“Dance lessons, wow.”
“It was the only way my brother and I were allowed to play football. My mother insisted we attend dance class.” Jesse moved Chloe in a modified waltz as the band played a ballad.
“You made me love you...”
“Goodness. An actor, screenwriter, dancer, footballer.”
His smile melted over her. “I’m a man of many talents. I won’t deny it.”
“Humility being one.”
“Yes, but low on the list.” He frowned, shaking his head. “Very low.”
She laughed and relaxed against his chest, sensing the heat of his skin through his white tuxedo shirt. “Was it worth it? The dance classes to play football?”
“Initially, no. But as we got older, Dan and I were famous for our dance moves, and in high school the girls askedusto the dances.” Jesse swung her around, so she gripped his hand tighter and stumbled over her own feet. But he didn’t correct her or ease up. “Just... follow my lead. Don’t resist. There, okay, you got it. Easy now. You’re a natural.”
“You’re disappointed, aren’t you? That I probably have the role of Esther.”
“I don’t know enough about you to be disappointed.” He gazed down at her, sincere and honest.
“You know I am the queen of dying.”
“I trust Jeremiah. If he thinks you’re Esther, then you probably are.”
“But you wanted Sabrina Fox for your first movie. Now you’re stuck with plain ol’ me.”
“You know, self-deprecation doesn’t work on everyone. You should try believing in yourself.”
“I believe just fine. It’s everyone else I’m worried about.”
“Chloe, I’m happy you’re in the movie if you’re the best Esther. That’s all I care about. I’m lucky to be in this position. I don’t take it lightly.”
“I only meant—” Who was she kidding? He knew what she meant. “I fell in love with Esther and Hamilton when I read the screenplay. I’m beyond lucky to get this part. I’d love to know your inspiration behind it.”
The wind blew a loose strand of her updo over her eyes, and Jesse gently swept it away. “A letter.”
“What kind of letter?”
“A love letter. My grandfather’s. Well, great-times-six grandfather. Long time ago.” He drew her close, and on instinct she let him.
“Must have been some letter.”
The band director invited everyone to dance, playing the chorus of the song once again.
“You made me love you...”
“Hello, darlings.” Mom glided up in Dad’s arms, stunning, regal, and elegant. “Who’s your friend, Chloe?”
“Jesse Gates.” She stepped out of his arms with a glance up at him. Would he assume the look, the one every man had when he met her mother, the stunning starlet? “This is my mom, Rachel Hayes. My dad, Raymond Daschle.”
Jesse nodded, his arm tight around Chloe. “A pleasure to meet you both.”
“Jesse Gates,” Dad said. “You’re the screenwriter. Jer Gonda’s directing and producing your story.”
“The one you auditioned for, Chloe?” Mom said, light and lyrical, her charm so warm and easy. “How lovely. She’s a dynamite actress, Jesse. You just can’t tell because she dies in every major role. I blame Raymond for it, really, I do.”
“Okay, Rach,” Dad said, spinning her away. “See you later, Chloe. Jesse, nice to meet you.” Then he whispered something to Mom, and she tossed her head back with a thin, controlled laugh. Then she whispered something intimate to Dad and he kissed her, holding her a bit closer.
