Page 103 of Someone to Have
Not that you need it, Tinkerbell, but here’s some good luck pixie dust. Don’t break a leg because that would suck.
Eric and Rhett
Rhett drew a hockey stick next to his name.
My heart seems to skip a beat. The flowers my family sent are thoughtful, but pixie dust takes it to a whole other level. Is it any wonder I lost my heart to this man?
I pull the cork stopper from the bottle and tap a few flakes onto my wrist before setting it down next to the flowers. Everyone needs a little pixie dust now and then.
The fact that Eric went to the trouble to choose such a thoughtful gift has to mean something. I want it to mean something.
I’ve let my own fear gaslight me for far too long, making me distrust my instincts and what I know to be right. But the fact that my castmates believe in me bolsters my confidence. And Eric showing that he cares…it feels like this night will change everything.
I glance at myself in the mirror and press my palm to the glass in a gentle high-five.
“You’ve got this, Tinkerbell,” I tell my reflection.
If I make it through this evening without puking, peeing my pants, or publicly humiliating myself to the point that I need to change my name and move to Antarctica, I’m going to tell Eric how I feel.
The sharp pang of panic that shoots through me has nothing to do with the play. Okay, maybe I’m not going to straight-up declare that I’m in love with him, but I vow to tell him I want more. I want to try. Whether it’s for a few weeks until he leaves, or something longer, our connection is worth fighting for.
More importantly, I’m worth it. I deserve to go after what I want. I deserve my happily-ever-after.
“Places!” someone calls.
I stand up and follow my fellow cast members to the wings of the stage. The flutters in my stomach remain, but now they feel as much about excitement as fear.
So what if Bryan is right about my wooden delivery? This isn’t Broadway. It’s Skylark freaking Colorado. Even if I squeak out my lines or deliver them with as much inflection as the GPS voice navigator, I’m still doing it.
Starting right now, I’m taking back my power. And it feels good.
34
TAYLOR
Two hours later,my friends rush to greet me in the theater’s lobby. “You did it!” Molly shouts, sounding almost as thrilled as I feel.
The show went off without a hitch. Sure, there were a few issues, but they were small enough that only the cast and crew noticed.
I held it together and even got a smattering of laughter on the line meant to elicit just that. Maybe it was just from my family and friends, but I’m counting it as a win.
My book club friends surround me. “You were so good,” Sloane says as they each hug me.
“Thank you for coming.” I blink away tears. “It means the world to me that you’re here.”
“A cesspool of community theater germs,” a deep voice grumbles from a few steps away, where a tall dark and brooding man, arms crossed over his chest, is glaring at us.
“Ignore Jeremy,” Sloane says loudly. “He’s overreacting.”
“Three more minutes, Sloane,” he calls.
She grimaces. “He’s probably right. There are a lot of people here, and my immunity is shot.”
Alarm spikes through me. “You should have?—”
“I wanted to be here, Taylor. You made me so proud.” She hugs me again.
“Thank you for guilting me into accepting the bucket list challenge.”
