Only this? This felt different. This felt like something blooming.
Alex shot me a wink that should honestly be illegal.
I bit my lip to hide the way I smiled back. Keeping this quiet was going to be impossible. And god . . . I didn’t even care.
By the time rehearsal wrapped for the night, backstage looked like someone had fired a ticker tape cannon into a thrift store.
Kids ran back and forth, swapping street clothes for costumes, volunteers hunted for missing shoes, and I was trying to gather half-zipped garment bags without losing track of which vest belonged to which kid.
Alex found me in the swirl of it all. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t say anything flirty out loud. But when he leaned one shoulder against the wall near my costume rack and smiled, slow and warm, I felt it like a hand sliding down my spine.
“You survived?” he murmured, eyes sweeping the chaos.
“Barely,” I whispered back. “I’ve sewn seventeen buttons tonight. I think I’m legally considered a sweatshop now.”
He laughed quietly, and the sound curled right around my ribs.
I tugged a hanger straight, trying to look busy and not like I was melting. “How’s the prop table?”
“Surprisingly intact,” he said. “Only one kid tried to juggle a slipper.”
“Progress.”
“Oh, and the fake pumpkin carriage fell off the stage.”
“Less progress.”
His grin widened. “Your braid came loose.”
I froze. “What?”
He reached out, not touching me, but close enough that I felt the heat of his fingers, racing a gentle path through the air near my cheek.
“It’s cute,” he said softly.
I had absolutely no business blushing this hard at a children’s theater.
Before I could say something equally soft or stupid or both, a door slammed open.
“EVERYONE!” Leo’s voice rang through the hallway like the battle cry of a tiny, enthusiastic general. He came bursting in, now in shorts and a superhero T-shirt, hair wild. “WE’RE GOING TO TWIST TREAT FOR ICE CREAM!”
Chaos erupted instantly. The kids screamed, volunteers took fortifying breaths, and someone tripped over a stray prop mushroom.
Ava trailed in behind him, headphones on, small and quiet and serious in a way that was very her.
“Do you want to go?” I asked, brushing a hand over her shoulder gently.
She shook her head. “No. I want to go home. It’s . . . too loud.”
I nodded immediately. “Okay, baby. Home it is.”
Sometimes I envied her clarity, her ability to listen to herself without guilt.
It was omething I was still learning how to do.
I caught Alex’s eye across the hall. He gave me a little nod and mouthed,Text me when you get home?
I nodded.
