As soon as Piper hissed a breath, Tyler knew she hadn’t misread it.
Phil Davis Understudy-Brody Jensen.
“This isn’t funny,” she said. “What the hell is Nate pulling?”
“It’s not meant to be funny,” said Tucker. “He showed up for auditions.”
“How? I was there, Tucker. I didn’t see him.”
“You left early,” he said, shrugging.
Goddamn it, he’s going to ruin this for me too. It took everything in her not to rock back and lean against the doors for support.
“And you didn’t think it wise to maybe mention it?” Tyler glared at him.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” said Tucker gently. And she hated it. Hated that he saw the need to be gentle about this. Hated that there was a need to be gentle.
Piper put an arm around her. “Too late for that. Corinne came in the shop to drop the bomb that he was back. It would’ve been better coming from you.”
“Shit.”
Tyler closed her eyes and waited for the world to settle again. This wasn’t okay. This was so far beyond not okay. How dare he show up now, after all these years. How dare he audition for the show as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t disappeared with a word, without a trace, without a freaking goodbye.
She steeled her spine. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.
“It’s fine,” she said. “It’s fine.” If she said it enough, it would become true. “The theater is what matters here. The show. I’m not going to let a little bit of history ruin the Madrigal’s chances.” Now that she knew he was back, she wouldn’t be surprised when she saw him again. She could play it cool, show that she’d moved on. Because, damn it, she had moved on. And she was going to use the next three months to prove it, starting with maintaining their post-casting ritual.
Tyler squared her shoulders. “Let’s go get those milkshakes.”
~*~
Brody was not uncomfortable on stage. He’d made his debut as Oliver when he was eight and never looked back. He enjoyed the lights, the music, the applause. And never once had he balked because of stage fright.
But on the first night of rehearsals for White Christmas, his stomach flopped around like a beached tuna. Stupid, he told himself. Foolish. Yet none of the tension eased as he slipped in through the familiar lobby doors and made his way into the auditorium. The rest of the cast was congregating at the front, beside the orchestra pit. They were laughing, joking. A few folks were singing. And there was Tyler up on stage, already running through some choreography with Tucker.
Unlike the night of auditions, the auditorium was well lit, so when she came out of her spin facing the back, she saw him and went utterly motionless, the smile on her face fading. Tucker followed her gaze. Dimly, Brody was aware of him nodding a greeting, but he didn’t return it. He was too busy trying to get his breath back. He felt the punch of her gaze all the way at the back of the room, his feet seeming to root to the spot as he stared back at her. She wasn’t surprised to see him. She’d have read the cast list and known he was coming. Her usually expressive face was carefully blank, giving him no clues as to what she was thinking or feeling. And that was as alien and unfamiliar as his own nerves.
A loud pop of floorboards interrupted the silence as a couple dozen eyes kept shifting from her to him, waiting for someone to break the stalemate.
Nate did the honors, giving a ching-a-ring on the piano to get everyone’s attention. “Gather around everybody. We have a project list and a schedule to go over before we get started.”
Tyler’s attention shifted to the director, and suddenly Brody could move again. So he did, making his way down the aisle and into the congregated actors and musicians. He shook some hands, whispered quiet thank yous to the various people who welcomed him back. But even as Nate spoke, discussing who was on set building, when the work days would be, when the external rehearsals for the orchestra were scheduled, and other miscellany associated with the start of a show, Brody found his attention pulled unerringly to Tyler.
She didn’t look at him. By all evidence, she was focused on Nate, on the show. But he had a feeling that she was aware of him, that she knew his position in the crowd if for no other reason than to avoid looking at him. He took the opportunity to look his fill at her, cataloging the changes, the differences.
Her honey blonde hair was scraped back into a prim ballerina’s bun, but slippery strands were already escaping to frame her face, to soften the long line of her neck. That hair would feel like silk. The memory of it sliding thr
ough his fingers made his hands clench. Her face was a little bit sharper now, more serious, but no less appealing. Where her face had sharpened, her body had softened. Not in an unhealthy way. She was still every bit as trim and fit as she’d been in college. But her hips were a little fuller, her curves more gently rounded, and well displayed by the form-fitting yoga pants and t-shirt she wore. Which wouldn’t have been her intention. She’d want comfort and ease of motion.
“…choreographer will be here on Friday, so the name of the game this week is to learn all your music and start learning your lines. The schedule is in your script packets.” Nate picked one up, waved it. “Now, if any of you are familiar with the actual stage production of White Christmas The Musical, you will know that it bears little resemblance to the movie we all know and love. I chose this show based on nostalgia. White Christmas is my favorite Christmas movie, and it’s incredibly well-known. People hear we’re putting on a production, that’s the story they expect to see. So I contacted the Irving Berlin estate and requested permission to make my own adaptation of the movie script. Given we are a town of less than five thousand, they don’t have a lot of fear this will become a raging success, so they actually said yes. That said, it’s a one shot deal. We get one three week run of the show, and that’s that. Permanently retired after that. But at least we’ll be adhering as faithfully as possible to the actual plot and script of the movie, with minor changes to facilitate our set limitations. So come and get ’em and let’s get started.”
Well that’ll make lines that much easier to learn, thought Brody. White Christmas had been an annual tradition with his mother.
Brody got in line with the others, taking advantage of the general milling and conversation to wend his way forward, closer to Tyler. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing. Testing himself, or maybe her.
“Hey, Tyler.”
She stood very straight, very still, not budging when the line in front of her moved.