by Kait Nolan
“You look good,” he said.
She made a noncommittal noise and edged forward, hand outstretched to take her script packet from Barbara Monahan, the pianist. Barbara offered him a raised eyebrow and mouthed Good luck as he took his packet. He flashed her an appreciative look and followed Tyler.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, and it was, despite the awkwardness and the questions that hung between them. He’d missed her. He hadn’t truly realized how much until seeing her again.
But she didn’t say the same, and that was a puzzle. It’d been her decision to stay, after all.
There was a wound between them. Brody could feel it pulsing like a bruise. He wondered if they had it out now, as they hadn’t eight years ago, would the wound bleed free and clean, purging them both of whatever pain they’d been carrying around? It hadn’t been a messy breakup. Not because they hadn’t loved. It had simply been that they wanted different things. Her silence had made that clear enough. And maybe that was worse than a messy breakup.
Tucker and Piper, heads together, shot him a sympathetic look. Brody wasn’t sure if that meant they were on his side or were pitying his stupidity. Not that he was even sure what his side was. He wanted closure, he supposed. The resolution he hadn’t gotten all those years before. And that meant Tyler was going to have to talk to him. Sooner or later.
8 Weeks 'Til Show
“I really appreciate you helping us out with materials,” said Nate, sliding the top sheet of plywood from the stack.
Tyler hefted the other end and helped him carry it into the workshop behind the theater. “Being the boss has a few benefits. Among them, the ability to apply my employee discount perhaps a bit more liberally than is appropriate.” Business at the hardware store had been good this year with all the face lifts and upgrades folks were giving to their storefronts and homes. She could afford to take the hit of giving the show building materials almost at cost. It was for a good cause, after all.
Her eyes automatically flicked toward Brody as his laugh rolled out, rich and rollicking. He and Tucker danced around, mock boxing, egging each other on with insults delivered in every accent from Cockney to Russian as they headed back out for the next sheet. Irritation prickled. He’d slipped back in so damned easily with everyone—horsing around, joking, diving in as if it had been eight days instead of eight years since he’d seen them last. As if he hadn’t abandoned them too.
He’d continued to make friendly overtures to her, which good manners dictated she didn’t continually rebuff.
Yeah, right.
It was good manners, taking the high road, and not that some part of her was so pitifully happy to see him again, she didn’t care what the circumstances were. If she kept telling herself that, it would be true. So far her fake it ’til you make it strategy had been an epic failure. Because Brody hadn’t changed, not in any of the ways she’d expected. He was, for all intents and purposes, exactly as he’d been when she’d fallen in love with him years ago. And that made him damned hard to resist.
Not that he was making romantic overtures. And not that it mattered if he had because he’d be leaving again as soon as the show and his job were finished. She’d heard that much through the grapevine.
It would only be two and a half months. She could be the bigger person and tolerate the confusion and longing of this semi-uncomfortable distance for that long. As the understudy, she wouldn’t be kissing him. Thank God.
“Tucker!” Piper’s scream echoed from the loading dock.
Tyler raced outside, Nate hot on her heels.
On the ground beside her truck, Tucker was curled in a ball, arms wrapped protectively around his leg, swearing a blue streak.
Piper was crouched beside him. “Let me see.” Her voice was no-nonsense, the trained nurse replacing her usual playful attitude.
“It hurts. Christ, it hurts.”
“What happened?” demanded Nate.
“We were just fooling around,” groaned Tucker. “Doing spin kicks off the back of the truck.”
“You are aware you aren’t twenty-one anymore?” asked Tyler, running a hand down his rigid back.
“Brody can still do it,” he muttered.
Tyler fixed him with an accusatory stare. This is all your fault, she thought.
He held his hands up in a What could I do? gesture.
“It’s broken,” Piper announced. “I can feel the bump in the bone.”
“It can’t be broken,” said Tucker. “I have to dance.” He tried to stand, using Brody and Piper to lever himself up. But as soon as he tried putting weight on it, the leg buckled and he howled.
“Get him in my back seat,” said Piper. “I’ll take him to the emergency room.”
“I don’t wanna to go the ER.”
“Then you shouldn’t have broken your leg on a Saturday,” she said practically.
Tucker looked miserably at Nate. “Sorry. I would never have tried it if I didn’t think I could pull it off.”
Nate scrubbed both hands over his red and gray beard as if he could wipe away the disappointment. “It’s all right. You just get yourself taken care of. This is why we have understudies.”
Understudies.
Tyler’s blood went cold as she reluctantly lifted her eyes to Brody. Her new leading man.
Crap.
They locked gazes for one long, humming beat. Then he was turning away, helping lever Tucker into Piper’s car. Tyler reached up and rubbed at the sudden ache in her chest.
Things were about to get up close and personal in a big way. It was one thing to keep Brody on the periphery as just another cast member. It was quite another to be playing opposite him, running lines, working on choreography. Kissing.
“Let’s get this truck unloaded,” called Nate.
The rest of the cast members, who’d been hanging around the loading dock watching the drama unfold, sprang into motion again.
Tyler still didn’t move. I can’t do this, she thought. I can’t go back here. Not even for the Madrigal.
Then Nate turned to her. “Thank God it happened early so we’re not having to pull a substitution right before opening night.”
Now’s the time to back out, thought Tyler. Just bow out gracefully and let Charlotte step in. The understudies can take over.
Except then everyone would know she was a coward. Afraid to get back on stage with the man she’d once made magic with. Letting her personal issues get in the way of the mission at hand. Failing everyone.
Tyler stiffened her spine. She could do this. She would do this.
In the wake of Piper’s brake lights, Brody crossed to the loading dock. If he’d seemed smug or pleased somehow to be put in this position, Tyler would’ve felt compelled to kick him or, at the very least, give him a sound lashing with her tongue. But he looked contrite, worried over his friend.
“I’ve never seen him miss the landing before.”
“A lot’s changed in the last eight years,” she said. “Tucker’s not quite as spry as he used to be.”
They both knew that wasn’t what she was thinking.
“Truck’s empty,” said Nate. “Let’s get to rehearsal.”
Brody gestured toward the stairs, a sweeping, courteous motion. “After you, Miss Haynes.”
Tyler swept past him, doing her best to categorize him only as Phil Davis, comedic half of Wallace and Davis. But no matter how many roles she’d seen him play, Tyler only ever saw Brody.
~*~
“Okay, let’s see where you are, Brody,” called Nate. “‘The Best Things Happen While You’re Dancing’, from the top.”
Tyler lifted a finger for them to wait and put her head together with Mitch Campbell over some plans for their inn backdrop. Brody knew the architect from way back. He was Cam’s cousin, a few years older than him, Tucker, and Cam. Mitch had volunteered to head up set construction for the show, which meant wrangling all the untrained help.
More power to him, Brody thought. He didn’t
envy the man that job. He did envy the easy smile Tyler shot Mitch before clapping him on the back and moving to take up her position on stage. She’d smiled at him like that once upon a time.
She didn’t smile now as he crossed the stage. Her face was set in a carefully neutral expression. Fine. He could be every bit as professional as she could. Brody reached for her, curving one hand around her waist, the other taking her free hand. They fit. They’d always fit.
Somebody queued up the music. Tyler glanced down as if checking the position of their feet, which was ridiculous since she knew exactly where her feet were in the pitch black dark. The faint trace of color high in her cheeks gave her away. So she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to believe. Brody could see the thrum of her pulse at the base of her throat, felt the answering echo of his own as she lifted her head again, focusing on his eyes.
She was stiff at first, resisting his lead. They stumbled a few times. He missed several steps. Then she did. And then the song was over, and she was frowning, knowing they botched the number.
“Okay, try it again, and this time, Tyler, remember you aren’t doing an impression of a fence post. Loosen up,” ordered Nate.
She took a moment, closed her eyes as if to center herself, then nodded. With a roll of her neck, she shook out all her limbs. Brody felt the difference in her posture as soon as she took position again. The music swelled, and they locked eyes. On cue, they began to move, and at last, at long last, he felt like he was home. Everyone and everything faded except the music and the woman in his arms.
He led, spun, dipped, and by the time she broke away into a quick shuffle tap, her eyes were sparking with fun and her cheeks were flushed with exertion. Brody found himself grinning, improvising in response, as he couldn’t remember this section of choreography to save his soul. He watched her, starting to follow her lead, mimicking, mirroring as they came back together and whirled around the stage. And at last they ended, Tyler in a deep dip over his knee, her face flushed and smiling, her chest heaving.
“Excellent!” called Nate. “You’re remembering how to move together.”
Something hot and dark flashed in Tyler’s eyes. Brody tugged her up, into his arms, and held her a moment too long, letting the awareness, the heat sink in. No, he hadn’t forgotten what it was to move with her—on stage or in the dark. Neither had she.
Her breathing faltered and she tugged away like he’d shocked her. She looked flustered and wary, which she’d never been at any point in their courtship. It was kind of adorable. Brody was wise enough to repress a smile.
Eight years had done nothing to dim the chemistry between them. She clearly hadn’t expected that and didn’t know what to do with it, so the default response was retreat. But before her brain had kicked back in, she’d been smiling, having fun, just like they used to. He could work with that.
He took a moment, absorbing the fact that he wanted to work with that. He wanted to pursue this, pursue her. Again. He’d think about the wisdom of that later, when he wasn’t in close enough proximity that the scent of her fogged his brain.
As one half of the Haynes sisters was missing, Nate made adjustments to the rehearsal schedule, putting the focus on Brody and Tyler, while other cast members and volunteers provided an ongoing backdrop of power tools and paint fumes. Tyler kept fumbling over her lines, having to pull out the script.
“You and you stupid eidetic memory,” she muttered, glaring at him.
“I can help you run lines outside rehearsals,” Brody offered. “You always did better away from all the distractions.”
“No.” The word snapped out, sharper than she’d intended, judging by the flags of color that rose on her cheeks.
“Afraid to be alone with me, Tyler?” he teased.
“Of course not,” she said. But she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
The chorus of “Defying Gravity” from Wicked rang out.
“Your ass is ringing,” he said.
That earned him another glare as she whipped the phone out of her back pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s Piper.” Pacing a few steps away she answered. “How is he?” The expression of desperate hope on her face fell almost immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Tell him I’ll bring by some soup or a casserole or something. And to behave himself!” She hung up and addressed Nate. “It’s definitely broken. He’s in a cast for the next eight weeks.”
“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” said Brody. It annoyed him that he felt as if he should apologize for that. He had just as much right to be here as she did.
“You’ll make it work,” said Nate, and it was as much faith as a direct order, judging by the look he shot them. “Now get back to places. Let’s take it from the top.”
7 Weeks 'Til Show
“—Jolene helps him use that GPS app to track Mariah’s phone, and she’s down by the trail to the springs. So Larry goes out there, and what do you think she was doing out there in broad day at high noon?”
Tyler’s eyes were peeled appropriately wide with anticipation as she continued to bag up her customer’s purchase. “What?”
“Charlie Kingston! In a car! Can you imagine? Larry caught them in flagrante. I had it from Betsy Newman down at the police station that they nearly came to blows. Charlie’s almost twice her age and balding. I just can’t imagine what she thought she was doing.”
Brody felt his lips twitch as he stepped up to the counter. “I expect she didn’t realize discretion went the way of the dodo with the invention of smartphones.”
“Why Brody Jensen, as I live and breathe. You come right over here and give me some sugar.”
“Hi, Mrs. Landen,” he said, leaning in to accept an exuberant squeeze from the woman who’d been his mother’s partner in Bridge and Bitch for twenty years. He bussed her cheek. “You look wonderful. Great hair.”
Mamie Landen beamed and patted the puffed up side ponytail of her improbably red hair. “Why thank you, darlin’. I’m embracing my inner Priscilla Presley today.”
“Will that be cash or charge, Mrs. Landen?” asked Tyler.
Mamie dug in her voluminous handbag and produced a credit card. “So what brings you back to town? We haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since your parents passed. God rest them. I know it must’ve been so hard for you to stay after the accident.” She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed. She was the only one who’d cut him any slack for that. God love her.
“Thank you,” Brody squeezed back, not missing the carefully blank look on Tyler’s face as she continued to ring up the sale.
“Have you been out to see them yet?”
That right there. That was why he’d gone, why he’d sat and talked to a damned rock. So people would know he’d paid his respects as they expected. “A couple weeks ago.” He hadn’t been able to make himself go back again. He hadn’t seen the need; his parents weren’t there.
“I hope you found the site well-tended. Tyler makes sure to take fresh flowers every time she goes.”
Distress and embarrassment flickered over Tyler’s face before settling into resignation.
“The dahlias,” murmured Brody, thinking of the bright pink blooms he’d found neatly arranged by the headstone. “They were you?”
She jerked one shoulder, staring at the receipt printing out rather than meeting his eyes. “I take them flowers when I go see Mom.”
Every other week since her mother died of breast cancer back in high school, she took flowers to the gravesite. She found comfort and closeness there as he had not at his own parents’ graves. But the idea of her showing that same dedication and devotion to them all this time made Brody’s throat tighten. “That’s really kind of you.”
“You weren’t the only one who lost them,” she said softly.
No, he wasn’t. Maybe he hadn’t remembered that so much at the time. Tyler had been his rock, taking care of the details and picking up the shattered pieces of him after the accident. She was still taking care, even after all these years. Be
cause they’d mattered to her. Because she knew the value of remembering.
Mamie stepped cheerfully into the awkward silence. “So you’re here on the super secret project downtown. What’s all that about?”
Brody struggled to pull himself back, to play the game social niceties dictated. “I’m surprised someone as well informed as you doesn’t already know.”
Her famous dimples flashed. “Well you know I was hoping for an inside scoop.”
“No can do, Mrs. L. I am bound to secrecy.” Brody softened the refusal with a smile he hoped came off as charming.
Undeterred, she turned back to Tyler and took the pen to sign her receipt. “Maybe you can weasel it out of him. Always could get this boy to do anything.”
“Oh, he’s better at keeping secrets than you might think. Thanks for stopping in today. And if you have any trouble with that pumpkin carving kit, you let me know. I also put in a handout with some websites that have patterns you can print off for free. It’d be a good project for y’all to do with the grandkids.”
Brody recognized the redirect and noted Tyler’s face fall out of the corner of his eye as Mamie stayed right where she was.
“I hear you two are headlining in White Christmas.”
“Alongside Piper Parish and Myles Stuart,” Brody said, nodding.
“It’ll be so good to see the pair of you on stage again. Why, as soon as I heard, my Harold pulled out the DVD of that performance of Oklahoma so I could watch it again. Pure magic.” Mamie clasped her hand over her heart and heaved a romantic sigh. “I can’t wait to hear you sing again.”
“Well you don’t have to wait until December. Come by Speakeasy tonight and you’ll get your chance.”
“Beg pardon?” asked Tyler.
“They’re having a karaoke fundraiser for the theater. Nate canceled rehearsal for the night so the whole cast and a bunch of other past community theater performers can be there. People can pay to have any of us sing anything they want.”
