and she took two stumbling steps onto the metal platform in the bright midday air.
Bree grabbed for the railing with her right hand but felt the impact of something against her knee before she could reach it.
Her foot slammed into the unidentified object. Before she could stop herself, she found herself flying forward.
“Whooooa—”
The world was suddenly upside down.
Pavement and steps now above her, racing toward her head.
But just as the tip of her braid whacked the steps, she felt something grab her by the waist.
Her body tilted like a carnival ride. Only the ride was a man who had reached around her waist and was pulling her backward. A man who had been sitting on the top step of the metal stairway leading to the back parking lot. A man who, after her knee had knocked him in the back of the head, had stood, grabbed her flying body out of thin air, heaved her backward by the force of his might, and landed her back on the metal platform.
Where she now stood. Frozen.
Clinging to her potted fern.
She blinked. Looked down at the fern. Then up at him.
“I’m . . . sorry. Thanks.”
“Sorry—thanks,” the man repeated, stooping down for his phone, which had toppled three steps down. “Well, I’m sort of the reason you tripped, but I’ll take it.”
A smile ghosted his lips, his sharp jawline softened by a five-o’clock shadow. His brown eyes—crinkly at the temples, as though he dispensed of smiles easily—were just a few inches below hers. Which was incredible, given he was now standing two steps below her.
And she was six feet even.
The fabric at her chest started to droop, and she adjusted her grip. Only then, it seemed, did he look down. “Oh. I see you’ve still got that problem there.”
Bree felt her green face flush. “Ah. So you saw.”
He let out a breathy laugh. “Saw you inch your way offstage like some sort of plant-loving alien backup in a music video who wasn’t supposed to be there?”
Bree’s eyes narrowed.
He coughed. “Because that is definitely not what I saw. That is definitely not what made me start taking a video and get kicked out by a ninety-year-old usher for violating Barter rules.” He paused, grinned. “I’m Chip. And believe me, you were the highlight of my evening.”
He put out a hand.
“Bree.” Bree’s smile twitched as she looked to his outstretched hand, her own hands still occupied by her dress and plant. “And now you’re taunting me.”
His smile was as good as a wink. “Just a little.”
Her eyes lingered on his before a shout came from onstage.
Her mission. Right.
She edged around him, hiked up her dress a few inches, and took a couple of steps down the stairs.
“I need to find my costume designer,” she said. “And I have about, oh, two minutes to get back onstage.”
“So, tons o’ time.”
“Loads,” she said, her eyes flashing back at his with a smile.
“Well,” he said, resting his arms on the railing as he scanned the empty parking lot. “I’d venture a guess she isn’t out here. But if you’re looking for a quick fix, I have something in my truck that might do the trick. It’s across the street, but I could be back in forty-five seconds.”
She paused, her foot hovering over the third step down.
Glanced down the brick wall leading to the front of the theatre, which was growing farther away by the second.
Turned back to him.
He gave her another smile. The kind of companionable smile that said, Hey, let’s go on an adventure. The kind the first kid gave the other kids when he convinced them to jump off a bridge, and they did.
Her gaze followed his across the street, past the sixteen-foot bronze A Midsummer Night’s Dream fountain, up the stairs, to the unseen truck in the other parking lot a football-field length away. She pressed her lips together.
The clock was ticking. She knew Evie may or may not still be at the gift shop. Even if she was, how long would it take for her to work her magic?
She looked back to Chip. “You really think you can fix it?”
He shrugged. “Fix a dress with zero seamstress skills in forty-five seconds? Sure. Who couldn’t?”
Bree raised her brow at his confidence. Part of her knew it would be better to push on toward Evie, but a bigger part of her wanted to see him try. “Make it forty?”
A spark lit in his eyes, as though she didn’t realize exactly who she had just challenged.