Then Came You

by Susan May Warren

  “All of you, great job.”

  They nodded and took their seats while the next three hopped up there, introduced themselves, and started the scene again.

  Jason Decker, apparently Nathan’s son, took to the script like a seasoned professional, which left one of the women—Jennifer, maybe—a bit flustered playing opposite of the tall, curly-haired guy. The other woman, a blonde named Ella, took to the role naturally. Not quite as polished as Jason, but she definitely pulled off a convincing first read by Boone’s standards.

  The attendees rotated through, with several of the men filling in multiple times. A twenty-something named Adam volunteered to take several turns. He had an ease about him that diffused the nerves of several castmates.

  While there was a large pool of women wanting to participate, there was a shortage of men who were auditioning. In fact, there’d only been four. The rest were either here as support or just to watch the show—and no amount of persuading from Vivien brought any of them to the stage.

  Surprising, since he’d seen how convincing she could be.

  When the last group left their makeshift stage area, Vivien stood in front of the crowd.

  “I can’t tell you all how thrilled I am to see so many of you here tonight. Willing to step up and try something new, for some of you. Willing to share the stage with your peers, coworkers, and community members. This is going to be really tough for me to cast and I hope that any of you who don’t get parts will not let it dissuade you from future auditions. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve auditioned and not gotten the part. I’ll be posting the cast list on the library community bulletin board by Friday evening. The first cast meeting and rehearsal schedule will be on the posting.”

  A hand raised in the middle of the pack. “Has a venue been located?”

  “Oh, great question. We don’t have our venue yet, but I hope to hold rehearsals most evenings so we’ll be ready for the Labor Day weekend performances. We’ll keep the cast up-to-date on the location. The show will run Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.” She picked up her clipboard and jotted down notes. “Any other questions?” She looked out across the group. “No? Well, then, please eat some cookies and take a cup of coffee with you on your way out. We can’t let any of these goodies go to waste.”

  Everyone stood, mingling, grabbing cookies. The room buzzed. Adrian wove his way in from the front door like a fish swimming upstream.

  “You’re late,” Boone said, taking a bite of cookie. “Auditions are over.”

  Adrian grabbed a chocolate crinkle from the platter. “In that case, I’m right on time.” He gestured toward the woman named Ella, who’d played a convincing Hannah Jones, the truth-telling best friend. “Picking up my girlfriend for our dinner date.” The blonde looked up at that moment and smiled at Adrian.

  Ah. That explained a lot about why Adrian was integrating himself into Deep Haven life.

  Boone turned to watch Vivien work, watched her say goodbye to each of the participants with a bright glow of enthusiasm. He rolled their scene over in his mind. Is there any reason for me to stay? She looked up at that moment from across the crowded room and gave him a wink and a smile.

  Yeah. The more he watched her, the less it felt like they’d been acting.

  Chapter 6

  If Vivien had any hope of pulling off her play, she needed a venue. Fast. Otherwise, there’d be no show and, once again, her failure could go right up in the bright lights on the marquee.

  Vivien Calhoun. Wannabe actress who failed not once. Not twice. Three times.

  Take a bow.

  Not a chance. Not when they’d had a packed house—well, bookstore—for the auditions.

  Vivien wandered along the harbor, the seagulls taunting her with their endless cries.

  Maybe that hadn’t been the best scene to pick for Boone. Not when it had landed their lips within inches of each other and there’d nearly been an unscripted kiss.

  Except, he was leaving and she still hadn’t figured out what she was doing with her life. She was not in the market for a romantic relationship. Nope. Not her. Because relationships meant vulnerability and that—that was something utterly terrifying.

  She’d rather hide behind her stage persona. After all, she’d spent a large chunk of money on acting lessons, and she imagined she was more red carpet than snow-shoveled-sidewalk.

  She’d woken up to another message from Joslyn—this time a voicemail. She’d made herself call Joslyn back. Forced herself to leave a message before she deleted the garbled words Joslyn had left. Yet another rant about danger and roses and she couldn’t even say what else because the message had cut off.

  No way. She wouldn’t let Joslyn or Sabrina or anyone else leave her empty-handed again. And she certainly wouldn’t add stress to Boone’s life by mentioning it.

  She’d taken this walk along the harbor, hoping to clear her mind. Tried to come up with a solution to her venue problem. Instead, she felt like the listless boats, rocking, tugging at their anchor lines, but not going anywhere.

  She’d resisted the desire to TP Gordy’s house in the early morning hours. Or let the air out of his tires so he had to hoof it around town. Even though the stout man deserved it and the extra walking would certainly do his health some good.

  See? She could love her enemies. Look out for them.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she fished it out to check the number on the screen.

  Ravil.

  And, just like that, Joslyn’s betrayal curled into her memory.

  Answer? Don’t answer?

  What would he want?

  Ravie had been special. She’d thought, maybe this time, she’d found a good one. The guy who loved her for who she was.

  She walked to the end of the sidewalk, looked out across the dark gray lake that whipped up foam along the rocks, and pressed the green button—almost wanting it to be too late to answer.

  “Hello?”

  There was an intake of air from the caller. Then, “I—I wasn’t sure you’d answer. Vivien, how are you, my dear?” Just the faintest Slavic accent. He’d worked hard to lose it completely. And it still wheedled into her, pulled her back in time to those long hours of rehearsal followed by cozy chats in front of the fire. Ice skating in Central Park.

  “What do you want, Ravil?” She didn’t use his nickname. Wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  “Vivie, honey, why do you ask me like that?” She could imagine him sitting in the theater office, his suit perfectly tailored. Not a lock of his dark waves out of place. Always camera-ready with his strong jawline and soft gray eyes.

  She pressed steel into her voice. “I’m not your dear or honey, Ravil.” Nope. Because Ravil had turned out to be just one more man who had let her down.

  “What could I say to you, to get you to come back to New York? Huh? You know the stage loves you. The audience—they love you.”

  “I—I’m not coming back.” The lure of the stage snagged her words. Caught in her throat. And she couldn’t help herself… “Not now.”

  “So, you do miss it.” Hope brightened his tone. “I knew you couldn’t be gone for good.”

  She swallowed. Watched a butterfly land on the honeysuckle.

  “I’m busy here. I’ve got commitments.” At least, if she could get this play off the ground. The wind lifted her hair, tugged against her. She pulled her cardigan around herself.

  “What could be more important than getting you back on the stage? I would make it worth your while. Come on, what does that little town have that you can’t have in New York? There’s no fame, no fortune. No fans calling your name.”

  Yeah. She’d been on her way to being someone. She’d had fans. The fortune? Well, not so much. But she didn’t do it for the money.

  Boone swept through her mind like the petals from the nearby coneflowers, tugged by a gust of wind. The wall of strength she’d run into when she’d fled the playhouse three days before. The one-sided smile he had. E
xcept, he was a friend. Passing through on his way back to the career he’d dedicated his life to.

  And what he needed was someone like Beth. Demure. Gentle. Law-abiding.

  “You have Joslyn.” In more ways than one.

  He paused so long she looked to see if the call had dropped. “Joslyn didn’t work out. She doesn’t have what you have.”

  Joslyn’s text and voice message lurked in Vivien’s mind. Ravil fired me too. It seemed hard to believe Ravil would really fire her. She’d stolen his attentions. Taken Vivien’s role on stage. Vivien wanted to ask more—to find out what was really going on. Except, well, maybe now she knew. Joslyn was trying to keep her out of New York. And expressing any interest would just encourage Ravil.

  “Please, Viv. I need you. The show needs you.”

  Vivien ran through the cast list in her head. “Danielle can do it.”

  “She doesn’t have your star power.”

  Vivien laughed. “Oh, she does. Just ask her. She’ll tell you.” Danielle Berteau would tell anyone who’d listen what a superstar she was.

  “Vivie, please.”

  She let out a breath. Because, for all the terrible ways it had ended with Ravil, he’d once been her hero. Protecting her from the dark side of the theater. The predators looking for a starry-eyed girl like herself.

  “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Wait—”

  “No, Ravil. I—I can’t.” She disconnected the call. Pressed her fingers against her temples.

  “You okay?” Issy approached from the Java Cup, tugging her sweater over her T-shirt. “I saw you on my way to the car. Looked like you could use a friend.”

  Vivien smiled, waved off the concern. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  Issy gave her a look. “That didn’t look like nothing.”

  Right.

  Vivien let out a breath. Maybe she did get tired of pretending all was well in her world. “Do you ever feel like you just can’t move forward? Like you’re somehow stuck replaying your past?”

  Issy put a hand on her hip, raised a brow. “Really, Viv?” But her eyes were soft, without reproach.

  Duh. Vivien cringed. That’s why she preferred following a script when it came to all the heart-to-heart stuff. “I’m sorry—oh, Issy—I didn’t mean…”

  Issy reached out. “I’m giving you a hard time. It’s okay.” She gave Vivien’s arm a soft squeeze.

  Yeah, Issy would know exactly how Vivien felt—even more so. She’d spent a year trapped in her house battling agoraphobia after the car crash that had killed her mom and paralyzed her dad.

  “Sometimes I feel like the past keeps dragging me back.” She gestured toward the phone. “That was my old director, Ravil. He asked me to come back to New York City.”

  “Our past can be what we make of it. We can choose to be stuck in it, perpetual Groundhog Day, or we can embrace scripture. Know that God does not give us a spirit of fear, but of love.”

  “I don’t even have a venue for the summer play. Or have a place to hold practices.”

  Issy took a drink of her coffee. “So, the playhouse is for sure off the table?”

  “Oh, yeah. Gordy was emphatic about that.”

  “What about the church? You could probably use the fellowship hall or rehearse in one of the classrooms.”

  In the wind, the dull rumble of an engine lifted off a boat coming into harbor.

  “Hmm. The church. That could work.” She looked at her watch. “I need to meet Boone soon. I told him I’d show him a great spot to unwind.” She glanced at Issy’s coffee. “That smells good. Maybe I’ll grab two to go.”

  Issy reached out, squeezed Vivien’s hand. “You’re going to do this play and it’s going to be fantastic. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Thanks.”

  By the time Boone pulled up outside the Java Cup, Vivien had shaken off Ravil’s call, secured the church for the play, finished her coffee, and double-checked the Wild Harbor work schedule.

  He had the Mustang’s top down and looked relaxed in cargo pants, his crisp white T-shirt molded to his body.

  She stood by the passenger door. “Can I drive?”

  Boone’s head jerked up like she’d just asked for his firstborn.

  “Come on. I got you a coffee.” She held the drink out to him. “I’ll have you know, this wouldn’t be the first vintage Mustang I’ve driven. Trust me. Not a scratch.”

  Boone looked at the cup. “Thanks. You didn’t need to do that.”

  “Please? Can I drive?”

  He hesitated before getting out of the car and walking over to the passenger side, pausing next to her. “Do I need to run your record first?”

  “Funny. Take your coffee and get in.”

  “You promise you’ll be careful?” He took the cup. Made sure the lid was snapped on tightly.

  “Yes.” She held up her right hand. “I, Vivien Calhoun, do so promise to take the utmost care—”

  “Fine, fine. Just get in. Everyone is watching. And you really didn’t have to get me a coffee.”

  Vivien smiled to the passersby who gave her oath swearing a side-eye. “It was no trouble at all.” Besides, someone had to make sure he wasn’t drinking the whip-topped dessert drinks blended with ice and enough sugar to put Willy Wonka out of business. “Now, get in.”

  He obeyed, swung the door shut, and took a small sip of his coffee before wedging the cup between his thighs, his hand holding it securely in place.

  Vivien dropped her sunglasses down over her eyes. “Buckle up, Buttercup. I have a surprise for you.”

  “Where are we going?” He slid his hand onto the door armrest, his fingers gripping the vinyl handle.

  “Somewhere.” She laughed. “I’ve solved my venue problem. Well, Issy solved it. We’ll use the church.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  She paused to look for traffic, then accelerated out of the parking lot.

  “Easy, Danika. See those red octagons? They actually mean stop, which, you may not realize, means a complete and total lack of forward motion.”

  She shot him a wide grin. “You haven’t told me how your appointment went yesterday. Sorry—I kind of had tunnel vision about the auditions.”

  “Ehh.” He relaxed his grip on the door handle. “Moderately better than a root canal.”

  “Oh, that good, huh?” Vivien loved the feel of the Mustang. It wasn’t modern-car smooth. No, it required finesse. And that said something about its owner.

  She cranked up the radio and it wasn’t long before Boone’s fingers were tapping the beat on his coffee lid and he joined her on the chorus—maybe despite himself because he gave a shy smile and stopped when she glanced over.

  She pulled into Honeymoon Bluff, parked the car facing the vast expanse of Lake Superior, and cut the engine. “I got a call from New York this morning.”

  The sun shone down, turning the lake to a rich blue. The wind reaped the pine scent from the trees.

  “About?”

  “I was asked to come back to the show. Ravil said Joslyn—the understudy who’d taken my role—is out.”

  The water sparkled in the late-morning light. “Ravil?”

  “Ravil Kozlovsky. He’s Russian. Brilliant actor. Great director. Terrible boyfriend.”

  Boone visibly winced. “Of course, a Russian,” he muttered, followed by something unintelligible.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Your ex-boyfriend called you and asked you back to New York City?”

  “Yeah. Can you believe the nerve?” Vivien opened the car door and stepped out onto the gravel. Walked toward the overlook. Boone joined her, coffee cup in hand. “He’s a lousy, two-timing scoundrel.” And there was that familiar sting. The nausea. The choking sense of betrayal.

  “You okay?”

  She looked up, found Boone’s eyes on her. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I just—I just have a history with men and it’s not a good one. Ravil—he’s no different.” She cros
sed her arms, leaning against the railing. “He chose Joslyn Vanderburg over me. Decided she would get him what he wanted. When that didn’t work out, he apparently dropped her too. Now he wants me back. Like, why would I go back to that?” She looked over at her companion, considering whether or not she should share Joslyn’s cryptic messages. His features had softened over the past few days. In fact, he had a lightness about him.

  Law and Order was here to relax. She stuffed Joslyn’s messages right back where they belonged.

  “So, you’re not going back?” Boone took a sip of coffee. The wind played with his blond hair, the sleeves of his shirt.

  “No. I’m not going back. I—we—have a show to put on. I told him to use one of the others—Danielle Berteau has been an understudy for several shows. There’s a girl with ‘diva’ written all over herself.” She shifted her position against the rail. “What about you? Mr. Not-a-Serial-Killer.” Her conversation with Adrian in the bookstore lingered in her mind. I heard she even turned down Boone’s marriage proposal. PJ moved on, but it seems like the guy’s been stuck.

  Though, he did have those lethal blue eyes.

  “Oh, not much to tell.”

  Right. “You must have a girl back home.” She prodded, knowing he didn’t.

  “No. No girl.” He pinched his lips together.

  “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? I’ve gotten more information out of sidewalk mimes than that.”

  He was silent a long time. Then, “There was a girl a long time ago. The first time I got the nerve to ask her out was in seventh grade. I asked her to the winter dance in the most seventh-grade-boy way. Mumbled it on the school bus.”

  “Lucky girl.”

  “She said no.” He took a few steps farther down the viewpoint railing. Glanced up at a red-tailed hawk soaring overhead. She joined him and he turned back to her. “But I’m not one to give up. Even though she was way out of my league, I asked her again three years later to homecoming.”

  “You waited three years for that girl to say yes?” Oh, this was far worse than she thought.