Page 35 of Accidentally Yours
And then—Ethan leaned close, his breath brushing her ear as he murmured, “Thanks for being my date tonight.”
Paige’s breath caught. She held it for a few seconds.
No one was watching. There were no cameras, no expectations. No one could hear him. He didn’t have to say that. And yet, he had.
She nodded, as goosebumps ran down her arms, her mind scrambling to process why that simple sentence had knocked the air from her lungs. This was supposed to be fake. Except, sitting next to Ethan in the dark, it didn’t feel fake . . . at all.
The warmth of his voice. The soft brush of his shoulder against hers. The whispered commentary. An entire discussion during intermission about how it’s possible to be a hero and a villain at the same time, depending on perspective. They’d shared a drink, shared their thoughts, shared laughter—just like any normal couple on a date would.
And maybe that was what was throwing her off. This didn’t feel like part of the plan. It didn’t feel pretend. This felt like something she could get used to.
When the show ended, the last notes faded, and the curtain dropped, they sat side by side, chatting about the music, story, and wonder of it all—waiting for the second row to empty so they could start their search. It all felt normal. As if this was something they did all the time. Like this was their standing date, and somehow she’d slipped into a different version of her life.
“You ready?” Ethan grabbed her hand.
She blinked, his touch snapping her out of her thoughts. “For?”
“The clue.” He smiled, warm and inviting, like he hadn’t just tilted her entire emotional axis.
Right.The clue.That’s what they were here for. She nodded and grabbed her clutch, her heart thumping harder than it should have. She stood, smoothing her shirt as Ethan slung his jacket over his arm. Together, they made their way down to the second row.
“It’s got to be here,” Ethan said as he stepped into the row. After a few glances around, he crouched down and ran a hand under the first seat. “They always sat here.”
Paige scooted around Ethan and moved to the next seat. She felt along the frame of the chair, the armrests, the cushioning, looking for any place a piece of paper might hide. They searched in silence, both focused and determined, until they reached the end of the row and exchanged a look.
Nothing.
Ethan frowned. “Maybe we need a different angle.” He dropped to his knees on the red carpet, getting low, checking beneath the chairs again, which gave Paige an unreasonably good look at how his shirt stretched across his muscular back.
Not the time, Paige.
Distracting herself from Ethan’s rippling shoulders, she reached into her clutch and pulled out the last clue, scanning the riddle once more.
Framed in light, a century’s glow,
A hidden mark where dreamers go.
Stars above, stars below,
Find the name that stole the show.
Paige stopped reading after the first verse and turned, scanning the theater. Her gaze ran over the domed ceiling painted with stars. The stage where stars had just danced. Rows of red and gold seats which stretched across the room.The clue could be anywhere.Then her gaze flitted toward the lobby and landed on a grand, lighted display case filled with old, framed playbills and movie posters. Her stomach flipped.
Find the name that stole the show.
“Oh,” Paige breathed. “Ethan, we need to check there.”
He pulled himself out from under a chair, sitting back on his heels. “What?”
She pointed toward the display case. “I think we’re looking in the wrong place.”
He rose, and they hurried toward the lobby, Paige’s sandals clicking obnoxiously as she wished—for the hundredth time—that she’d worn her sneakers. The case stretched across the wall, holding decades’ worth of Chicago Theatre history. Dozens of playbills, posters, and ticket stubs arranged in neat rows.
Ethan’s gaze flicked over the collection as he walked. Paige did the same, not sure what they were looking for, until Ethan suddenly stopped.
His gaze locked on a black-and-white playbill from decades ago. The way he was staring at it, Paige knew it was something special. The playbill had bold, elegant typography, featuring the show title ofForty Carats. It included an illustration of a sophisticated woman in an evening gown and pearls, with a young, dashing man looking at her adoringly. The actor’s names were bolded below the illustration.
Paige swallowed. “What do you know about this play?”
