“I’m so ready.”
Marie grabs his hand. “Come on, I'll show you where you're supposed to stand!”
* * *
The party scene is simple—walk in with the other couples, greet the hosts, mingle while the kids dance. Evan picks it up immediately. Mrs. Kowalski runs through the blocking once, and he's already counting under his breath, tracking the music cues.
“You're a natural,” I whisper during a pause.
“I was paying attention yesterday.”
He was. He learned it.
I'm also aware, based on the number of looks he's getting from the ballet moms clustered near the audience seats, that I’m not the only one noticing how gracefully he moves. How the curves of his arms show through his t-shirt when he gestures. Too bad that'll all be hidden beneath the costume tonight.
The party scene wraps, and Mrs. Kowalski moves on to the mice. Evan and I slip backstage to check our costumes.
I assess mine first. “I need to take in the waist a bit. Maybe release the bottom hem. No problem.”
Then I look at Evan's costume. The pants are too short, and when he holds up the jacket?—
“Yikes. Okay, let me see what we're working with here.”
“Turn around,” I say, measuring tape in hand.
He turns his back to me, and I drape the tape across his shoulders. Too narrow. Way too narrow. I run my hands along the seam of the borrowed jacket, checking where it would need to be let out. His shoulders are solid under my palms, warm through his t-shirt.
The fabric would need at least two inches released on each side. I flatten my hand against his shoulder blade to check how the current seam sits, and I can feel him breathing. Steady. Even.
“The problem is the shoulders,” I manage, taking a small step back to give him a proper look. “It's too tight across here. I'd have to let out the entire back seam, and that's going to be conspicuous. Plus these costumes need to go back to the Johnsons next weekend.”
“I brought my tuxedo. If that will help.”
I blink. “What?”
“Two, actually. One with a regular jacket and one with tails. They're in the car. I figured we might need them.”
“You brought—” I stop. Process. Look down at the measuring tape still in my hands. “Why did I just spend the last ten minutes running my hands all over you if you had a perfectly good tuxedo in your car?”
His mouth quirks up. “Well. It's good to be thorough.”
My face is actually burning. He's teasing me. He knew I was?—
“You're ridiculous.”
“Is that a yes to the tuxedo?”
“Yes. Obviously yes. Go get them.” I'm trying very hard to look annoyed instead of flustered. “The one with tails. More formal.”
“Whatever you think.” But he's smiling as he heads toward the exit.
I turn back to my sewing kit, face still warm, and catch Emma watching from across the room. She's grinning.
I ignore her and focus on my own costume adjustments.
Ridiculous man.
Rehearsal continues on stage. I can hear the music, the stomping of little feet in mouse costumes. I keep stealing glances through the wings, checking on Marie. She's waiting in position, bouncing on her toes.
