Fade to Us

by Julia Day

“Your mom sent me down here for props. I have to get—”

  “Leave it.” He lifted the stepladder and carried it back to its corner.

  Had I really been in any danger? I studied the cupboard I would’ve fallen into. It held an odd assortment of props. A butter churn. Two fake guns. A fake knife. A glass perfume bottle. Yeah, crashing into the props would’ve been bad for them—and me.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice marginally less tense. “We ought to get back.”

  I crossed to the doorway in front of him, then stopped. He deserved an apology. “I’m sorry—”

  Micah tried to avoid me, but it was too late. Full body slam, the momentum knocking me into the hall. I fumbled for the doorframe, but all I came up with was air.

  His arms locked around my waist and hauled me against him. “Hey. Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” You have your arms around me. Please don’t talk. I pressed my cheek to his chest. Any moment now, he would realize where we were and release me. Until then, I would indulge in how amazing it felt to be so close to him.

  “Brooke,” he whispered against my hair, and instead of letting me go, his arms tightened.

  I breathed in his scent—citrusy, clean, and thoroughly delicious. He had kept me from falling, and now he held me. While I had the chance, I would try to smooth things between us. “I’m sorry, Micah. I’ll be more careful.”

  “Promise?” His voice sounded gruff.

  I looked up at him. “Yes, I promise.”

  From deep within the arts center, a piano pounded out the introduction to a song. Sanity returned, not that I wanted it to. “Micah? What are we doing?”

  “We’re, um…” He shook his head.

  “What?”

  Abruptly, his arms dropped. “I have to…” He took a step back and ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it into a never-before-seen mess. “I’ve gotta go.” He went around me and took off down the hall.

  “Micah, wait.”

  He paused but didn’t face me. Just stood there, head bowed.

  “Are we okay?”

  “I don’t know what we are.” He adjusted his headset over his ears as he disappeared into the wings.

  I flicked off the light in the prop room, closed its door, then leaned against the wall. That moment had been unexpected and sweet, but what did it mean?

  * * *

  When I returned to the auditorium—without the basket—Micah was sitting in the booth, writing in his binder. There were extra people onstage, including my stepsister. I sent Lisa a questioning frown.

  “We’re blocking ‘Out of My Dreams.’”

  So much for the errand. I slipped onto my seat, my attention focused on the ensemble. I’d never had the opportunity to watch this scene all the way through.

  Laurey stayed where she was while a group of girls clustered around.

  When Lisa clapped her hands, there was instant silence. “Let’s try the song.” She said to me, “Find a rocking chair for next time.”

  “Sure.” Please shut up long enough for me to hear my stepsister sing.

  The soundtrack started and the soloists began their lines, one by one. Natalie was a hair late on her entrance. She knew it too, because her face turned red.

  Laurey had barely started singing when Lisa said, “Stop. And again.”

  This time, Natalie nailed it, her gaze never leaving Laurey’s ponytail.

  Pride wrapped me in a bubble—muffling everything except the sight and sound of my stepsister. I’d known Natalie’s voice was clear and lovely, but I hadn’t thought about how stunning she was onstage. When she was up there, it was hard to take my eyes off her. Not that I was biased or anything.

  “Brooke?” Lisa rapped on the table in front of me.

  I dragged my attention away from the singers. “What?”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “When?”

  Lisa smiled. “Forgotten your job?”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “You’re fine.” She half-sat on the table and crossed her arms. “We’ll sit here and listen. I promise not to interrupt until they’re done.”

  “Thanks.” I relaxed in my seat and enjoyed watching my stepsister own her part.

  * * *

  When Natalie and I got home from the center, something in the Crock-Pot was filling the air with the scent of garlic and herbs.

  She sniffed. “Roasted chicken. Another of my favorites. I guess Jill doesn’t mind me being here.”

  “She doesn’t mind.” I would say that as often as it took, but it was annoying. “You did well today.”

  “Yes, I did, except not the first time.”

  “The first time doesn’t matter anymore.”

  She shrugged. “Do you like working at the arts center?”

  “A lot.”

  “Does it make you nervous when I’m singing my line?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you’re afraid I’ll make mistakes?”

  “No. I get nervous when something important is going on with my family. Like when I go to Mom’s games. She’s a great umpire, and I still get the shakes.”

  “Don’t let me see you. It might rub off.” She charged into the den and turned on the TV.

  I went to my room to update Jeff’s website. Currently, it was nothing more than white text on a black background, with a description of the services he provided. I would love to make his website more visually appealing, add a contact form, and design a logo. But not tonight. He’d been specific about the parts of my proposal that he would permit. “Nothing fancy. Just plain information, plainly given,” he’d said.

  Probably it was too early for him to trust me with more than the simple things, but I wasn’t ready to give up. Tonight, I would limit myself to making the home page more mobile friendly.

  After completing the changes, I logged off the computer, picked up a paperback mystery, and went outside to the hammock.

  The book was an excuse. I wanted to think about Micah.

  It surprised me how much I liked him. My feelings had bypassed the will he? won’t he? torment of a new crush and gone straight to this could be very good. Maybe that’s because I liked him the friendly way, too.

  Two kinds of like.

  Which kind did he feel for me?

  Until today, I would’ve said Micah was purely professional toward me. He seemed to pay more attention to me than the girls in the cast, but that could be explained as his general attitude toward anyone on the production team.

  Then he showed up in the prop room. That mesmerizing intensity had been focused on me, a taste of how incredible it would feel to be the person Micah wanted. Afterward, though, his professional self had reappeared, as if that burst of emotion had never occurred.

  But he’d left behind a glimmer of hope.

  If I’d met Micah at school, I would’ve watched him for another month, remembering every word he said or every touch he made, giving myself plenty of time to decide if we were simply friends—or if the potential existed for more.

  This wasn’t school. It was a summer camp, and he would be gone in three more weeks.

  If I asked Mom’s opinion, she’d tell me to go for it. To be “cautiously bold.” When I was in eighth grade, she’d had The Talk with me. She told me to make my own choices and hold out for healthy relationships. As long as I was protecting myself physically and emotionally, I should trust my instincts.

  Mom’s attitude both freed me and made me wary. I’d dated around in high school, although nothing serious until last year. Until Jonas. He and I had hinted around for months, neither of us willing to be embarrassed if we were reading each other wrong. Finally, I’d made the move. Jonas and I dated for seven months. In April, he decided he was “bored.” I hadn’t argued at all.

  To have a chance with Micah, I didn’t have time to hint around or agonize over signals. I would have to act soon.

  There were two things about him that worried me. First, he was in charge of too much a
nd ought to be delegating more. There were people who could help him—like me—but he didn’t share control. Why? It would make me crazy to go out with someone who had power issues.

  Secondly—and even bigger—there was Natalie. She was entranced with Micah. An innocent but deep emotion. He had been her discovery, and anything more personal from me would be trespassing on her territory.

  Would she be upset enough to trigger another meltdown?

  Would I damage the relationship Natalie and I were slowly building?

  A yes to either question would be awful.

  I stretched full length into the hammock and let it rock. As the sounds of the evening lulled me, I tried to convince myself that three weeks with Micah wasn’t worth the cost.

  17

  Without Brainpower Attached

  Micah came into the office Friday morning while I was putting away my backpack.

  “Hey, Brooke, did you get an updated schedule?” He held out a sheet.

  I searched his face and detected nothing but polite detachment. Our sweet moment in the prop room hadn’t changed anything. “Thanks. I have one.”

  He nodded and left. I trailed him to the auditorium, aware of my mood clouding with each step.

  Lisa waved me over. “I’m about to watch the dream ballet onstage for the first time. I need you in the booth. Monitor entrances and exits. Make notes of anything that seems strange or out of place. Keep your headset on.”

  “Okay.” I knew most of the show now, so it shouldn’t be too hard.

  I carried my binder to the booth. The choreography was really good, but it didn’t take long to decide that I disliked this task more than anything else Lisa had given me. Not because it was boring. I had to stay vigilant about everything happening onstage. No, the worst part was that I was isolated.

  “Brooke.” Micah’s voice came through the headset. “Can you meet me during lunch break?”

  Gladly. Any reason to leave the booth. “Where?”

  “Staff lounge.”

  * * *

  I spent my whole lunch in the lounge, waiting. He jogged in at the end, a big backpack slung over one shoulder.

  “Hey. Sorry.” He set the backpack on a table and waved me closer. “This won’t take long. I’m introducing you to the emergency kit.” He unzipped pockets. “It has all kinds of stuff. Pencils. Duct tape. Scissors. Rope. Safety pins. First-aid kit—”

  “Wait.” I put my hand over his.

  He tensed, looked down at our hands, then up at me.

  “Why are you telling me this, Micah?”

  “I need you to know what’s in here. You’ll use it, too.”

  “Use it how?”

  He slipped his hand away from mine. “People forget things, or they get hurt. Or Mom will ask for an object that seems obscure, but you realize it’s obviously needed. This backpack has everything you can think of. It’s where we go for any emergency.”

  “Why me?”

  “If you understand it too, you can be the person who fixes things, and I can be your backup.”

  “Really? You’re sharing power?”

  His gaze locked with mine. An electric awareness sizzled between us.

  “I’m not sharing power.” He smiled lazily. “I’m trusting you.”

  He went through every pocket, explaining the items and the various uses that each could have. It made so much sense that I didn’t even worry about remembering or writing anything down. If a situation came up, this backpack would have a solution.

  “You’ve thought of everything. This is wonderful.”

  He zipped it again and hauled it onto one shoulder. “It’ll be next to the filing cabinet in the office.”

  “Thanks. For trusting me.”

  “Sure.” His eyes narrowed, as if he was about to say more. Instead, he shook his head.

  “What?”

  “Gotta go. Lunch break is over.”

  * * *

  Micah joined the production team meeting late and leaned against the doorframe. “Okay, everyone, let’s get this done.” He nodded at Elena. “Any camper news to share?”

  “Not today.”

  “Who wants to go next?”

  Lisa did a brain dump, which took a long time. The rest of the team passed on their turns, eager to go home.

  As the meeting broke up, I remained seated on the couch until everyone had left. Scrubbing my clammy hands against my shorts, I took a deep breath. This was a little crazy, but I had to ask him about us. Maybe I could’ve believed that our first intense moment meant nothing, but not the second. This sense of connection to him was getting stronger. I just had to know whether he felt it too, even if I regretted the truth.

  Micah looked up from his phone and blinked when he saw me. “Do you need me?”

  Yes. I might be about to flame out here, but I would plunge ahead. “What happened to us yesterday in the prop room?”

  “I don’t know.” He straightened smoothly and turned to walk out the door.

  “It happened again while you were explaining the kit. Was it nothing?”

  He stopped, his back to me, and ran his fingers through his hair. Seconds passed before he responded. “No, it was something.”

  “Do you plan to ignore it?”

  “I’m…” He paused. “What to do about the something is complicated.”

  He’d acknowledged the awareness and dismissed it at the same time. I shivered against the doubts creeping in. “Am I crazy to think that there could be more?”

  “You’re not crazy.”

  Yes.

  Maybe he hadn’t given me much hope, but I was clinging to it with greedy hands anyway. “Micah, please. One of us has to be brave.”

  He turned to look at me, his lips twisting into a half-smile. “I vote for you.”

  Tiny or not, that smile sent my confidence soaring. “Can I call you tonight, so we can talk about what the something is?”

  “Brooke.” With a quick shake of his head, he crossed the room, offered me his hand, and hauled me to my feet. He let go but didn’t step away. We were so close that I had to beg myself not to grab him.

  He sighed. “Okay, but we should talk in person. Can I come over to your house instead?”

  “Definitely.”

  “I’ll be there by eight-thirty.” He gestured toward the door. “Did you drive today?”

  I nodded. “Natalie’s waiting on me in the lobby.”

  “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

  * * *

  Micah’s text came at exactly eight-thirty. I knew that because I’d been staring at my phone for the past fifteen minutes.

  I’m here

  I was down the stairs and out the door before he could ring the doorbell. Since I wasn’t sure what Micah and I might become, I’d rather Natalie didn’t know about this yet.

  As I skipped down the front steps, he was walking up the driveway but halted halfway.

  I stopped on the sidewalk, a careful distance between us. “Hi.”

  “Hey.” He wore his neutral expression, the one where his not-quite-a-smile hid his feelings behind a polite mask.

  I gestured behind me at the porch swing. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “No, this won’t take long.” He crossed his arms, his attitude confident. Tonight, professional Micah had shown up. “I’m the stage manager, and you’re an assistant. That’s all we can be.”

  His words punched me in the gut. How could I have been so wrong? “You felt something.”

  “Yes, but I don’t know what it is and…” He glanced toward the street, waiting for a car blasting music to pass. When his head swung back to me, his eyes mirrored regret. “I’m sorry, Brooke, but I can’t get too … personal with a member of the production team.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t afford for anything to go wrong. It would have a bad effect on the crew.”

  Oh, no. We were both too mature to let anything go wrong. “Actors get too personal all the time.”

  �
��And when it blows up, they keep pretending, because that’s what actors do.” His voice deepened. “I can’t pretend.”

  I widened my eyes and hoped the suspicious moisture would behave. I really hadn’t expected the conversation to go this way. We’d both felt a connection. He’d admitted that. The next step ought to be for us to see where it led. Right?

  Around us, the neighborhood went through its nightly settling-down routine. A couple jogged by with their dogs and stroller. A lady paced in her front yard, talking on a phone. Then there was me, with a guy I liked, a guy who was rejecting me for reasons that made complete sense. I didn’t want to be sensible. “It’s only three more weeks. That’s not enough time for things to blow up.”

  “It’s a theater camp. Things can blow up in a day.” He shook his head. “The show comes first. I just can’t risk it. I’m sorry.” He held my gaze for a moment longer, then dug keys from his pocket and headed back down the driveway.

  Panic fluttered in my throat. He’d reduced us to guy-in-charge and member-of-the-crew, and that wasn’t enough for me. “Micah.”

  He turned to face me again. “Yeah?”

  “Can we be friends?”

  He tilted his head, as if surprised. “I hope so.”

  Friends, then. If all I got was the other kind of like, I’d take it. I might get good at pretending.

  Wait. The other kind of like?

  Yes. That could work. Time to be cautiously bold. “Could we hang out sometimes—as friends?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Words tumbled from my mouth, eager and out of control, hoping to convince him while I still had his attention. “You’ve probably been too busy to check out this part of North Carolina. I could show you around. Friendly. Not too personal.” Wow, that had ended up fairly coherent.

  “Friendly hanging out.” His gaze lingered on me. The world seemed to hush, as if it knew his answer mattered at some cosmic level. “Okay.”

  Had I imagined that? “Okay?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned—a real, genuine Micah grin. “I think I can do friendly.”

  Could a person explode from happiness? Maybe we were about to find out.

  He walked back up the driveway toward me, stopping a foot away. “When?”

  Oh, right. We needed a plan. Fast. Since this idea had popped up impulsively, I’d have to wing it. Fortunately, letting words pour from my mouth without brainpower attached was working for me tonight. “Tomorrow?”