Sandcastle Beach (Matchmaker Bay #3) - Jenny Holiday Page 0,65

Think back to times in your life where you’ve been at odds with someone. Was there ever a time you were arguing, but you were drawing energy from that arguing?”

“Like you enjoyed the arguing?”

“Well, like, sparring, you know? Sparring can be invigorating, even if it’s not strictly enjoyable.”

“Right. I get it.”

He didn’t sound like he got it.

“Okay, let’s take it from my next line.” Soon they were going back and forth. But they were not doing anything close to sparring. She signaled for him to stop.

“Maybe the problem is that when you’re a celebrity, no one really spars with you,” he said. “People kind of do the opposite. They’re all deferential.”

That was a smart observation. Not that it helped her, but it was interesting.

“Well.” She patted his arm. “I can always start yelling at you tomorrow.” People were starting to make their way back in, so she raised her voice to reach everyone. “Let’s run the final song and dance, and we’ll wrap for the day.” One of the directing tricks she’d picked up in school was to try to end each day of rehearsals on a positive note, and everyone loved this part. The reprise of the play’s signature song let Holden shine. And when Holden sparkled, so did everyone else, because although he might be struggling with Benedick’s lines, he exuded charm when he sang and danced.

The song originated earlier in the play and was sung by another character, but they were doing a reprise for the curtain call, in a pop-music format. She and Holden had choreographed the accompanying dance as a sort of pastoral romp with some steps lifted from Two Squared’s videos. It was all meant as a kind of lighthearted wink to the audience in keeping with the play’s upbeat ending.

“I’m going to watch today rather than participate,” she said. A few people were struggling with the choreography, and she wanted to get a handle on where the weak spots were. She hit play on her phone and smiled as she sat back and watched…everyone except Holden dance?

“Cut! Holden, why aren’t you dancing?”

“I know the steps already. I figure I’ll let everyone catch up, then jump back in.”

Arg. The other day, when Benjamin had accused her of looking like she was sucking a lemon, it had been day one of rehearsals. Now she feared her face was going to freeze in lemon-sucking mode.

Maya took a deep breath and forced herself to smile. “I need you in there, Holden. They’re supposed to be dancing around us.” Also, don’t be a dick. “And right now I’m not there, so that means they’re dancing around you.” She and Holden were supposed to be doing the boy-band moves in the center of the “garden,” and everyone else was sort of frolicking around them in a more traditional “Shakespearey” way. The juxtaposition was intended to be funny.

Holden did this thing with his face she was starting to become familiar with. It wasn’t an eye roll, exactly. It was more subtle than that. More like a slight loosening of his face. It seemed like something a teenager would do if he knew he couldn’t get away with a more strident display of displeasure.

It pissed her right off.

But what could she do? She needed Holden. She had bet the farm on Holden.

“You know what, folks? Let’s call it. Work on your lines—remember we’re off book on Monday—and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Law hadn’t seen Maya in the almost two weeks that had elapsed since their dinner in Bayshore. She hadn’t come into the bar. He hadn’t seen her on the street. He’d even gone down to the lake last night, a full-moon night, but though Eve and Nora had been there, there’d been no sign of Maya.

Her absence gave him occasion to ponder the fraught end of what had been a pleasant evening in Bayshore, and to conclude that he should not have offered to look at her grant application. He’d only meant it to be helpful—an extra set of eyes.

Because he’d been so gobsmacked over the notion that she might have to close the theater. Close the theater. It was impossible to imagine Moonflower Bay without the theater.

But why was he so surprised? She had told him, that night on the roof, how much she needed Much Ado about Nothing to succeed. And there had been all that talk about taking over her dad’s store.

But of course his offer to look at her grant application had come off as condescending. She