by L. A. Witt
I was nearly home before he replied, Not gonna lie – nervous.
I grimaced as I wrote back, Shows can seem intimidating. The reality’s not so bad though. Promise.
Right then, the car pulled up in front of my house, so I pocketed my phone, thanked the driver, and collected my things. Vanessa reminded me—again—that the car was coming at 3:30 and I’d better be ready and packed, because I had to catch a flight to… to… fuck if I remembered where.
After they’d left, I let myself into the house, dropped my suitcase by the door, and took my phone out again.
I’ll be ok, he’d said. Nervous but I’ll be ok.
Don’t sweat it. They always seem scarier than they actually are.
And besides, I didn’t add, you’re not the one who’s liable to break down in tears on live TV.
Guess we’ll see, he said. Looking forward to it! :)
So was I. God, so was I.
In fact, it took every bit of restraint I possessed not to suggest meeting somewhere in LA tonight. He was undoubtedly staying down near the network studio, but I could handle driving back into the city if it meant seeing him.
Except that was probably not a good idea. For one thing, the damn photographers had been nipping at my heels every second since the awards, and they popped up everywhere in this city anyway. It would be just my luck they’d catch us, just like they’d caught me with every man I’d left the house with since I’d started mattering to tabloids. Brian didn’t need that. Not the swarm of paparazzi, and definitely not his face showing up under headlines speculating about who he was, what we were doing, and how long we’d been fucking. Because they always assumed I was fucking any man I spoke to for more than three seconds
So no, I wouldn’t subject him to that. As much as I wanted to see him, I didn’t want this to turn into a nightmare for him.
That, and I couldn’t stay up very late.
After all, the car was coming at 3:30.
The 3:30 that happened in the morning.
Son of a bitch.
Chapter 4
Brian
The bright lights over the mirror didn’t sit well with my tired eyes, and I wasn’t impressed with how the makeup felt. It wasn’t like I’d never worn the stuff; I’d done a play in school, and Julian had practiced on me when he’d first started as a makeup artist.
But the shit they’d slathered on my face today made my skin itch. It was supposed to make me look natural under the lights, which I got, but in the mirror it looked awful. I just wanted to claw it off, and quietly wondered if I’d be able to get it off without a jackhammer or some industrial-grade solvent.
The itching intensified. I didn’t think I was allergic to it or anything like that and the artist probably wasn’t doing anything wrong. I doubted it was even the chair, which looked suspiciously like a dentist’s chair, making my skin crawl the moment I’d walked into the room.
Truth was, I’d been uncomfortable ever since I’d boarded my plane yesterday in Seattle. Anxiety, maybe? Except I couldn’t figure out why I was so damn apprehensive. Sure, I’d had a serious crush on Adam as he’d become a rising star, but I’d also been mesmerized by him when he’d been a waiter. It wasn’t like I’d never met him at all. I’d seen him flustered and tired and human. There was no reason to be intimidated or expect him to be larger than life. There was even less reason to expect him to be an asshole or something. We’d be in front of cameras, for one thing, and also he’d been super sweet when we’d messaged on Twitter.
So what the hell was wrong with me?
The cameras, I guessed. After all, my school play career had ended after my first speaking role put a spotlight on a massive case of stage fright. I’d quit drama at the end of the quarter to take ceramics instead and spent the rest of the year making ugly vases in peace. So that was probably what bothered me now. I wasn’t worried about Adam. Just the stupid cameras. And all the people watching.
As for Adam, I hadn’t seen him yet. Not that I’d had a lot of opportunity. A driver had picked me up at some eye-watering hour, and as soon as I’d stepped out of the car, a frantic woman in a gray pantsuit had herded me into the makeup room where I’d been sitting for the last half hour. I didn’t even know if Adam was in the building yet, and no one had stopped moving long enough for me to ask.
I stared at myself in the mirror as the artist brushed something weird-smelling onto my cheek. Maybe that was the problem—everyone around me was moving at ninety miles an hour and seemed to know exactly what they were doing and where they needed to be. Me? I had no idea. I was one hundred percent out of my element, and at some point in the very near future, I’d be on live TV. In front of millions. Meeting my crush-turned-movie-star for the first time since he was my flustered waiter.
“Hey.” The makeup artist—Laura, I thought her name was—lowered the brush and cocked her head. “You all right?”
“Hmm? What?” Oh shit, had I started hyperventilating? Okay, not quite, but I’d definitely started breathing faster than I needed to. I took a slow, deep breath and let it out. “Yeah. Yeah.” I faked a smile. “I’m good.” I think?
Her brow pinched with sympathy. “First time doing this?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Do this as long as I have and you start picking things up.” She paused to dab the brush in the pallet on her arm. “Look, I know it’s scary to go out there.” She started dusting something onto my face again. “But I promise—Corbin and Lily are pros. They’ll ask questions, and they’re real good at knowing if someone’s nerves are getting to them.”
That was actually encouraging. Up until she’d mentioned that the hosts would ask questions, I hadn’t realized one of my biggest fears was getting out there and not knowing what to say. As if I was supposed to walk out there and cough up spontaneous brilliance for fifteen minutes without any guidance. But if they asked questions, I could work with that. Especially if they knew how to ask the right ones to get even a starstruck and camera-shy idiot like me to start talking. Plus, now that I thought about it, I wouldn’t be the only one out there. Adam was the star. If I couldn’t articulate anything, he would, and this wouldn’t be a complete disaster.
Slowly, I relaxed. “Thanks. I think that’s what I needed to hear.”
She smiled again. “You’re not the first person to be scared, you won’t be the last.”
“Has anyone ever made an ass of themselves?”
Laura laughed almost soundlessly. “You’re not coked up or drunk. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
She had a point.
Minutes later, Laura was done with me. I collected my notebook and phone, and she handed me off to a guy who looked about fourteen, wearing a headset and a deep furrow in his brow. He had a clipboard under his arm and walked so fast I could barely keep up even though he was a good six inches shorter than me.
At the end of a long hall, he waved me into a windowless room marked GREEN ROOM. “Wait in here.” He had a strong Boston accent. “We’ll come get you when it’s time for you to go on. Do you need anything? Water? Coffee?”
Coffee sounded good, but my stomach was a bit off thanks to all those stupid butterflies. “No, that’s okay. I’m—”
“Okay, just sit tight. You’re on in fifteen.”
Fifteen? As in minutes? Holy shit.
I looked around the room, thumbing the edge of my well-worn notebook. It was like a waiting room in a doctor’s office, except with a fancy coffee machine and chairs that looked seriously comfortable. I didn’t dare sit. I’d either fall asleep because I was running on two hours of sleep, or my anxiety would go nuclear and I’d vibrate myself to pieces. Better to stay on my feet until I could contain all this nervous energy.
A couple of middle-aged ladies were sitting on the couches at one end of the room. One was looking at her phone. The other thumbed through a magazine. They didn’t seem worried at all, so maybe they’d done this before. Or maybe they just weren’t terrified o
f being the center of attention like I was.
Adam wasn’t in the room. He was still coming, right? Fresh worry churned my stomach. What if he’d had a scheduling conflict and had to bail? Oh God, what if I had to go out there by myself?
And what if he was here and I met him? Why was that even more panic-inducing?
I looked at the clock on the wall. Less than fifteen minutes until I saw Adam after five years. Five years of kicking myself for not getting his number. Five years of wondering if he even remembered me. Five years of wishing I’d had just a little bit bigger balls that day.
What if this was just a publicity thing for him? His name—and to a lesser degree, mine—had been all over everything ever since the Filmmaker Awards. People had been falling all over themselves on social media, talking about what an inspirational story it was and how sweet his speech was. Had that just been a calculated move on his part? A little aww to endear him to his fans while he promoted his new film?
Now my throat was sour and my stomach roiled. Nothing in Hollywood was ever more than skin deep unless it was a scandal, so I was an idiot to think this would be anything but a superficial play to keep people talking about him and his upcoming movie.
Damn. Now I kind of wished I hadn’t taken anyone up on this offer. Was I just signing up to be someone’s temporary mascot until something else came along to keep his name on people’s tongues? All this anxiety and stepping outside of my comfort zone was for… what, exactly?
The makeup itched even worse than before. Was there a way out? I’d gotten lost in the maze of hallways, but there had to be an Exit sign somewhere. Once I got outside, I could—
“Mr. Stewart?” The kid with the clipboard leaned into the room. “We’re ready for you. Come with me.”
Oh fuck. Here we go.
My mouth went dry as I fell into step beside him.
“You’re gonna wait backstage until we get your cue.” He spoke as quickly as he walked. “All you have to do is walk out, and the strip of carpet will lead you right to the chairs where they’ll be waiting.”
I nodded mutely.
We stepped into what must have been the backstage area, and some monitors displayed what viewers were seeing. As the kid closed the door behind us, the female host—a Middle Eastern woman who I assumed was Lily—was saying, “First let’s welcome Filmmaker Award-winning actor Adam Jacobsen to the stage.”
My pulse surged upward. There was some movement to my left, and I turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Adam before he stepped through the door leading to the stage. My knees shook. One fleeting look, and I was even more of a wreck. He was here. This was real. We were doing this.
The kid herded me to the door Adam had just walked through, which was now closed, and he gestured for me to wait.
On the screen, Adam crossed the stage, smiling and waving at the wildly applauding audience. He shook hands with the man who must have been Corbin, kissed Lily’s cheek, and sat in one of the two empty seats beside the hosts. His back was straight, legs crossed at the knees, and he smiled that brilliant smile that had rendered me speechless at the diner. Good God. It really was him.
“So, Adam,” Lily said. “You’ve had an exciting week.”
He laughed and nodded. “It’s been pretty wild, yeah.”
“You just won your first Filmmaker Award, and—”
The crowd went crazy again, applauding and cheering. Adam blushed, which almost made me swoon. He was older now, and calm and cool. He looked more like a confident man than the half-panicked kid who’d served me breakfast, and he was still so fucking adorable.
As the audience quieted, he said, “That was an amazing thing. I had my fingers crossed, you know, but I didn’t think I’d actually win.”
“You’re probably the only one,” Corbin mused. “After your performance in Haystack, it would have been a travesty if you hadn’t won.”
The color deepened in Adam’s cheeks. “Thank you.”
Lily crossed her legs and folded her hands on top of her knee. “Now, the man you mentioned in your speech is here today, and we’re going to bring him out in a moment.”
Oh God.
“But before we do,” Lily continued, “tell us a bit more about what happened that day in the restaurant.”
Adam shifted, and his smile changed to one that was so sweet, my breath caught. His expression was almost dreamy as he started to speak. “It was just… he came into the diner where I worked, and oh my God, I was a terrible waiter. Such a terrible waiter. And that day, I was just done, you know? I was frustrated as an actor, I hated my job in the diner, and I felt like a failure. I was absolutely legitimately ready to throw in the towel and walk.” He swallowed hard. “As soon as I had a minute, I was going to text my agent and tell her”—he shook his head—“forget it, I’m not going to the audition. I’m done. I’m going home.”
Corbin perched an elbow on his armrest. “But then this man asked for your autograph.”
Adam nodded. “When he told me he knew a lot of waiters in LA were trying to make it big as actors, and it could be me, I—” He laughed shyly. “I almost cried right then and there. I actually might right now.” He dabbed at his eye, and chuckled.
Lily gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and then turned to the audience. “How about we bring him out? Brian?”
“That’s you.” The kid gestured with his clipboard.
The door opened, and, for a second, I was blinded by the stage lights, but I remembered what he’d told me—follow the strip of carpet and it would take me to where they were sitting.
Halfway to the chairs, my eyes adjusted, and—
There he was.
Adam stood up, and he smiled even bigger now. He came around the chairs and threw his arms around me, and all the butterflies vanished as I hugged him. He was shorter than I’d realized—I’d been seated the entire time we’d interacted at the diner—and I had two or three inches on him. We fit together, though. His embrace was tight and strong, and over the roar of the crowd I heard him whisper just loud enough for me and nobody else to hear, “Thank you.”
Chapter 5
Adam
I really was going to break down in tears before this show was over. Holy shit. I’d gotten a little choked up telling the story to the hosts, but as I hugged Brian now—and he hugged me back—some serious tears were threatening. That so wasn’t like me. I could cry on command for a role, and I wasn’t above showing emotions for real, but up until the Filmmaker Awards, I hadn’t been at the mercy of the waterworks like I’d been for the past week.
As I released him, I swallowed and managed to smile like I was totally in control.
And finally, I was face to face with the man I’d thought about every single day for five long, chaotic years.
He was a little cleaner cut now, and he’d gone for smooth instead of the stubbled jaw, but it was definitely him. His blue eyes were as gorgeous as ever, and goddamn somebody had been working out.
Behind me, Lily cleared her throat, and our moment was over. While Brian shook hands with the hosts, I stole the momentary distraction to wipe my eyes as discreetly as possible. As Brian and I took our seats, I prayed I hadn’t just made things worse by smearing makeup or something.
“Welcome to the show, Brian,” Corbin said.
“Thanks.” Brian fidgeted.
“So were you watching when Adam gave his speech?” Lily asked.
“Oh yeah.” With a soft laugh, Brian nodded. “My friends and I watch the Filmmaker Awards every year. And we were…” He hesitated, eyes flicking toward me. “We were all hoping Adam would win.”
My heart fluttered.
Brian cleared his throat, folding and unfolding his hands in his lap. “The speech… yeah, it caught me by surprise. I definitely wasn’t expecting it.”
Corbin gestured at the book Brian had brought with him. “Did you bring the autograph?”
“I did, yeah.” Brian pulled out the book. As he did, his hands shook a little, bu
t I didn’t imagine it was noticeable to anyone but me. He thumbed to the right page, and then turned it so the camera could see. I leaned forward and craned my neck, and, damn it, there were those emotions again. My handwriting. The coffee ring. The words I’d written. My name. All in that book I’d never forgotten and never thought I’d see again.
“That’s such a sweet inscription,” Lily said with a smile. “To my future number one fan. I love that.” She looked at Brian. “Is that true? Are you a big fan of Adam’s?”
Brian blushed deeply, and he glanced at me before nodding. “Oh yeah. Big fan. I was blown away the first time I saw him in a movie, and my friends didn’t believe me when I said I’d met him, but…” He gestured with the book.
“Do you have anybody else’s autograph in there?” Lily asked.
“No one who’s been in anything, I don’t think.” Brian closed the book and tucked it beside his leg again.
“How did you decide who signed it and who didn’t?” Corbin asked
Brian squirmed a little. “Sometimes it was a matter of if I could work up the courage. And sometimes… I don’t know.” He turned to me, the sweetest smile pulling at his lips. “Sometimes there’s just a vibe, I guess. A certain charisma that actors have. I knew as soon as I saw Adam that he was an actor.”
“One doing a piss poor job of pretending to be a waiter,” I said with a self-conscious laugh.
He chuckled. “Oh, come on. You weren’t as bad as you think.”
“Oh, honey. I was. Believe me, I was.” I turned to him and sheepishly added, “I really am sorry about the hash browns.”
Brian burst out laughing. Oh my God. So gorgeous. “Actually, that place turned out to have really good hash browns, so”—he shrugged—“it worked out all right.”
It was my turn to laugh, and even though it was such a tiny, stupid thing to worry about, I was relieved that he hadn’t actually been mad about his order. Sobering a bit, I met his gaze. “Just so you know, it wasn’t lip service. That conversation we had really did mean the difference between going to that audition and just going home.”
