“Well, it sounds like we’llallbe surprised to see how this plays out then, won’t we?” a gentleman from the docuseries says.
I grin as the topic continues throughout the table. I’m reminded of my school days. There was always that one popular kid who dared do something no socially aware person would do for fear of becoming the laughingstock. But the kid was so well-liked and comfortable with himself that no one laughed at him at all. In fact, the act would spark a collective shift in the atmosphere.Who ever thought such a thing was uncool to begin with? Whoever said it was taboo? It’s not that at all. It’s great. Cool. On the cusp.
Not to say those at this table are sheep. It’s quite the opposite. This is definitely a more seasoned bunch. Secure in their own status. Accepting of the other forms of entertainment out there, even the popularly frowned-on reality TV genre.
Still, I’ve noticed a collective shift in the room. From resistance to acceptance. From tentative tolerance to open interest and intrigue.
“Dawson’s really got a pair to go on a show like that,” A-lister Mark Craven boomed after the first introduction, gaining laughter and appreciation from those within earshot.
“Whenis this show going to air?” a different A-lister chimed after the second scene played.
By the third showing, Craven spoke up again. “Where do I sign up for this show?”
I’m pulled back to the present as Patrick lifts a glass toward the center of the table. “Well, I know you two can’t exactly let on to where things are in your relationship—being that the show hasn’t aired yet, but I think the two of you make an enchanting pair.”
“I agree,” Shelly says.
“Hear, hear,” others say as they lift their glass toward the center as well.
Dawson lifts his to join them, and I do the same.
“Thank you,” we say in unison. The table is far too wide for a collective clink in the center, so we simply clink those closest and nod to those across the way before taking a sip.
Shelly leans in and squares a look at me. “I always suspected Dawson would follow in my Patrick’s footsteps. Patrick found that sweet spot, you know? That place of balance—growing in his career, but still making family life a priority. He’s a good man. I believe Dawson is too.”
“You’re right.” I nod, hoping very much that Dawson will do just what Patrick has. That he’ll remain grounded no matter where his career takes him.
The ceremony is nearing its final stretch, yet no one has cued us in on when we’re supposed to take the stage for the last scene. But just as the thought occurs to me, James, the co-producer I met on day one, waves us down from across the room.
“Oh, I think they’re ready for us,” I say, resting a hand on Dawson’s arm.
Dawson looks up and nods. “You’re right.” He glances about the table. “If you’ll excuse us.”
“I’m rooting for Libby and Nick,” Shelly hollers as we come to a stand. “And I’m rooting for you guys too.”
“Me too,” a few others say.
I make prayer hands and grin. “Thank you.”
“I want to see Nick turn into a zompire,” another one at the table says.
Dawson slides his solid hand around mine as we hurry toward James. It feels good, being together like this in such a public setting. He really does care for me, and he doesn’t care who knows it. As clear as Dawson has made that over the last few days, the knowledge rushes over me anew, causing goosebumps to surface over my skin and a tingly thrill to sizzle low in my tummy.
I wonder what everyone thinks about Dawson Cain pursuing his rather ordinary ex-girlfriend, going to such great lengths for a second chance. I smile a little as I imagine how baffled they must be. He could have anyone in the world some might say, but he chooses me.
Eat your heart out, Dad and Char.
I’m quick to scold myself for the wayward thought; I don’t want this night to be about them—two people who’ve rejected me in life. I’ve done well to keep them out of my thoughts until now. I haven’t spotted either of them at the nearby tables, but I haven’t looked much either. So far, I’ve allowed myself to enjoy the evening, and I’d like to keep it that way. I feel comfortable. Confident. Not better than anyone, but not less than anyone either. We all bleed red. Of course, I’m not so sure about Nick…
When I think back on what Dawson revealed—that he hasn’t actually known what Nick is—I’m glad to find, once again, that I’m not bothered by it. We’ll both find out how it’ll all go down soon enough.
We follow James down a hallway that leads us backstage. We’re taken to our own, separate dressing areas, and soon I’m dressed in my scuffed-up cheerleading uniform and sitting before a mirror for makeup. The surprise of all surprises happens when Janis walks in. My heart is so happy I feel like it could burst.
“Let’s dirty up this face, shall we?” she says with a grin, her bright eyes gleaming amidst her signature dark lining. While she works on me, we talk like only besties can. I tell her that Dawson is warming up to my cats despite the fact that he fell in their litter boxandexperienced the unwarranted wrath of Moonshine’s death grip to the rear. When I tell her about the challenge to lure Dawson into kissing me and then say never mind and turn my cheek, Janis groans.
“I wouldn’t have stopped him,” she says. “I don’t care if the show would havefinedme ten K instead of giving it to me. You are one lucky woman.”
I grin, knowing she’s right. “True.”
