Page 94 of First Impressions of You

To the play that change it all.

When we take the last bow, Winter’s hand in mine, we share a look that says everything we can’t tell each other right now. But then, without being able to hold it in, he mouths, I love you.

We basically have to run off the stage to get out of our costumes and into our formal wear to attend the Golden Quill Awards ceremony.

The one thing I forgot to take in consideration when Olivia told us the date of the event was that even if I were still in the US, I would still have three shows to perform that day. Thankfully, the last show ends just before five, and it gives me all of thirty minutes to get changed before we drive to the ceremony venue.

“I’ll miss the rush that I get every time I leave the stage,” I comment when we’re the car and Winter’s following the GPS directions to get us there via the fastest route.

“You’ll get to do it again soon,” he reminds me.

“I know,” I whine. “But I don’t wanna stop. I wish there wasn’t a break between the plays.”

“Trust me, if there wasn’t one, you’d wish there was.”

He places his hand on my thigh, the flimsy fabric of my dress doing nothing to filter the heat that spreads over my skin. He glances at that spot then up to me before returning his attention to the road.

“Are you sure we don’t have time to—”

“No,” I cut him off before he can even suggest it.

“But you look so”—he grabs my hand, bringing it to his lips to drop a kiss on my knuckles—“so fucking hot right now.”

I still blush when he says things like this. And he says it all the time, so for the past three months, I’ve been in a constant state of blushing.

“Don’t,” I warn him, seeing the mischievous grin that’s teasing his lips. “You know how important today is.”

“Yeah,” he concedes. “If I didn’t know it, I would’ve ruined this perfect dress of yours the moment you walked out that dressing room.”

“Are you really not going to miss the play?” I ask, bringing the conversation back to safe territory because we were on the verge of crossing the point of no return.

“I’ll miss working with you,” he says, caressing the back of my hand. “But theater was never my thing. And…” He pauses, and I turn my full attention to him. “I’m thinking about trying to get my script produced again.”

“You are?” I beam with pride when he nods to confirm.

The Golden Quill Awards aren’t nearly as big as the Oscars or the Emmys, but for screenwriters, it’s the biggest accolade after them.

When we get there, the venue is already swarming with people. Now that we made it in time and I’m not worried we’ll be late anymore, I finally take a good look at Winter, and thank God I only did it now.

I wouldn’t have been so quick to refuse his suggestion if I had realized earlier how handsome he looks in this suit.

The luxurious fabric hugs his broad shoulders, the rich hues of blue making him look elegant and fashionable.

Ever since the show started, he’s been getting more and more attention from the press, and it didn’t take me long to understand why he’s always in worn-out jeans and a white T-shirt. Paparazzi shots end up looking like they’re from the same day when the outfit doesn’t change, which is his simple way of trying to get rid of photographers following his every move.

But that means I’m used to seeing him in his casual clothes, so when he does wear something different, my heart trips in my chest like I’m seeing him for the first time.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he warns close to my ear.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to whisk you away from here right now.”

He’s right. That’s exactly what I want.

But I know we can’t. We have to look for Olivia’s table. As one of the five nominees for the Rising Star Award, she was given a full table and nine invitations for her guests. And we find them, my heart beaming at the sight.

Olivia is standing, wearing a gorgeous deep grey dress that hugs her round curves in all the right places. Her hair is up on a slick ponytail, leaving all the attention to the sweetheart neckline of her dress. Around her, everyone chats enthusiastically, a palpable feeling of pride permeating the air.

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