by Jan Freed
Her heart twisted at the vulnerability in his beautiful hazel eyes. “Oh, Jack, they’ll love it, just like the test audiences did.”
“But what if they don’t? What if they get bored, or laugh when they’re not supposed to, or boo at the end?”
There was no telling how long he’d suppressed these irrational fears. He didn’t need platitudes right now.
“Okay,” she said, thinking rapidly. “Let’s say they do hate your movie. They hate it so much they spit at the screen. What’s the worst that could happen?”
He looked a little sick.
“Would they stop production on Hide and Seek?” she persisted.
“No.”
“Okay, then you’d still have a second shot at a hit movie—and we both know that script is damn good. But would you stop writing your current script?”
He gave the matter some thought. “No.”
“Well, would you get fired from teaching? Would the neighbors egg our house?”
His color was better, the panic in his eyes receding. “I don’t suppose so.”
“Would I stop loving you?”
“God, I hope not,” he said fervently.
“Would our baby stop loving you?” she whispered, her heart hammering with her own irrational fears.
“Our...” His eyes widened. His jaw slackened, then snapped shut. He grasped her shoulders and searched her expression, his gaze a green-gold river of joy. “We’re pregnant?”
Relief and happiness spilled over in the form of a laugh. “I wish we were. Unfortunately, it’ll be me having contractions sometime around January 10. I was going to save the news until later tonight, but you needed shaking up right n—”
His kiss cut off her babbling, expressed the powerful love she returned in full measure. When he lifted his head, they were both breathing hard.
“Are you still scared?” she asked, mesmerized by the tenderness softening his features.
“Terrified. What if I’m a rotten father?”
She pulled back, reached for his hand and tugged him into a walk. “Handsome, hardworking, honorable men don’t make rotten fathers. Come on.” She dragged him toward the theater’s double doors, now shut, their window panels dark. “At this rate, we’ll be lucky to catch the closing credits.”
“Sweetheart, I’m already the luckiest man alive. And you can take all the credit.” Jack grasped a door handle and paused. “Watch your step until your eyes adjust.”
Lit from within by love, Sarah followed her husband confidently into the dark theater.
ISBN : 978-1-4592-6378-9
THE WALLFLOWER
Copyright © 1998 by Jan Freed.
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