He forked his fingers through his hair. Tried to tamp down the sudden surge in his pulse.
For Pete’s sake, he didn’t even know the woman. The two of them had exchanged no more than a handful of words.
So he best get over whatever spell she’d cast on him. Concentrate on work tonight and skip rehearsals in the future.
Angling sideways to remove her from his line of sight, he immersed himself in the spec sheet as much as he was able to and tried to block out the musical cadence of her voice as she gave patient instructions to the cast.
When the staging part of the rehearsal at last wound down and Devyn turned the group over to Shaun, Aaron shifted back around.
While the chorus pulled up chairs around the piano and the musical director took over, she collected her things and headed for the exit.
As she crossed the hall, she glanced his direction. Offered what seemed to be a tentative smile.
He responded in kind and raised a hand in acknowledgment.
Picking up her pace, she continued toward the door—but in her wake, a piece of paper fell out of her bag and fluttered to the floor.
Aaron sat up straighter. Scanned the hall.
Everyone else was giving Shaun their full attention.
Blast.
That paper might be important. He couldn’t let her leave without it.
He set his laptop on the empty chair beside him, strode across the room, scooped up the rectangle, and continued toward Devyn.
When he was a few feet away, he spoke. “Um ... excuse me. This fell out of your bag.”
She swiveled around, and he held out the slip of paper.
After flicking it a quick look, her gaze zipped back to his face—and all at once, sparks crackled in the air around him.
Whoa.
It felt like the Fourth of July.
Hard as he tried to fill his lungs, they refused to cooperate.
Devyn appeared to be having problems of her own. Her lips parted slightly, and she sucked in a breath. Swallowed.
Mustering every ounce of his willpower, he wrenched his gaze away and transferred his attention to the piece of paper in his hand. “I, uh, thought you might need this.” His last word rasped.
She cleared her throat. Reached for the paper. “Thanks.” As she took it, her fingers brushed his for a millisecond before she snatched them back.
Electricity continued to sizzle around him.
This was crazy.
He needed to calm down. Play this cool. He could analyze what had just happened later, in the safety of his room.
“No worries.” He kick-started his lungs, trying to ignore the blue of her eyes that matched the summer sky in Hope Harbor. “I thought maybe there were dancing notes on there. For the show.” Lame, based on the few scribbles on the paper, but it was all he could come up with.
“Nothing that important.” She tucked it back into a pocket on her bag. “Just a grocery list—and a reminder to stop at Sweet Dreams. I’m addicted to their cinnamon rolls. A stop there is becoming a daily habit.”
He gave her lithe, willowy figure a swift sweep. “Ballet dancers eat cinnamon rolls?”
Amusement sparked in her irises. “We eat more than most people think, although the common misperception is that we starve ourselves. During the season, we expend as many calories as an Olympic athlete in training. But breaks are different. I should curb my sweet tooth while I’m here.” She wiped her palm on her leggings and held out her hand. “Devyn Lee. I know you know who I am, but we’ve never been introduced.”
