Noah snorted. “What do you think I should do?”
AJ considered. “Something that shows how bright you are. Oscar Wilde or Lord Byron.”
Noah looked intensely amused by this suggestion.
“What?” said AJ.
Noah shrugged. “Byron was only five-nine.”
AJ burst out laughing. “Noah, do you have the heights of the romantic poets memorized?”
“And the more atrocious Civil War generals,” said Noah. “An actor’s work is never done.”
The way he said it reminded AJ of Eudora. AJ’s feelings on her former mentor had undergone a transformation since their last conversation. She wanted to ask after her. There was so much she wanted to ask, to say—none of it appropriate. So instead she went with “How’s your health?”
He gave her a sad smile. “Everything is stable for the moment, thanks for asking.”
“Well, you look…good,” she said and immediately regretted it.
Noah’s expression was unreadable. “So do you,” he said finally.
AJ was shivering; she crossed her arms. Noah raised his hand, and for an instant, AJ thought he might touch her. Then he seemed to think better of it and closed his food container instead.
“We better get back,” said AJ, disappointed. “Dave will think I kidnapped you.”
“Dave wouldn’t think that,” said Noah, taking her trash and stacking it on top of his. “He knows I’d follow you anywhere.”
He said it easily, and AJ pretended that it hadn’t stopped her heart, and they turned away, leaving Atlas to contend with heavier things.
It wasn’t until Noahstrode onto home base to deliver his opening monologue on Saturday night that the tension began to lift.
AJ had made it. Barely. The effort it took to be around Noah and not stare or cry or reveal that her mind had become a never-ending sizzle reel of everything he’d ever done to her was beyond the scope of her paid time off. This was how women wound up sequestered in the Swiss Alps in the care of Freud’s lesser-known relatives.
But it was done. The table reads and fittings and rehearsals were behind them, and as AJ watched Noah launch into his cold open, she initiated her own final countdown. Just ninety more minutes, a quick after-party, and the agonizing Band-Aid rip of his departure, and then AJ could exhale.
With one possible cashmere-clad caveat: Noah had invited Eudora as his guest. She was seated primly in the second row. She looked smaller than AJ remembered her, cheeks sunken, but she still knew how to dress. Tonight’s caramel-colored turtleneck-and-slacks combo was a classic.
As AJ stood off camera near Stage 5 with the rest of the writers, she couldn’t help feeling that old thrill atGlimmette’s presence. She doubted Eudora was aware of her, which was fine. AJ had no idea what she’d even say if given the chance.
She watched Eudora smirk as Noah got his first laugh on a line about how seriously he took his roles.
AJ smiled too. Noah was such a natural. A lot of screen actors didn’t know the first thing about performing in front of a live audience, more intimidated by the three hundred people in this theater than themillions watching from home. AJ could relate. But Noah came from a long line of stage actors, and he spoke seamlessly into the camera while engaging the room.
And he looked incredible doing it. As he gestured, AJ could see the sculpting of his muscles beneath his black long-sleeved shirt. Heat flashed through her as she remembered collapsing onto his shoulder, the way his arms had wrapped around her after they’d both—
Just then, Noah glanced at her. AJ hadn’t been prepared, and he caught her staring at him in unselfconscious adoration.
Shit.
He did a double take, his eyes locking onto hers, and now time was slowing down. The studio lights had begun to dim, the ambient noise lowering half a decibel.
SHIT.
Quickly, decisively, Noah turned away from the cue cards.
Fuck, fuck,fuck.
“Ana?” said Noah.
