"I'm gonna vote no on that," Cam--Mr. March--said. "And I'm guessing Reece and Tyree would, too."
"I'll veto it," Jenna said, her hand on her belly even though her pregnancy had yet to show. "As far as I'm concerned, except for his calendar photo and those few minutes on stage, no one sees Reece shirtless but me."
Taylor laughed, but Cam was holding up the soda gun and using it as a pointer as he said, "I almost forgot. Taylor, someone left a note for you. I put it in the office. Give me a sec and I'll go get it." He moved back down the bar, leaving Eric Shay, the other bartender working the main bar tonight, in charge.
Taylor watched, the back of her neck prickling, as Cam disappeared into the short hallway that led to the bar's back office. She took a sip of Diet Coke, telling herself this was no big deal. Just like the first note had been no big deal.
But still, she couldn't shake the sensation of dread.
About two weeks ago, she'd found an anonymous greeting card inside her backpack. It must have been shoved in at some point when she was in the drama department. She'd changed backpacks that morning, and when the pack wasn't on the floor in the theater's scene shop--a cavernous room where the sets were built--
it had been on her shoulder or in the trunk of her car, so there was no other possibility.
She'd found the envelope late that night when she was pulling out all of her junk so that she could settle in at her kitchen table and get some work done. It was tucked in between two scripts and a bound collection of classic farces that she needed to read. Her name glared at her in blue ink, the stylized letters taking up most of the envelope, and she'd assumed it was an invitation to an after-show party.
Inside, an old-fashioned style greeting card featured a window with gossamer curtains flowing in a breeze. The inscription on the inside of card read, Even now, I'm at your window.
Which, of course, would be creepy if Taylor hadn't understood the reference--a line from a song featured in the musical Sweeney Todd. The musical reference had made her certain that Reggie had left it.
A senior in the department, Reggie Jones was one of fifteen underclassmen in Dr. Bishop's seminar class on scene design. Taylor wasn't formally working as Bishop's teaching assistant, but he was her graduate advisor, and when he'd asked her to give a presentation on minimalistic design, she'd eagerly done so.
Afterwards, Reggie had been one of the students who'd hung around to talk shop, and when she'd bumped into him later in the common area, they'd chatted about their shared love of musical theater, and of Sondheim's work in particular.
Two casual encounters later, and he confessed that he was working up the courage to ask her out.
She'd turned him down, of course. For one thing, she wasn't attracted to him at all. But since that wasn't the kind of thing you told a guy, she'd simply said that she wasn't dating. That there just wasn't time for a relationship.
All true, just not the entire truth. She had no interest in getting into a relationship, and her life was far too complicated to date, though she wasn't averse to the occasional hook-up. But not with Reggie. Not with any guy who might want to stick.
"Taylor?" Startled, she jerked her head up to Jenna, then realized she'd been staring at the bubbles in her drink, probably looking hypnotized. "What? Oh, sorry. I was zoning. I'm fine." She smiled brightly, and forced her mood to match her appearance.
But as soon as Cam returned with the note, her facade collapsed. The envelope was the same. The size of a greeting card. High quality paper, and her name in stylized handwriting. She swallowed. Probably still Reggie. He knew she worked here. He probably thought he was being cute, wooing her with cards. He probably had a whole campaign planned out. Card after card, and then he'd send one attached to roses, and ask her out again.
It had to be Reggie. Because, dammit, the alternative just wasn't something she was prepared to think about.
Slowly, she slid her finger under the flap and loosened the glue. Then she pried it up, and carefully tugged out the card. A closed pair of eyes on the cover. Inside the card, someone had written, You belong to me.
The card tumbled from her hand, and she licked her lips. "Hey, Cam?" Her voice, she noticed, sounded so normal. "Did you see who left this?"
"Sorry. It was last night. We were swamped, and I was covering for Eric, so it was just me back here."
"Right. Sure." She cleared her throat. "Do you remember if it was a guy with really yellow hair. Kinda messy?" Maybe it really was Reggie. After all, Phantom of the Opera had a song that fit. Close your eyes, the Phantom sang to Christina. And then later, you belong to me.
Not Sondheim, but still musical theater.
Cam shook his head. "Sorry. Doesn't ring a bell."
Jenna pressed her hand over Taylor's. "You're freaking me out. What's going on? Who's got yellow hair?"
Taylor tried to shrug it off. "Just a guy at school. He's got an aggressive crush." She lifted a shoulder. "And I'm really not interested."
She could tell that Jenna wasn't convinced, and before the other woman could push the issue, Taylor glanced down at Jenna's still-flat belly. "I'm so glad the baby's okay. I'm so, so sorry."
"Are you kidding?" Jenna's hand went protectively over her belly. "It wasn't your fault at all. We're fine. And I'm the one who's sorry. I mean, your car. You're going to send me the bill for the windshield, right?"
"Don't be silly. Insurance totally covered it." A lie, but she wasn't about to make Jenna feel any worse than she already did, even if repayment would add a hundred and fifty bucks back into Taylor's dwindling account. "Besides, it could just as easily have happened to me. I mean if I'd been--"
Of course. How could she have been so stupid?