He wiggles his fingers expectantly. “Give it here.”
Frustrated and at my wits’ end, I blow the bangs from my face and hand it over.
He opens it like the cling film may as well have been a Post-it note.
It takes me all of one minute to realize I have nothing to eat it with.
He pulls a spoon from his back pocket, scoops a bite, and holds it to my lips.
Which, of course, I eat. It’s delicious.
We sit on the bed, close enough to feel each other, not close enough to touch.
“I mean it,” I say, mumbling around caramel and vanilla. “You don’t have to go tomorrow.”
“I want to,” he insists, taking a bite of his own now.
We share back and forth like this, eating through our feelings in silence.
And I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline finally crashing or if the ice cream really is that cold, but I shiver.
He notices.
He hands me the spoon and the ice cream, then reaches for the throw at the end of the bed and settles it around my shoulders.
Now he’s close.
Too close.
“So,” I say lightly, trying to break the sudden awkwardness between us. “Why do you want to be an actor?”
His hand lifts to the back of his neck. He rubs there once.
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Nope.” I turn to face him fully. “Because if you’re coming with me tomorrow, I need to understand your motivation.”
“My… motivation?”
“What’s driving you to pursue a career change?”
He blows out a long breath as he studies the floor, searching for an answer.
Finally, he replies.
“I’m… bravely pursuing my passion.”
His face contorts, pained. Like saying it out loud is physically cutting him to the core.
And I might still be a little mad at him for earlier, but I will not shame a man for chasing his dreams. Too many people did that to me when I started.
I reach out, my hand finding his. “I know that was hard for you to say.”
“You have no idea.”
“But you’re in a safe space here,” I add gently. “A place where you’re free to tap into your emotions. Your soft side.”
He looks at me like I’ve suggested an interpretive dance class.
