I look at my sister because I don’t know what’s going on to make anything bittersweet, but she’s listening intently.
“As you know, this is my last year.”
Sentimental grumbles erupt from the audience, but the director smiles and bows his head once in appreciation before he continues.
“Unbeknownst to you, for a time, I was worried we’d never find a replacement. The search was long. Almost as long as the list of requirements for whomever would be blessed with this position. It takes a real love of the craft and a dedication to children you don’t come across every day.”
There’s a tiny ache in my chest because I wish I’d known about this. I would have given Oliver such a hard sell. He would’ve been perfect. Although what a wack job I’d look like begging him to move across the country because I’ve fallen for him.
I don’t even know if he feels the same ... I mean, I think he does, but that could just be hope.
The director’s voice grows louder, like the mic gets closer to his face.
“But with great enthusiasm, I would like to introduce you to the new director of the San Francisco Children’s Theater and quite possibly one of my favorite people ... even though I’ve only known him for about six weeks. Please welcome to the stage Oliver Adams.”
My face swings to my sister before doing a double take.Wait a minute. What?Everyone around me is clapping, but my hands are still suspended in the air and won’t move.
“What is wrong with you?” my sister whispers, looking at me like I’ve lost it, but I feel like I have.
How is he here? Oh my god.
“That’s Oliver ...” I say to her, but she nods like she’s confirming his name. “No, that’smyOliver.”
“Wait, what?” she throws back, her eyes swinging back and forth between me and the stage.
But I’m smiling so big that I can’t sit still. I jump to my feet, much to the dismay of the people behind me, but I don’t care.
Familiar piercing-blue eyes lock on me almost immediately. And now I’m so happy that my sister got us seats smack in the middle and only four rows back.
He smiles that boyish smile as we both stand staring at each other for a moment before he takes the mic and begins addressing the room.
I have to get out of here ... to the lobby. Jesus Christ, I don’t know what I’m doing. My thoughts are all over the place because it’s Oliver.
He’s here.
He’s staying.
My hands touch the arms of the seats as I begin stumbling over everyone’s feet, stepping on toes and even almost sitting on someone’s lap as I lose my balance.
“Sorry . . . sorry . . .”
I look over my shoulder, seeing him smiling as he pledges to give his all and ensure the kids always have a safe, inclusive space to grow their talents.
He’s talking about how enthusiastic he is about bringing his experience from Broadway here to San Francisco, and I’m listening but fully stepping over the last person seated so I can make it to the aisle.
This feels like one of those wildly romantic movie moments in a rom-com where both the characters know that this moment is the beginning of their happily ever after.
I brush my hair from my face as I stand in the aisle, straightening my shirt, trying to remember if I wore the jeans that make my butt look good. He starts introducing the play as I take slow steps backward up the stairs.
Mainly because I want to see his face longer. But I’m glad I’m watching because the curtains slowly open and Oliver says, “This is our modern-dayRomeo and Juliet. Which is why, from the lobby to the stage, we’re taking it back to Valentine’s Day, because what’s more romantic than an entire day dedicated to love. This particular story’s about improbable meet-cutes and second chances with a little nudge from Cupid. It transcends the tragedy previously written. Because our Romeo and Juliet are star-crossed, or should I say, comet-crossed. They’re meant to be.”
My heart is beating a mile a minute as the smile remains in place, because as the stage comes into view, there’s a familiar balloon arch and a ceiling that looks like a starry night.
He’s walking off the stage as a tiny little Cupid, holding a bow and arrow and wearing gold lamé shorts, lowers from the ceiling. My hand shoots to my mouth to stop the laugh from escaping.
I don’t even need to ask because I’m positive this play is about us.
Two teens walk from opposite sides of the stage, staring at each other.
