she beckoned Harper over with an excited wave.

“Come look,” Ivy said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.

Harper stood, stretching out the stiffness in her shoulders before joining Ivy at the desk. Together, they pored over the sketches, Harper marveling at how effortlessly Ivy had translated her into art.

“These are incredible,” Harper said, her fingers brushing the edges of the paper.

“Thanks,” Ivy replied, a shy smile playing at her lips. “I think these will help with the next stage. We’ll do some smaller-scale paintings to figure out the final colors and composition. How about this one?” She pointed to a sketch of Harper leaning back, her head tilted as though caught in the middle of a laugh.

“Definitely that one,” Harper said, grinning. “It’s perfect.”

By mid-morning, the stillness of the cottage gave way to the hum of activity as the production crew arrived. Cars pulled up one after another, unloading cameras, lighting rigs, and other equipment. Kim, clipboard in hand, bustled through the house, barking instructions and scanning the schedule.

It didn’t take her long to track down Harper and Ivy in the studio, where they were immersed in their work. Kim’s sharp eyes softened for a moment as she watched the scene—Harper leaning over Ivy’s sketches, their heads close together in quiet conversation. She motioned for the crew to set up around them, directing them to preserve the tranquil, intimate atmosphere of the space.

When the clock struck noon, Ivy suggested breaking for lunch. Kim, ever the opportunist, lit up at Ivy’s offer to cook something herself, envisioning content gold in the domesticity of it all. “And Harper should help!” Kim added, clasping her hands together as if the idea were divine inspiration.

Ivy chuckled, tying an apron around her waist. “Mushroom pasta sound good?”

Harper’s stomach growled in response, and she nodded enthusiastically. “You had me at mushroom.”

The kitchen came alive with the comforting sounds of sizzling butter and the rhythmic chop of a knife. Harper stood at the counter, peeling garlic while Ivy worked her magic over the stove. Their conversation flowed as naturally as the ingredients in the pan—talk of the sketches, ideas for the painting, and lighthearted teasing about Harper’s chopping skills.

When the meal was ready, Ivy plated the pasta with a flourish while Harper set the table. The crew shot the whole scene, their cameras discreetly capturing the easy rhythm between the two women.

Over lunch, the atmosphere grew even cosier. Ivy shared stories about her love of cooking, and Harper leaned in, hanging on every word. By the time the plates were empty, the crew declared they had more than enough footage for several videos and began to pack up.

Before they left, Ivy disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tin of cookies she’d baked the night before. She handed them out to the crew, her warm smile and thoughtful gesture earning her a chorus of thanks.

“You’ve got a natural star here,” one crew member joked to Kim. “And Harper’s really stepping it up. She’s always professional, but this time, it’s like she’s actually in love. Amazing chemistry.”

Ivy laughed politely, but the comment lingered, a seed of unease taking root in her mind. Was it just an act?

As the last of the crew packed up their gear, Harper lingered by the door, waiting for her turn to say goodbye. When it was just the two of them, Harper stepped closer, opening her arms for a hug.

But Ivy hesitated. Her amber eyes flicked to Harper’s, and she took a small step back, her posture suddenly more formal. “Thanks for today, Harper. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harper froze, her arms lowering slowly. The coolness in Ivy’s tone caught her off guard, leaving her unsettled. “Yeah... sure,” she said, forcing a smile.

She turned and walked to her car, her mind racing. Had she done something wrong? The easy connection they’d shared all day now felt like a fragile thread, fraying at the edges.

As Harper drove away, the warmth of the morning gave way to a chill that settled deep in her chest, an unease she couldn’t quite shake.