Acting Lessons

by Adele Buck

  But now, their connection was electric. Insistent. Her instincts were protective. Of him, of herself. Of the bond that she believed was being formed. Of the fact that they were now both moving in parallel with their careers and doing it in the same city. She wanted to find a place where they could both disappear.

  And that was ridiculous. James’s entire career was based on being visible, being seen. His entire job was one big Look at me!

  Reaching her apartment building, Freddie sighed.

  Cath was right. They were going to have to talk.

  “Thanks, man.” The moving foreman clapped his hand on James’ shoulder as he pocketed the generous tip James had handed him and took the clipboard containing the thick stack of paperwork James had had to sign.

  “No, thank you. That was some fast work.” James looked around at his apartment, a jumble of furniture, cardboard boxes, and pictures leaning against the wall. A swell of hopelessness rose like a wave, threatening to drag him under. He was a believer in breaking big tasks down into smaller ones, making the seemingly impossible into the definitely manageable, but this looked infinite. Overwhelming. Like the situation with Freddie and his career.

  “Don’t worry, it will all be dealt with before you know it.” The foreman winked. Bewildered for a moment, James thought the other man was referring to his career, Freddie, anything but the chaos in his apartment.

  My apartment.

  My. Apartment.

  The enormity of what he had taken on—a thirty-year mortgage, permanence, responsibility—loomed like a giant, black pit at his feet. Though it was only an apartment and a storage unit in the basement of the building, the fact that he couldn’t wait out a lease, drop off the keys, and walk away was unprecedented in his life.

  Thirty years.

  Where was he going to be in thirty years? Here?

  His mind rebelled. No. He wasn’t going to be living in a bachelor pad on his own in thirty years. For crying out loud, by then…

  By then, if he was anything like Alexander, he would be a grandfather.

  He blinked as the door closed behind the moving crew supervisor and he was left alone. Well, if grandfatherhood was his ultimate goal, he’d have to become a father first.

  Unbidden, an image of Freddie holding a child flooded his brain. He could see it as if it were in front of his eyes. Light streaming onto the side of her face from a nearby window, her expression rapt and joyous as she looked at the newborn in her arms.

  Freddie. He rubbed his forehead and remembered his promise to text her when the move was over. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he snapped a photo of his living room and tapped out a message.

  Hey there. Move done. Apartment in chaos. You ok?

  Reply dots pulsed almost immediately. James waited, impatience mounting.

  Yeah, fine. Just didn’t want to get impaled by a passing chair leg.

  Understood. We on for tomorrow?

  When?

  How about morning?

  Yes. Where?

  I’ll figure it out. Have a nice night.

  You too.

  James felt the ridiculous urge to send a heart emoji. Or a kiss.

  Immediately, he gave himself a little pep talk. Oh my God are you that much of a fool? How fast do you want to drive her to the nearest exit?

  Taking a deep breath, he pocketed his phone and headed for his bedroom. He needed to dig through some boxes and find some sheets if he was going to get any sleep tonight.

  Freddie looked at her phone screen, frowning. Sometimes she hated texting. She really wanted to send him a silly emoji, something to break the tense mood that seemed to pervade their short messages.

  But that felt wrong. Too familiar and cozy after her panicked dash out of his apartment. Mixed messages.

  Putting her phone back on the coffee table, she leaned back on the couch and restarted the movie she had paused to text James. Lying on her side next to Freddie, Miranda stretched, her shuddering legs pushing her spine into Freddie’s thigh. Stroking the cat, Freddie only half paid attention to the movie she had seen too many times before. Girl meets inappropriate boy, gets kissed in field full of poppies. Girl gets whisked away from boy by her chaperone, gets engaged to guy who is, come on, most definitely gay, gets kissed by inappropriate boy again, breaks engagement, ends up marrying inappropriate boy in the face of familial disapproval.

  A classic tale, really.

  Not that anything like that had happened to Freddie. First of all, her family had loved James. And also, with the exception of that summer, she always just bounced from short-term dating situation to short-term dating situation, her job schedule eternally conflicting with the schedule of anyone she was even remotely interested in.

  Until now. But what were she and James doing, really?

  She could practically hear Cath’s voice in her head. Really? You’re going to try to figure this out on your own? Seems like the question requires the other party to weigh in. Just a thought.

  “Shut up,” Freddie grumbled, turning up the volume on the movie, trying to drown out her thoughts. Quiet period pieces weren’t really ideal for that, though. She should have gone with something that had car chases or explosions. Except she wasn’t really a car chase or explosion kind of girl.

  Her stomach growled and one of Miranda’s eyes slitted open, her pupil focused on Freddie in a malevolent glare.

  “Fine, cat. I’ll stop disturbing you.” Mentally reviewing her fridge, she didn’t have anything that would do for dinner. Pausing the movie again, she heaved herself to her feet and went to the kitchen, rummaging in the junk drawer for her favorite Chinese food menu.

  “I don’t even know why I’m looking at this. I know I’m going to get pot stickers and mustard greens with soy,” she told the cat, who had sprawled across the place where Freddie had been sitting, effectively taking up most of the space on the little love seat. “Don’t get comfortable over there,” she said. “I’m coming back.” Returning to the sofa, she shoved Miranda aside as she sat and picked up her phone again to order dinner.

  James carried yet another box of kitchen stuff and set it just outside the door to the kitchen. He had originally started piling boxes at the far end of the small room, realizing quickly that would be a losing strategy. He would fill up the entire space in no time at all, leaving no room to maneuver or put things away. This process was going to be like one of those cheap plastic number puzzles, moving one thing out of the way to position another, only to find that new thing was in the way of something else.

  A sharp pang in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten yet. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he searched local listings for someplace that looked good that would deliver.

  Chinese. Yes. Skimming the online menu, he made a few selections and called to place his order. With food on its way, he felt ready to tackle the bed so he could fall into it as soon as he was ready.

  Rubbing his aching lower back, he walked back to the bedroom. He opened his pocket knife with a practiced flick and sliced open the tape on the next box. When he saw the dark blue fabric of his comforter, he closed his knife and nearly sat on the floor in relief. Instead of indulging his exhaustion, he pocketed the knife and started pulling out the bedding, throwing it on the bed in a disordered heap.

  The doorbell rang just as he was floating the comforter over the tightly tucked sheets. “Excellent.” Told the doorman to let the guy up, grinning at the savory smells that floated up from the bag full of containers that was handed off to him.

  Moving over to his dining table, he shoved a couple of boxes aside with his foot so he could free up enough space to sit. Laying out the containers, he realized he’d subconsciously ordered for two, including Freddie’s favorite pot stickers. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he photographed the spread, then went into the bedroom and photographed the bed, a pile of softness in the whirl of cardboard chaos. Texting both photos to Freddie, he typed a message.

  Chinese food and a bed
to fall into. Ultimate luxury now.

  A short pause and Freddie responded with an open-mouthed emoji and a message. Did you order from Lin’s?

  Yeah, why? Aren’t they good? Even got your favorite pot stickers. Like I forgot you weren’t here.

  A short pause while dots pulsed.

  Maybe she didn’t like pot stickers anymore.

  I ordered from Lin’s tonight too. They’re awesome. My favorite.

  A bolt of something that could have been shock and could have been low blood sugar coursed through James. Well. Coincidence?

  I ordered pot stickers too.

  An absurd swell of pride made James’ mouth curl into a smile. Better eat while they’re hot. Night.

  Night.

  Clicking his phone off, he was about to set the phone down when it chimed again. Lifting it again, a red heart emoji glowed on the darkened screen.

  Chapter 11

  Staring into her closet, Freddie groaned. Digging her phone out of the pocket of her robe, she texted James.

  What am I supposed to wear? Freddie chewed on her lip and stared at her phone’s screen, feeling ridiculous. When did she ever worry about her wardrobe? She was pretty sure that whatever they would do in the afternoon wouldn’t be fancy, but how un-fancy should she go? An afternoon in New York could be anything from a coffee to a museum to a climbing gym.

  Oh, no. I am not going to a climbing gym, she thought. Her phone chimed and she breathed a sigh of relief as she looked at the reply.

  Jeans. Comfortable shoes. Be ready to walk. Just be you.

  Putting her phone on her bedside table, she opened her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans, tossing them on the bed next to Miranda, who glared at her as if she had nearly missed getting bombed.

  “Get over yourself, girlfriend.” Rummaging through her hangers, she found a top she almost forgot she owned. The lady in the shop had pushed her from maybe to yes when she came out of the dressing room, but Freddie had never been confident enough to wear it. The neck scooped lower than she was comfortable with on a first or second date, and it seemed that most of her social life lately consisted of first or second dates.

  This is hardly a first or second date. Go for it.

  Untying her bathrobe, she dressed and hunted for her favorite black combat boots, finally locating them under the bed. Surveying the total effect in her full-length mirror, she wasn’t sure what to make of her reflection. She looked a little punk rock, a little seductive, and a whole lot not-Freddie, despite the fact that these were all her clothes.

  She was about to reconsider and change when her doorbell rang. Taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders, she walked to the intercom box and buzzed James in. A thud from the bedroom announced the fact that Miranda had abandoned her bed, and a few seconds later the cat approached, bumping her chin against Freddie’s shin and winding her body around her ankles.

  Stooping, Freddie picked the cat up and cradled her to her chest as she opened the door to her apartment. “That’s enough of that, Miss Moo. I’m not going for a repeat of your escape artist tendencies just so you can be scooped up by Mr. Professionally Handsome Actor Person.”

  Miranda purred as Freddie scratched under her chin and listened to the thumping of James’ footsteps ascending the stairs. When he finally rounded the last landing to reach her floor, she couldn’t repress the grin that flooded across her face.

  “There’s my two best girls,” James said, a similar grin splitting his face.

  Miranda started pressing her paws against Freddie’s chest, eager to get to James. “Come on in. This flirt wants her James cuddle time,” Freddie said, turning into the apartment and trying to contain the cat.

  “Mmm. Which flirt are we talking about?” James asked, closing the door behind him and pressing a fleeting kiss to Freddie’s mouth as he took Miranda out of her arms. “Hey there, sweet girl, did you miss me?” Crooning at the cat, he looked sideways at Freddie and winked.

  “Stinker,” Freddie said as James smoothed Miranda’s fur. The cat shot Freddie a smug look. “You keep it up, girlfriend, but I’m the one going… Where am I going with you?” She grabbed a black leather moto jacket out of her little coat closet and shrugged into it.

  “Hey, wait.” James let Miranda down to the floor and the cat stalked back to the bedroom, her tail erect with displeasure at being dismissed. “That’s a hot outfit.” His gaze ranged up and down her body, heating Freddie from the inside. “Very hot. Very nice.” Stepping up to her, he rested his hands on her shoulders and pressed another kiss to her lips, a light, teasing caress.

  Freddie took a deep breath, her muscles seeming to melt away as she craved more. Lush kisses instead of friendly ones. The feel of James’s hard chest against her. The warmth of his bare skin against hers. We could stay in, not go anywhere…

  Or maybe they should get going before her libido completely replaced her brain.

  “Damn,” James said, drinking in the sight of Freddie’s instant arousal. She was flushed from her cheekbones to her chest and her pupils had dilated until her brown eyes were inky-black.

  Get going. Get out now. The view that Freddie’s unusually (well, for her) low-cut top was making James consider abandoning the go-slow plan, chuck the date out the window, and spend the afternoon re-learning Freddie’s body in the pale autumn sunlight.

  No. Jaw clenching, he extended a hand. “Ready to go, Ms. Alves?”

  Her hand landed in his with a stinging slap and she gave him a tight smile. “Sure, Mr. Martin. Care to tell me exactly where we’re going yet?”

  “Nope.” He waited while she looped her bag over her head, settled it on her shoulder, and grabbed her keys. When she had locked up her apartment, he led her down the stairs and out onto the street. “I hope you’re hungry, though.”

  She eyed him sideways as they walked down the sidewalk. “Really.”

  “Yep.” Leading the way to the subway, he tried and failed to suppress a smile. “I gotta warn you, though, since you’re a hardened, jaded New Yorker, that this is going to be a pretty touristy thing.”

  “You promised me touristy. So far you haven’t really delivered on that.”

  “Well, that’s about to change.”

  Freddie didn’t respond until they were through the turnstiles and waiting on the downtown platform. Looking up at him, she counted off on her fingers. “Hungry plus touristy plus lots of walking plus downtown. Are we going on a food tour?”

  James felt his jaw go slack. “Chelsea Market. It was that obvious?”

  “You weren’t so very subtle, Sherlock.” Freddie’s eyes twinkled, taking the sting out of her words.

  “Is it something you want to do?”

  Freddie grinned. “Sure. I haven’t ever done the market. Or the High Line, for that matter. One of those things I always figured I’d do…sometime. And sometime ends up being later. Which ends up being never.”

  “Outstanding,” James said as the train rushed into the station. “Because I have tickets for a tour of the market with tastings and then we’re going to check out the High Line.”

  They boarded the train and stood facing each other, gripping a pole and grinning at each other inanely.

  “So how is the apartment this morning?” Freddie asked.

  James shrugged. “Still a cardboard nightmare. I’ll get there. But it’s going to take a lot of work.”

  Freddie’s eyebrows went up. “From the pictures you sent me, the scene yesterday was a serious cardboard nightmare.”

  “You know it. Like locusts in reverse. Boxes and furniture just kept piling up. I couldn’t believe I had that much stuff. After all that living out of a suitcase in a hotel, I was like, ‘Do I really need this stuff?’”

  Freddie shot him a speculative glance. “And do you?”

  James rubbed his chin and tightened his grip on the pole, shifting his weight as the subway screeched and slowed for a station stop. “I don’t know. I mean, I bought a place to live for the first time i
n my life. That’s a pretty big step. It feels like it needs stuff to fill it. Is that stupid?”

  Freddie huffed a laugh. “You’re talking to the woman who got a cat. I think that’s the definition of anchoring yourself with something.”

  “Anchoring. Huh.” James frowned, thinking.

  “Wrong word?”

  James blinked. “No, actually. Exactly the right word. I want to be here. I want to anchor myself here. It’s why I bought instead of rented. The uncertainty of the business be damned. I don’t want anything more to do with Los Angeles.”

  A tightness that Freddie hadn’t been aware of snapped loose in her chest. He’s really staying this time.

  “So you’re committed to New York?” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Instead, she focused on a shirt button at her eye level.

  James brought two fingers under her chin, exerting gentle pressure upward. She lifted her gaze to a button above her eye level, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he said, his low voice carrying over the rumble and whine of the subway as they swayed to accommodate its movement. “I’m committed to…New York.”

  Freddie swallowed, the intensity of the moment overwhelming her. Trying for a light tone, she looked him in the eyes. “I hope New York appreciates the commitment.”

  James’s mouth quirked sideways and his fingers slid from her chin, his hand dropping to his side. “Yeah. I hope so too.”

  With an effort, Freddie dragged her gaze away from James’s intense stare. Glancing down the subway car, she noticed a young woman staring at her, hostility practically radiating from her expression. Blinking pointedly at her, Freddie stared back until the other woman looked away.

  That’s right. Excuse you, Ms. Rude.

  Glancing up at James, she saw that he had noticed the stranger as well, his brows knitting. “Problem?” she asked.