pop. There were flowers and chocolates and notes of congratulations and so many pats on the back that I lost track of who was giving them. It took half an hour for me to coax the actors back into the changing room, where Nancy would collect their costumes and wash them for our next performance. They carried on a nonstop commentary about the evening while they undressed behind the sheets we’d hung for privacy. It was all high-spirited and adrenaline-fueled and thoroughly entertaining.
Nearly two hours later, I sat at my dining room table with Scott and Trey across from me, but my entire, undivided attention was on the first piece of cheesecake I’d eaten in six months. Actually, I was on my third piece, but no one seemed to be counting.
“Trey, my friend, you’re my hero,” I said as I shoveled another bite into my mouth.
“You know, Shell, I just realized there’s one thing I haven’t missed about you.”
“Her zingers?” Scott asked.
“Her eating habits,” Trey said.
I swallowed and gulped down half a glass of milk. “It’s the nerves,” I explained. “Imagine what this scene would have looked like if the performance hadn’t gone well!”
They both smirked, and I was struck again by their similarities. Though there were major differences, too. One of the greatest of those was their energy level—Trey was Tigger, and Scott was . . . Scott was everything I wanted. I choked a little and had to gulp more milk.
“I’ve got to hit the sack,” Trey said, pushing back from the table. “This jet lag’s a killer.”
“What he means,” I translated for Scott, “is that we’re sitting in his bedroom, since the couch is longer than Shayla’s bed, and he’d really like for you to leave and for me to go to bed so he can get some sleep.”
“Nice that one of you got the diplomatic gene.” Scott was feeling comfortable enough around Trey to be sarcastic. I thought that was a good sign.
“Hey, don’t hurry on my account,” Trey said. He grabbed his toothbrush and went off toward the bathroom.
Scott came around the table and pulled me into his arms for a long hug. “You were wonderful,” he said right next to my ear.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Coming again tomorrow?”
He pulled away and took his time tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You bet.”
“You make me happy—have I mentioned that?” I squashed an impulse to look around for the person who’d said the words. I had a sneaking feeling it had been me. My mouth was developing a mind of its own these days, and it made me a bit skittish.
Scott smiled a little dangerously and kissed a spot beneath my ear.
“Not that kind of happy,” I said, trying to sound bored.
He stopped kissing me, and I immediately gave myself a mental kick in the butt. “Really?” he asked.
“Actually, that kind of happy too.” I was blushing like a twelve-year-old, so I did a quick check to make sure I hadn’t developed braces along with teenage hormones.
“So how’s the battle coming?” Scott asked.
I gave it some thought. “I’m contemplating it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup.”
“From the cellar or the armory?”
I had a vision of a narrow shaft of light piercing the darkness of a dim and musty space.
“The cellar. But I think the door might be cracked open.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Just a teensy bit,” I added, not wanting to raise his hopes.
He smiled in a warm, dimpled assault on my few remaining shreds of sanity and wished me a good night.
I hurried through the door and threw my book bag into the nearest chair.
“Trey?” There was a worried edge to my voice as I looked around the living room, then headed down the hall. “Where are you?”
Trey had called the school during the morning and left a message for me to come home as soon as possible. The receptionist had found me holed up in the staff room, feverishly checking items off my endless to-do list. Mop the stage floor? Check. Write cards to the actors? Check. Sedate Meagan? Check. The moment she said “emergency,” I was out the door and headed for my car. There was nothing dramatic about Trey, and if he used that word . . .
I was halfway down the hall to the bedroom when a smell from the kitchen halted me midstride. It was a familiar odor, the type that made an otherwise-bright day feel bruised.
“Trey?” I said again, unwilling to take a single step toward the kitchen.
He came out into the hallway, all casual and calm, wiping