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His shoulders ease a fraction.
“The last time we talked, you said those workshop-slash-audition days run, what, ten hours?”
He nods. “There aren’t enough hours in the day to keep up with everything right now.” He pauses. “But at least you’re here now.” The smile that follows is small but genuine. “That makes things easier.” He squints at the camera. “You’re in Stratford?”
“Uh-huh.” I stand up, taking the phone with me as I walk over to the window. I flip the curtain back so the camera can catch the gritty alleyway below. “Behold, my stunning view.”
“That’s better than what most Londoners have.”
“And where are you again?”
“Still at my parents’ place in High Wycombe. It’s about a half an hour outside the city by train. But I’m hoping I won’t be there too much longer. The commute is starting to wear on me. I’ve been looking into flats in Shepherd’s Bush, Acton, and Ealing.”
I blink. “Those London neighborhoods, right? Because right now, they sounds like people’s last names.”
He laughs again, and the sound makes my cramped room feel a little less lonely. “Give it a month and you’ll know your way around like a local.”
“I hope so. But I have to make it through this trial period.”
He nods. “You’ll make it,” he says, his voice full of that effortless confidence he always has in me.
I wish I felt as certain as he sounds.
“I wanted to ask . . . ” his eyes brighten. “Are you free tomorrow? I have the day off and I’d love to spend it with you. Maybe show you some of my favorite places in the city.”
My stomach somersaults. We finally live in the same city, yet somehow work is still threatening to keep us apart. “I’d love to,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Only I’m hitting the ground running. Tomorrow’s my first day with my new coach, and I have no idea when I’ll be done. Can we play it by ear?”
“Absolutely,” Max says, a sleepy but hopeful grin spreading across his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You look exhausted.” I tilt my head. “I hope you’re planning to go to bed when we’re done.”
“I wish I could,” he leans his head against the wall behind him. “But they threw some script changes at us today. They need them to be muscle memory by Friday.”
“Do you want to run them with me?” I offer.
Max hesitates, biting his lip with a conflicted look. “Are you sure, Katie? You’ve been traveling all day. I don’t want to keep you up if you’d rather rest.”
I roll my eyes playfully, settling deeper into my pillows. “I’m feeling good. And I’ve been dying to know what this new musical is about. Give me the gist. I already know it’s a Greek project.”
“It’s a retelling,” he whispers, leaning closer to the camera. “It involves a minor god and his mortal love interest. Let’s just say he spends most of the show trying to fix one big mistake.”
My brain immediately starts flipping through every Greek myth I’ve crammed into it over the past week. Zeus is out. Hades isn’t exactly minor. Hermes doesn’t fit. Then it clicks.
Eros and Psyche. Basically, the original Beauty and the Beast.
A god falls for a mortal, loses her, then fights to win her back through a series of brutal trials before they finally earn their happy ending.
“It’s Eros, isn’t it?”
Max’s eyes go wide. “How did you. . .” he laughs shaking his head. “You know what, never mind. The title is The Winged God.”
Ding. Ding. Ding. I know I’m right on the money. “The Winged God,” I repeat, tasting the name. “I like it. It’s got a ring to it.”
“Tell you what,” he says. “You can feed me cues, and I’ll do the lines. I’ll just censor anything that’ll violate my NDA.”
“Works for me.” I grin.
We disappear into the script. I read the cold, clinical prompts of the Oracle from a half-blurry screenshot and he reads Eros’ lines.
