Caroline took a deep breath before she spoke. “What Imeant to ask is, would it be okay if we do other things, sometimes? Other than we originally talked about.”
“Of course,” Adrian said. The light changed, and he waited for the customary five seconds to allow the cross traffic to finish running the reds before putting his foot on the accelerator. “Whateveryouwant to do. I meant it when I said we could do anything you want.”
That seemed to satisfy her. She reached across the center console to put her hand on his arm, and her eyes closed again for the rest of the drive. Adrian felt the tight painful knot of uselessness that had taken residence in his chest unwind by fractions as he managed to perform the small and necessary service of taking her home.
Caroline’s building was a modern high-rise, which he might have expected. At her gesture, he entered the underground parking garage and navigated to her assigned spot. The artificial lights overhead were harsh and glaring as he put the Tahoe in park and unclipped his seat belt. He hesitated to open the door and end the evening.
“Thanks for driving me home on your day off,” Caroline said, hand not yet on the door handle.
“Caroline. It’s no problem.”
“No, really. I know you have your own life. I want to respect that. It’s Thursday.”
“Caroline,” he protested again. He wrapped a hand around her wrist, fingers pressing in despite the layers of down and polyester. “You can always call me. It’s not imposing.”
“Okay,” she said, a little unconvinced.
“There isn’t any part of my life you’re not welcome to,” he insisted. She was the only part of it he liked right now. The only part that worked. “It’s just not very exciting.”
She swallowed and gave a small nod.
He curled his fingers into hers, interlacing them until she looked happier.
“Do you want to go to an art show next Thursday?” he asked impulsively. “My friend’s gallery opening?”
“Your friend?” she asked, perking up a little.
“Yes, from art school. Art openings aren’t very good parties, but I said I’d go, and—”
“Yes,” Caroline cut him off. “Yes, I want to.”
He probably shouldn’t have asked her. He would know most of the people there, and half of them hated him now on account of Nora. And it committed him to calling Mike in the next week, before he had a chance to see Tamsyn in person. But then Caroline leaned in and quickly brushed her lips across his cheek, just a quick impression of warm breath and soft skin before it was over. She’d darted out the door before he had a chance to react, not looking back until she was at the elevator.
He found he wasn’t able to regret it.
Chapter Thirteen
Rima had been right to make Caroline read the play. The only other plays she had ever read were Shakespeare’s, which were more of a foreign language project. The experience of reading the O’Neill play and then watching it gave her a new appreciation for everything that went into a performance.
She’d caught bits and pieces of scenes over the course of the week, but when she watched the entire thing from start to finish at the dress rehearsal, she finally recognized the art that had emerged from all the different departments. The costumes, the lights, the set changes—and her own tiny part in it. It was gratifying to watch the actors drink apple juice and club soda out of the old bottles she’d tracked down, even if a couple of the actors were still flubbing their lines and someone had tripped over the edge of the bar and chipped the paint where it was visible from the audience.
It was nice to feel part of something again. Most of the actors knew her name now. The rest of them called her “Props,” which she didn’t object to, because it gave her a reason to be there. The dress rehearsal’s energy felt familiar to Caroline, like the night before a big tournament.
Caroline had to rush over to Adrian and Tom’s apartment as soon as she and Rima finished prying the props out of the actors’ hands. That was good too, becausehaving plans was a good feeling, and “I’m going to a gallery opening” was an excellent thing to be able to say when Nathan asked what she was up to for the rest of the evening.
Adrian opened the door when she knocked. He looked ready to leave right then, even though the opening would go on for hours, but Caroline slipped past him to say hello to Tom, who was crashed on the couch and watching originalStar Trekreruns on Caroline’s Netflix account. He popped his head over the back of the couch like a prairie dog and made a moue of distaste.
“Are you going to wear that?” Tom inquired, slightly scandalized.
“Adrian said I could wear whatever I wanted?” she said, phrasing it as a question and looking more closely at the man himself, who was avoiding eye contact.
He was wearing a nice canvas jacket and the fitted jeans she’d met him in. Caroline frowned at him. She’d asked him for a reason!
“And you wanted to look like a cat burglar?” Tom pressed her.
Caroline had come straight from dress rehearsal, so she was still wearing black leggings, black boots, and a black long-sleeved shirt. She’d bought the shirt and boots just for performances, but she’d figured the art crowd wouldn’t mind black. Tom’s expression said she’d figured wrong.
“I think I have a dress in my car,” Caroline said, turning around over Adrian’s mild protest and jogging back down to where she’d parked. The dress she’d worn to the spring athletics banquet was still stuffed in a pocket in her gym bag, she was pretty sure. She’d worn it for only an hour or so, because the banquet had been a week after her grandmother’s death, and she’d decided in the middle of the banquet that she was quitting the tennis team.
