Somebody queued up the music. Tyler glanced down as if checking the position of their feet, which was ridiculous since she knew exactly where her feet were in the pitch black dark. The faint trace of color high in her cheeks gave her away. So she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to believe. Brody could see the thrum of her pulse at the base of her throat, felt the answering echo of his own as she lifted her head again, focusing on his eyes.
She was stiff at first, resisting his lead. They stumbled a few times. He missed several steps. Then she did. And then the song was over, and she was frowning, knowing they botched the number.
“Okay, try it again, and this time, Tyler, remember you aren’t doing an impression of a fence post. Loosen up,” ordered Nate.
She took a moment, closed her eyes as if to center herself, then nodded. With a roll of her neck, she shook out all her limbs. Brody felt the difference in her posture as soon as she took position again. The music swelled, and they locked eyes. On cue, they began to move, and at last, at long last, he felt like he was home. Everyone and everything faded except the music and the woman in his arms.
He led, spun, dipped, and by the time she broke away into a quick shuffle tap, her eyes were sparking with fun and her cheeks were flushed with exertion. Brody found himself grinning, improvising in response, as he couldn’t remember this section of choreography to save his soul. He watched her, starting to follow her lead, mimicking, mirroring as they came back together and whirled around the stage. And at last they ended, Tyler in a deep dip over his knee, her face flushed and smiling, her chest heaving.
“Excellent!” called Nate. “You’re remembering how to move together.”
Something hot and dark flashed in Tyler’s eyes. Brody tugged her up, into his arms, and held her a moment too long, letting the awareness, the heat sink in. No, he hadn’t forgotten what it was to move with her—on stage or in the dark. Neither had she.
Her breathing faltered and she tugged away like he’d shocked her. She looked flustered and wary, which she’d never been at any point in their courtship. It was kind of adorable. Brody was wise enough to repress a smile.
Eight years had done nothing to dim the chemistry between them. She clearly hadn’t expected that and didn’t know what to do with it, so the default response was retreat. But before her brain had kicked back in, she’d been smiling, having fun, just like they used to. He could work with that.
He took a moment, absorbing the fact that he wanted to work with that. He wanted to pursue this, pursue her. Again. He’d think about the wisdom of that later, when he wasn’t in close enough proximity that the scent of her fogged his brain.
As one half of the Haynes sisters was missing, Nate made adjustments to the rehearsal schedule, putting the focus on Brody and Tyler, while other cast members and volunteers provided an ongoing backdrop of power tools and paint fumes. Tyler kept fumbling over her lines, having to pull out the script.
“You and you stupid eidetic memory,” she muttered, glaring at him.
“I can help you run lines outside rehearsals,” Brody offered. “You always did better away from all the distractions.”
“No.” The word snapped out, sharper than she’d intended, judging by the flags of color that rose on her cheeks.
“Afraid to be alone with me, Tyler?” he teased.
“Of course not,” she said. But she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
The chorus of “Defying Gravity” from Wicked rang out.
“Your ass is ringing,” he said.
That earned him another glare as she whipped the phone out of her back pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s Piper.” Pacing a few steps away she answered. “How is he?” The expression of desperate hope on her face fell almost immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Tell him I’ll bring by some soup or a casserole or something. And to behave himself!” She hung up and addressed Nate. “It’s definitely broken. He’s in a cast for the next eight weeks.”
“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” said Brody. It annoyed him that he felt as if he should apologize for that. He had just as much right to be here as she did.
“You’ll make it work,” said Nate, and it was as much faith as a direct order, judging by the look he shot them. “Now get back to places. Let’s take it from the top.”
7 Weeks 'Til Show
“—Jolene helps him use that GPS app to track Mariah’s phone, and she’s down by the trail to the springs. So Larry goes out there, and what do you think she was doing out there in broad day at high noon?”
Tyler’s eyes were peeled appropriately wide with anticipation as she continued to bag up her customer’s purchase. “What?”
“Charlie Kingston! In a car! Can you imagine? Larry caught them in flagrante. I had it from Betsy Newman down at the police station that they nearly came to blows. Charlie’s almost twice her age and balding. I just can’t imagine what she thought she was doing.”
Brody felt his lips twitch as he stepped up to the counter. “I expect she didn’t realize discretion went the way of the dodo with the invention of smartphones.”
“Why Brody Jensen, as I live and breathe. You come right over here and give me some sugar.”
“Hi, Mrs. Landen,” he said, leaning in to accept an exuberant squeeze from the woman who’d been his mother’s partner in Bridge and Bitch for twenty years. He bussed her cheek. “You look wonderful. Great hair.”
Mamie Landen beamed and patted the puffed up side ponytail of her improbably red hair. “Why thank you, darlin’. I’m embracing my inner Priscilla Presley today.”
“Will that be cash or charge, Mrs. Landen?” asked Tyler.