Page 42 of Someone to Have
Until this moment, I hadn't put it together that her stage fright may be part of a deeper-seated insecurity. A result of how she was treated from the jump in her over-the-top family. I don't think any of them understand how damn lucky they are that she turned out so damn kind and perfect. Right now, the vulnerability in her voice feels like it might rip me apart. Every protective instinct I have screams at me to fix this. I want to show her exactly how incredible she is and make her understand that disappointing me is impossible. Right now, I hate the promise I made to mysister, and the past that keeps me from pulling this woman close the way I want to. The way I've been dying to since the moment I saw her again.
Where the hell do we go from here? The silence stretches between us, and then she does something that changes everything. She steps closer.
11
ERIC
“I’m not disappointed, Tinkerbell.”I hope she takes the words like the caress they’re meant to be—something that will tamp down the doubt I see rising in her eyes. “But Bryan Limpdick is a fool. You should have every solo in that damn production because you have the voice of an angel. But it doesn’t change the fact that you did this thing. You conquered your fear.”
She tries to smile, but the muscles in her cheeks don’t seem to want to obey.
“I tried out, you know? The rest doesn’t matter. You know how things go. I’m pretty busy, and there’s a lot going on in general, so…like I said…we’ll see.”
“We’ll see my ass,” I say through gritted teeth. “Likeyousaid, you’re happy to be part of the cast. So now you’re well on your way to making those thespian and bucket list dreams come true.”
She’s gazing at the wall over my shoulder, like it’s hard to meet my gaze. Maybe it hurts to look at the guy who kissed her like she mattered and then vanished like she didn’t when so many people have already made her feel invisible.
I hate this version of her. Okay, not hate. I like every singleversion of my Tinkerbell. But this isn’t the woman who overcame her fear on that stage. The one who gets flustered when I catch her staring but turns into a smart-ass when she's comfortable enough to forget to be nervous around me.
Where’s the Taylor who’s shy with everyone else but lets me see that little spark of sass that most people never get to witness, like I’ve been given access to a part of her she doesn't share with just anyone? She’s most beautiful when she stops being careful and just lets herself be real.
As if reading my mind, she says, “You did what you promised and more. Now I’m sure you want to do whatever you came here for and get on with your plans for the night.” She arches a brow. “Not that I’d know what they are since you’ve been avoiding me.”
That again. Right. Because I put ice on her thumb but didn’t give her a reason for disappearing on her after all that time coaching her for the audition. How do I explain that I was staying away for her own good because she’s better off without me?
She walks out of the break room, moving fast like she’s trying to escape. Does she really think I’m not going to follow?
“I wasn’t ghosting you.” Not exactly anyway. “And you need to explain what ‘we’ll see’ means.”
I’m hot on her heels now, trying not to notice the sway of her hips and the way the cotton leggings hug the curve of her delectable ass. “Why are you here in your dad’s workshop on a Friday night? What about your plans?”
Sometimes deflection is the best offense.
“I’m working on the StoryWalk project.” She slows but doesn’t turn around, answering over her shoulder instead. “For the record, I grew up coming to the shop. I like doing stuff with my hands. Dad doesn’t mind as long as I don’t get in anybody’s way during business hours or when the crews are running on a tight deadline.”
“How generous of him.” Her step falters in response to my sarcastic tone. The longer I spend with Taylor, the more I’m convinced her family doesn’t appreciate her the way they should.They don’t see what I see—the Taylor who’s capable of so damn much more than they give her credit for.
“What’s a StoryWalk project?” I ask, hoping it’s something benign that will help my rising temper cool off. This seems less triggering than Bryan Limpdick’s choice not to give Taylor a bigger role. It’s also easier than admitting I regret every second I kept my distance from her.
“It’s a way to display pages of a children’s book on signs along a walking path.” She sweeps a hand toward the large frames covering the work table. I realize that each one holds a page from a children’s book with plexiglass covering it.
“Where does it go?”
“We’ll install this one at the nature center along one of the popular trails. Kids can walk the path with their family and read the story. Once the posts go in and we mount the frames, I can switch out the books every couple of months so people will be able to enjoy new stories year-round.”
“Did you come up with the concept?”
Her shoulders relax as she smiles at me. “No, but our library district is the first in this area to implement it. I’m hoping to start a trend. It’s the best of both worlds—encouraging people to read and getting them outside. Since the library is sponsoring the installation, it will encourage more families to visit us if the kid’s interest gets snagged by reading as they walk outside.”
“I bet people are going to love it.”
She shrugs. “It’s important to come up with creative ways to encourage kids to read more. I have other ideas, but…” She shrugs. “My boss is kind of old school. He’s retiring this spring, so hopefully, whoever gets hired as the next director will be more willing to try new things.”
“You should be the next director,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no thanks. Can you hand me that piece of plexiglass?” She points to a nearby workbench.
“Why not?”
