Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1: Bree
Chapter 2: Chip
Chapter 3: Bree
Chapter 4: Chip
Chapter 5: Bree
Chapter 6: Chip
Chapter 7: Bree
Chapter 8: Chip
Chapter 9: Bree
Chapter 10: Chip
Chapter 11: Bree
Chapter 12: Chip
Chapter 13: Bree
Chapter 14: Chip
Chapter 15: Bree
Chapter 16: Chip
Chapter 17: Bree
Chapter 18: Chip
Chapter 19: Bree
Chapter 20: Chip
Chapter 21: Bree
Chapter 22: Bree
Chapter 23: Chip
Chapter 24: Bree
Epilogue
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
An Excerpt from The Dating Charade 1: Cassie
About the Author
Acclaim for Melissa Ferguson
Also by Melissa Ferguson
Copyright
Chapter 1
Bree
They say 95 percent of the time the first impression you have of a person is right.
Well, if anyone in the audience was watching her clutch a plastic fern with one hand and the slumping fabric on her chest with the other, all the while beads from her costume scattered across the shadowy stage with a thousand ping-ping-pings, they’d have a fairly accurate picture of the woman formally known as Bree Leake. Or, in this particular moment, Mustardseed, fairy servant of Titania, as vital to A Midsummer Night’s Dream as the fern in her hand.
“How canst thou thus for shame, Titania . . .”
Glitter floated in the green-tinted spotlight as Bree stood far upstage, where she stayed approximately . . . always. She took a step to the right. Then another. And another. Beads dropped with each movement, no matter how she adjusted her hold on the intricate fabric dissolving in her hands. Leave it to her roommate, the Barter’s one and only costume designer, to go overkill.
Actually, leave it to her roommate to plan a wardrobe malfunction like this. Evie had probably gone to great lengths, in fact, to attach the shoulder straps with just enough strength to hold up until Bree made one fatal step onto the long tulle train that—now that she thought of it—no other fairies in the cast possessed.
She could just see Evie now, in the dim light of their basement, laughing maniacally over her sewing machine.
So here Bree stood, newest member of the nation’s oldest live-performance theatre, trying to shield herself with a plastic plant while smiling a not-too-convincing stage smile as heat crept up her neck. Not that anyone would notice her blushing, given that her face and neck were painted Andes-mint green.
While she understood all of this was very, very important, her immature side couldn’t help seeing it as also very, very funny. But laughing was, by all means, the most critical thing to avoid at this moment.
Do. Not. Laugh.
She mustn’t laugh.
She was a professional artist, and artists were at all times calm, cool, and engaged.
She took a step to the right.
Ping-ping-ping.
Slid her left foot to meet her right.
Ping-ping-ping.
One creeping step to the right.
Another.
With three more swift ping-ping-ping steps she slipped offstage and broke into a run between the curtains.
“Evie!” Bree hissed, passing a couple of stagehands waiting beside overhanging set trees.
Bree swept past portable columns and hanging windows and hedged around Titania’s set bed laden with roses and vines. Stephen, the stage manager, caught sight of her while talking rapidly into his headset, but before she could propel the manic-driven man into overly manic drive, she let go of her hold on her dress long enough to give him a thumbs-up from across the room.
Nothing to see here. Just your newest actress jumping ship.
She pushed open the doors to the back hall.
Half a dozen doors lined the long hallway, one of them open to the dressing room, whose dozens of vanity bulbs were blinding even from where she stood twenty feet away. She made for the room but only found the ever-disgruntled understudy on her phone.
Bree halted beside her chair. “Have you seen Evie?”
Celia looked up. Blinked. “She just left to get coffee.”
“She went all the way to Zazzy’Z?” Bree said, her tone inching higher.
She shook her head and tilted her chin toward the door. “No, Styrofoam coffee. To the front. The gift shop.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” Bree reemerged into the hall. She had to get back onstage for one line—one. True, it may not be an important line, but it was her line.
And by golly she’d be there to give it.
It was going to take ages to throw open the back door, dash down the metal stairway, and fly around parked cars and pedestrians to reach the front of the theatre while hanging on to her dragging dress and slumping top. But she could kiss her job good-bye if she took either door leading into the shadowy aisles of the theatre’s auditorium.
She would just have to run.
She picked up speed as she moved down the empty hall in her leather slippers. As fluorescent lights shone overhead, beads fell like breadcrumbs behind her. The Exit sign loomed and she shoved the doors open with her fern.
As she pushed her way through, her fairy wings knocked against the doorframe, fighting against her as if crying out, “This is the exit door! Get back onstage, woman!” But with a final wrench of her drooping costume and an explosion of beads, the wings gave way and she took two stumbling steps onto the metal platform in the bright midday air.
Bree grabbed for the railing with her right hand but felt the impact of something against her knee before she could reach it.
Her foot slammed into the unidentified object. Before she could stop herself, she found herself flying forward.
“Whooooa—”
The world was suddenly upside down.
Pavement and steps now above her, racing toward her head.
But just as the tip of her braid whacked the steps, she felt something grab her by the waist.
Her body tilted like a carnival ride. Only the ride was a man who had reached around her waist and was pulling her backward. A man who had been sitting on the top step of the metal stairway leading to the back parking lot. A man who, after her knee had knocked him in the back of the head, had stood, grabbed her flying body out of thin air, heaved her backward by the force of his might, and landed her back on the metal platform.
Where she now stood. Frozen.
Clinging to her potted fern.
She blinked. Looked down at the fern. Then up at him.
“I’m . . . sorry. Thanks.”
“Sorry—thanks,” the man repeated, stooping down for his phone, which had toppled three steps down. “Well, I’m sort of the reason you tripped, but I’ll take it.”
A smile ghosted his lips, his sharp jawline softened by a five-o’clock shadow. His brown eyes—crinkly at the temples, as though he dispensed of smiles easily—were just a few inches below hers. Which was incredible, given he was now standing two steps below her.
And she was six feet even.
The fabric at her chest started to droop, and she adjusted her grip. Only then, it seemed, did he look down. “Oh. I see you’ve still got that problem there.”
Bree felt her green face flush. “Ah. So you saw.”
He let out a breathy laugh. “Saw you inch your way offstage like some sort of plant-loving alien backup in a music video who wasn’t supposed to be there?”
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Bree’s eyes narrowed.
He coughed. “Because that is definitely not what I saw. That is definitely not what made me start taking a video and get kicked out by a ninety-year-old usher for violating Barter rules.” He paused, grinned. “I’m Chip. And believe me, you were the highlight of my evening.”
He put out a hand.
“Bree.” Bree’s smile twitched as she looked to his outstretched hand, her own hands still occupied by her dress and plant. “And now you’re taunting me.”
His smile was as good as a wink. “Just a little.”
Her eyes lingered on his before a shout came from onstage.
Her mission. Right.
She edged around him, hiked up her dress a few inches, and took a couple of steps down the stairs.
“I need to find my costume designer,” she said. “And I have about, oh, two minutes to get back onstage.”
“So, tons o’ time.”
“Loads,” she said, her eyes flashing back at his with a smile.
“Well,” he said, resting his arms on the railing as he scanned the empty parking lot. “I’d venture a guess she isn’t out here. But if you’re looking for a quick fix, I have something in my truck that might do the trick. It’s across the street, but I could be back in forty-five seconds.”
She paused, her foot hovering over the third step down.
Glanced down the brick wall leading to the front of the theatre, which was growing farther away by the second.
Turned back to him.
He gave her another smile. The kind of companionable smile that said, Hey, let’s go on an adventure. The kind the first kid gave the other kids when he convinced them to jump off a bridge, and they did.
Her gaze followed his across the street, past the sixteen-foot bronze A Midsummer Night’s Dream fountain, up the stairs, to the unseen truck in the other parking lot a football-field length away. She pressed her lips together.
The clock was ticking. She knew Evie may or may not still be at the gift shop. Even if she was, how long would it take for her to work her magic?
She looked back to Chip. “You really think you can fix it?”
He shrugged. “Fix a dress with zero seamstress skills in forty-five seconds? Sure. Who couldn’t?”
Bree raised her brow at his confidence. Part of her knew it would be better to push on toward Evie, but a bigger part of her wanted to see him try. “Make it forty?”
A spark lit in his eyes, as though she didn’t realize exactly who she had just challenged.
And that was how thirty-six seconds later, the mysterious man in a fine gray suit was racing across traffic while Bree stood at the top of the metal platform, shouting numbers across Main Street.
“Thirty-seven!” Bree cried, and two shoppers turned to see who was making the commotion.
The man’s tie flapped over his shoulder as he reached the bottom of the stairs, grabbed both sides of the railing, and heaved himself up three at a time.
“Thirty-eight!” Bree’s voice rose higher.
Chip leaped up four stairs. His toe clung to the edge of a step, and he wobbled. He balanced and jumped another three.
“Thirty-nine!” Bree called, bouncing on her leather slippers as she watched him now halfway up the staircase.
She hesitated, just a hundredth of a millisecond, before opening her mouth for the last number.
As Bree drew a breath to call out, the man reared back and lobbed the camo-green duct tape in the air.
“Forty!” Bree cried as the duct tape bounced, rolled, and landed on her slipper.
The man collapsed onto the steps five feet below her, sprawled out, his chest heaving.
She laughed, several beads pinging on the platform as if in amusement. The two shoppers smiled slightly at the two bizarre strangers and moved along.
She nudged the duct tape onto its side and hooked it with her toe.
“You know, I didn’t think you had a chance against that minivan.”
“Never underestimate a competitive person.” His head popped up, and before she knew it, he was standing on the step below her, eyes shining. He picked up the duct tape. “Especially a bored competitive person.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve made myself clear.” Bree pressed the fern firmly against her chest with one hand and put out the other. “I’m Bree Leake, extremely competitive person, turns explosive when bored.”
He took her hand with an easy grin, held it for a moment longer than expected. The crinkles along his smiling temples grew deeper, then he blinked and they were gone. “So,” he said, letting go and holding up the duct tape. “Shall I?”
Bree’s brows shot up. “Oh, right. Yes. Thank you.”
She turned to face the door, feeling her cheeks warm as he stood behind her.
She heard a ripping sound as he tore off half an arm’s length of duct tape. She looked over her shoulder and saw him kneeling on the platform, folding the strip of duct tape inside itself. He reached into his back pocket, unsnapped a pocketknife, and looked up. “Now, how much do you care about this costume?”
She was alone, on a back-lot staircase, with a stranger wielding a knife. She didn’t want the moment to end. Her survival instincts were nonexistent.
Sixty-two seconds later, Bree held still in her camo duct tape–strapped dress as the man stood behind her, close enough that she could smell the aftershave on his neck. But something else was there too. More natural, more subtle. Authentic scents of cool pine, of the Appalachian Mountains in the distance.
She felt his breath release on her shoulder as he slipped his pocketknife into his back pocket and stepped around to face her on the small platform.
“All done,” he said with a satisfied grin.
She smiled back. Her voice was not her own as she heard herself say, “Thank you.”
Titania’s lines echoed down the hall.
“Well, I’ve gotta—” Her words faltered. She tipped her chin toward the stage. Half of her body wanted to stay. The bizarre suggestion swept in and out of her thoughts. I don’t need this job that much. What if we just left it all and went for ice cream? A high-school track? An equally insignificant and isolated stairwell?
She wasn’t sure, but she sensed he felt it too. Their scene closing. The time for their bizarre meeting, their sudden moment, to come to an end.
And the reluctance. At least for her. She dared a quick, deeper glance to his eyes, searching for some clue.
“Good luck.” He smiled. Then set the duct tape in her hand. “In case you need some backup.”
She held it up. The moment had passed. It was time to move on.
She put on an overbright smile as she pulled the door open. “Thanks.”
Twenty seconds later, she floated onstage to deliver her important line.
She stopped beside Birdie—in this moment, Cobweb—fellow fairy and closest friend in the six months since she’d moved to Abingdon, Virginia.
She dipped her head toward Titania.
Met her gaze.
Opened her mouth.
Sensed the hushed auditorium.
Took a breath.
“And I.”
Done.
She stepped back, the brave line given its due in the spotlight.
While the scene continued, Bree couldn’t help scanning the shadowy audience for one certain gentleman, even though he’d said he’d been kicked out by one of the ushers. Even though she’d left him standing on the metal platform. Even though—
Her roving stopped.
Because sure enough she found him, three rows back. Right.
Their eyes locked.
He gave her that smile. A knowing smile. A private smile. A smile that couldn’t look more delighted for her if she had just recited a flawless ten-minute monologue.
Despite the hard-and-fast rule in the first chapter of every acting book on the planet, she smiled back.
Just as her eyes fell upon the woman beside him looping her arm through his.
* * *
Four scenes and sixty minutes later, Bree dodged the cast relaxing backstage to get to the dressing room. She changed so fast she was tempted to brag to Stephen about it. After all, no one but actors talked competitively over dinner about the record speed with which they could change into and out of clothes. But because she was about to attempt the impossible feat of driving home, pulling together something edible, and bringing it back for the Barter’s 30th Annual Spring Gala in less than twenty minutes, she had to forgo the opportunity to brag to her supervisor—or for that matter, sneak into the front of the house just to “run into” the duct-tape man who’d saved her night.
Not that she really wanted to spot Chip arm in arm with a woman who was a physical manifestation of the word pearly. Silky smooth blond hair, flawless cream skin, two rows of perfectly white teeth. Not that Bree had noticed while she sat stuck on her mossy log prop for the rest of the play. At all.
And yet . . .
She slipped her phone out of her pocket as she exited the front of the theatre and skipped down the steps two at a time. Sure, maybe the actors typically used the back doors to escape to their cars. Maybe she had only eighteen minutes to get home and back with something edible. Maybe Stephen had expressly forbidden the cast from exiting through the front doors in slouchy sweaters and holey jeans while the patrons filed out in diamonds and silk ties.
But what was life without mixing it up, eh?
She pressed on Cassie’s name in her list of contacts and held the phone up to her ear.
Bree appreciated the view from beneath the illuminated awning overlooking Abingdon’s Main Street. The air was crisp and cool as it nipped at the hem of the dress she had borrowed from her roommate, one of the dozens of ostentatious outfits poking out of Evie’s closet. It was a solid three inches too short, but then, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Though the Barter paid a decent share, Bree wasn’t about to splurge on a two-hundred-dollar dress she’d only wear once in a while.
The matinee audience had spilled out of the theatre and now milled about the area, some walking along the sidewalks, some moving across the crosswalk. Waiting cars hummed on both sides of the road.
Yes, Bree thought, turning slowly in a circle, this was a delightful view.
Inspirational.
She was glad to take a beat and experience the Barter world from this angle, with no ulterior motive whatsoever—
The Cul-de-Sac War Page 1