I give my cousin a trembling smile, unfamiliar sensations coursing through me, and Cat catches her lip between her teeth. In a soft voice, she says, “But it’s not Austin’s heart I’m worried about.”
Elbows on her lap, chin in her hands, she levels me with eyes brimming with concern. “I understand if you want to spend your remaining time with him, and that’s cool. Just please promise me you’ll be careful. And I don’t mean with
My heart clenches—not at Cat’s sentiment but at her fervent belief in it. What I wish more than anything is for my beloved cousin to understand that while the pain of potential heartbreak may not be worth it, actually living life
Regrettably, I do not have a chance to explain that because the doorbell rings. Cat lifts an eyebrow in question and I shake my head. I was not expecting anyone to call. The one person I know here aside from her is Austin, and he was heading home to bring Jamie to rehearsal.
Cat pushes herself to her feet, and I follow down the rug-covered hallway. She pauses in the atrium and stifles a yawn before opening the front door.
On the other side stands a handsome, smiling, book-toting Lucas.
Cat practically chokes on her sharp intake of air.
Biting off an amused grin, I look to the heavens and nod in acknowledgement.
Without taking his eyes off Cat, Lucas says, “I saw you weren’t in French, so I thought I’d drop off what we did.” He glances in my direction as he brandishes the book in his hand like evidence. He blinks, then looks again. “Cool hair.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, although he’s already returned his gaze to my cousin. “Is that your car in the driveway?”
Lucas glances at the sleek black car behind him. “Yep.”
“And you are able to drive yourself?” I ask to clarify, ignoring the probing look from my cousin. “You do not need a driver?”
“No.” A crease forms on Lucas’s brow but he shakes his head. “I’m seventeen and passed the test last month. No driver necessary.”
“Wonderful.” From the corner of my eye, I see Cat’s gaze grow wide with recognition of what I’m about to propose. Before she can interject, I rush to say, “I have a rehearsal this afternoon at The Playhouse, and Cat here was just saying how she wished to watch. We were about to call our driver.” My smile grows as she wrenches my wrist.
Seeing Lucas now, I’m ashamed to admit it’s been five days since he passed all my tests. It’s even worse that I’ve spent all of them focused solely on myself. But Cat was correct earlier in one regard: the sand in the hourglass marking my stay is dwindling, as is my time to help her trust her heart again. It is as plain as the matching dimples in Lorenzo’s and Lucas’s cheeks that fate had a hand in this meeting. And the infatuated sparkle in Lucas’s warm brown eyes proves their job was well done. Cat may be scared to admit her own feelings, but I believe after a solid nudge, she will be well along the way to the path of love.
And if nothing else comes from my time travel journey, that will be enough.
…
Thanks to my quick-thinking maneuvering, and Lucas’s more-than-willing consent, we ride to the theater with Cat riding shotgun and me in the roomy backseat. The uncomfortable quiet between them lasts longer than I would like, but slowly, surely, Lucas draws her into conversation, and soon they are lost in laughter and discussion. As he pulls into a parking space, I can’t help but smile. Reyna would be proud.
The two of them take their seats in the cool shadowed house of the theater with the rest of the spectators, and I traipse up the stairs to the scuffed black stage. The balding, pudgy gentleman I have learned is Mr. Williams, our stage manager, rushes from the wings, gaping incredulously as he flies to my side.
“Wh-wh—” he stammers, a vein throbbing on his sweat-coated forehead. “What did you
I look behind me and then down at my outfit, knowing I look no different than any of the other performers here. If anything, I actually fit in better in jeans, and it must be said they are much more comfortable in the frigid chill of the playhouse. I rub my hands over the rough denim, then scratch my head in contemplation, and realize he is referring to my hair.
Twirling around, loving the feel of my long, dyed tresses catching the wind and fanning behind me, I say, “Oh, isn’t it beautiful?”
He narrows his beetle-like eyes and huffs. “What it is
As he mumbles ungentlemanly remarks and flings accusatory glares at my person, I fight to hold onto my previous joy. Darting my eyes at the growing crowd around us, I notice Kendal among them. Of course.
Stiffening my shoulders, I share—as assertively as I can through a throat obstructed with dawning dread— that the dye is only semi-permanent, which the stylist assured me comes out after several washes. (As amusing as it would be to see the look on certain people’s faces, I could not chance returning home to Mama this way—she’d drop into a dead faint and then send me to church for practicing witchcraft as soon as she recovered.) Unfortunately, Mr. Williams doesn’t seem to think a few washes is fast enough.
I hear a snicker and instinctively know who it is. Who other than Kendal would take delight in this moment? Reid materializes beside me and places a supportive hand on my elbow.
Mr. Williams lifts his hands. “When Marilyn sees this—”
“Oh, chill, Mark, it’s no biggie.”
All eyes shift to Maggie, one of the hairdressers I met last week who doubles as Mr. Williams’s assistant. She fluffs her artfully coiffed blond hair and says, “The night of the dress rehearsal, I’ll mix up a quick batch of bleach and shampoo, work it through, and all that gorgeous color you see before you will disappear in moments.” She shrugs. “It’ll be a shame, but I do it all the time.”
The tension formerly forcing my shoulders up into my ears deflates, and if it would be at all appropriate, I would kiss the woman.
Maggie’s words seem to appease the hairy, scrunched-up monster otherwise known as Mr. Williams’s eyebrows. They settle back into their rightful place, and he shuffles off, muttering something about inconsiderate actresses. Reid plucks a strand of my pink hair and says, “I happen to like it. Totally matches that perky, bubbly smile of yours.”
Kendal walks behind him and lifts a finger to her mouth, pretending to retch. Reid turns to see what I’m glaring at, and she gives him an innocent smile. When he turns back, she mouths the word
Clearing my head from her vile influence, I say, “Thank you, Reid. As always, your flattery is appreciated.”
“Hey, it’s not flattery; it’s the truth. I’m counting on that smile to light up the stage during our scene.” He leans in and mock-whispers, “It’s our secret weapon.”
He flashes his childlike grin, and the familiar blush I’ve grown to loathe heats my cheeks. There is no denying he’s handsome. And I defy any woman to hear a kind word from a gentleman, especially a handsome gentleman, and not preen just a little. But as I stare at my costar’s upturned lips, the only thing I can think about is Austin’s tempting version. One hard-earned smile from him is worth at least a dozen of Reid’s easy ones.
Reid continues to watch me, as if waiting for me to respond in some way. But I don’t know how. Other than a handful of dance requests from gentlemen at a lifetime of balls, Matteo was my first real experience with male attention. And if his abrupt turnabout to Novella was any indication, my feminine responses with him left much to be desired.
Although my lack of knowledge in this regard doesn’t quite matter now—for it is not
Pity Austin doesn’t seem as interested in being my suitor as this charmer.
