Then Jacob looked up, holding his gaze a beat too long, and Liam’s breath stuttered before he could stop it. A second later Jacob dropped his eyes to the page, as if nothing had happened.
The room might as well have been empty around them. The words moved between them, line after line, tight as a wire. It shouldn’t have felt like anything—this was a read-through, just a formality—but every glance, every pause, every drop in Jacob’s voice hit with precision.
By the time the director called for a break, Liam’s pulse was erratic. He stayed where he was, script loose in his hands, trying to look occupied.
A shadow fell across the table and Jacob’s voice followed. “Good read,” he said quietly. “You brought something different to the scene.”
Liam shrugged, a flush creeping up his cheeks before he could stop it. “Thanks. You too.”
A beat stretched between them, neither of them moving. “You want to grab a coffee before the next round?” The words came out higher than Liam meant. He wasn’t usually like this—he loved people, thrived on conversation—but around Jacob,his easy charm kept faltering. Something about this man kept unraveling him.
Jacob hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Sure.”
They walked side by side down the hallway. After a moment, Jacob said, “Congrats on the role.”
Liam glanced over, mouth tugging into a smile. “Thanks. You too. Though I’m guessing you didn’t have to fight anyone for it.”
The faintest twitch ghosted at Jacob’s mouth. “No one wanted to.”
Liam’s laugh escaped before he could temper it. “Right. Forgot you’re terrifying.”
Jacob didn’t answer, but a trace of amusement lingered in his eyes—just enough to make Liam’s chest tighten in response.
“Couple more weeks,” Liam said, trying to sound breezy. “Then it’s game time.”
Jacob’s eyes slid to him, sharp and assessing. “You ready?”
“Always.” The word came quicker and steadier than he expected. “Feels like this could be special. Something honest enough that it actually matters. Not just pretty lines on a page, but the kind of show people remember and carry with them.”
Jacob hummed, the sound too neutral to read. “Then let’s not waste it.”
Liam held his gaze. “I wouldn't dream of it.”
At the coffee machine, Liam busied himself with the cups, grateful to have something to do with his hands. He passed one over without looking—fingers brushing Jacob’s in the handoff. Heat shot up his arm, uninvited but impossible to ignore. He didn’t pull back. Neither did Jacob.
When Liam finally cleared his throat and stepped aside, Jacob lifted the cup, eyes steady over the rim as he drank. “You’re good at this,” he said. “Bringing your character to life.”
Liam looked down. “Thanks. I’m still figuring him out.”
“Then hurry up,” Jacob said. His mouth edged into something between a smirk and a dare. “I don’t like waiting around.”
A surprised smile broke across Liam’s face before he even lifted his gaze. They were close—too close. Suddenly he couldn’t remember how much space was supposed to feel normal; all he knew was that this felt… intimate. “Is that your idea of encouragement?” he asked.
Jacob’s gaze lingered before he turned away. “Don’t get used to it.”
***
The first costume fitting came the next afternoon. Clothing racks crowded the room, mirrors catching every angle while designers murmured over fabric choices.
Liam stood on a low platform, arms lifted as the costume designer fussed with the seams of his jacket. Laurent clicked his tongue and tugged until the fabric lay just right. “Hold still,” he murmured, sliding a pin into place.
“I’m trying,” Liam said with a quick smile, though his body betrayed him—his foot tapping against the edge of the platform, never fully still.
He had already been through three shirts, two jackets, and a pair of trousers when Jacob walked in.
“Mr. Wolfe,” one of the designers greeted warmly.
Jacob gave a polite nod. “Afternoon.” His tone carried no more than it needed to, eyes already on the garments waiting for him on a nearby rack with his name on it.
