Spreadsheets and Bedsheets (Havenwood #1)

26

JULES

L ater that week, dinner at my apartment wasn’t the candlelit dreamscape I might have pictured in a quieter, simpler life, it was messy and erratic, yet full of its own comforting charm. The table I had cleared for us was in fact my cluttered desk, usually buried beneath stacks of handwritten notes, scripts, frayed costume sketches, and the ever-present evidence of late-night caffeine in the form of a lone coffee ring. Tonight, however, the surface was transformed: mismatched plates were arranged as if to celebrate the imperfect, a single, wavering candle stub flickered in a small glass holder, and the enticing aroma of roasted vegetables mingled with garlic bread that Elliot had insisted on preparing filled the room.

The apartment itself carried a medley of scents. The rich, herby fragrance of fresh basil from his perfectly roasted chicken intermingled with the lingering, faint musky scent of paint and sawdust, a constant reminder of the space’s creative chaos. A solitary window, cracked open to let in the cool evening air, offered up the gentle hum of the city beyond, setting a quiet, rhythmic backdrop to our conversation.

I sat cross-legged in a somewhat improvised chair opposite him, mechanically moving carrots around my plate as if they held the answers to my frustrations. My body buzzed with exhaustion; every nerve from head to toe still thrummed with the remnants of tech and dress rehearsals. Yet even as fatigue overtook me, I hesitated to admit the full extent of my weariness.

“It’s like… no matter how much I do, it never feels like enough,” I confessed, a tremor of frustration threading through my voice. “The costumes are nearly perfect, but they’re always missing something. The stage blocking is still clunky in parts. And honestly, the lights, either they blind or leave the stage shrouded in darkness like some forgotten crypt. It’s a relentless barrage of imperfection, and I can’t see where it all leads.”

Elliot leaned back in his chair, his own nearly clean plate a quiet counterpoint to my scattered emotions. Watching me with that familiar, patient calm, he cradled a wine glass loosely between his fingers as he spoke. “You’re trying to carry it all on your shoulders, aren’t you?” he observed, his tone gentle and understanding.

I exhaled slowly as I set my fork down, the dull clink against the plate emphasizing my inner turmoil. “Of course, I am. It’s my vision, Elliot. If I don’t micromanage every detail, who will? It’s tech week, every minute is consumed by chaos, but it’s my chaos. Surrendering even a tiny piece of control isn’t an option.”

With his head tilted slightly and brows drawn in a faint expression of concern, Elliot’s calm voice persisted. “Jules, you’re just one person. You’ve got a whole team behind you. Let them shoulder some of the burden. And trust me, if things don’t fall exactly into place, it isn’t the downfall of the entire production.”

Each word from him tightened and then gradually pried loose the knot in my chest. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, meeting his steady gaze. “You don’t understand,” I insisted softly, “this isn’t just about me. It’s the entire production. Every element must mesh perfectly, or the whole thing comes apart.”

He nodded slowly as though letting my words settle into the quiet hum of the evening. “I understand, Jules. More than you might believe. But sometimes, it’s not about reaching flawlessness. Sometimes, it’s the raw heart, the passion behind it, that makes something truly great, and you’ve got more heart than anyone I know.”

His tenderness took me by surprise, softening the tension within me as his words cascaded gently over my frayed nerves. “It’s really hard to let go,” I admitted in a quieter tone, vulnerabilities laid bare in the flickering candlelight.

Elliot’s smile was faint but sincere as he set his wine glass down and leaned forward. “I know it is,” he murmured. “But you taught me that sometimes, taking a leap of faith is the only way forward. Perhaps it’s time to allow someone else to catch you, even if it’s just for one night.”

I sank back into my chair, feeling a gradual release of the pressure in my shoulders, and a small smile began to tug at the corners of my lips. “You’re annoyingly wise,” I teased softly, amusement brightening my weary eyes.

A playful smile curved his lips in reply. “I try,” he said lightly.

A burst of laughter, fragile yet liberating, escaped me, echoing against the apartment’s brick walls and filling the space with warmth that contrasted the day’s heaviness. Turning my attention back to the moment, I lifted my wine glass and took a measured sip as I watched him. His presence, calm and unwavering, seemed to still the small, cluttered room in a sense of stability.

After a quiet pause, Elliot tilted his head inquisitively. “What else is going on?” he asked softly, his eyes probing with care. “I mean, aside from the play. You’ve been a bit quieter than usual.”

I hesitated, swirling the ruby liquid in my glass as if it could summon the right words. “Well, there’s… life stuff,” I finally offered. “The lease on this apartment is up in a few months, and honestly, I’m not sure I can keep up with it. Rent has skyrocketed, and with every dollar tied up in the Playhouse, finances have become scarcer than ever.”

A flicker of concern crossed his face. “Do you have a plan?” he inquired gently.

“Sort of,” I admitted, biting my lip in thought. “Callie mentioned that I could move in with her for a while. It would alleviate some of the monetary pressure, and truthfully, a change of scenery wouldn’t be unwelcome. This place has its own peculiar charm, but…” I gestured vaguely at the room, its walls chipped with peeling paint and furniture mismatched in both style and era, “it feels like it’s holding onto its past a bit too tightly.”

Elliot nodded slowly, his thoughtful gaze unpressured as he allowed the conversation its space. I felt grateful for his silence on the matter; it was a topic I wasn’t yet ready to unpack in full detail, even as his quiet support anchored me more steadily than I had realized.

After our meal, the dishes remained abandoned on the tiny counter as we lingered at the table, enveloped in an easy camaraderie that wandered from the trials of the Playhouse to tales of his week with Caleb, and even the humorous mishaps of my failed attempt at reupholstering the very chair he occupied. His laughter, light and sincere, danced between us and seemed to stitch together the frayed edges of my day. In sharing these moments, not only was I unraveling the knots of stress, but I was also revealing the parts of myself I usually guarded so fiercely, and he listened, every word a gentle affirmation.

When I finally rose to clear the plates, Elliot’s hand rested softly on my wrist, halting me. “Leave them,” he murmured, his voice tender with unspoken care. “You’ve done enough for tonight.”

I looked down at his hand, steady, warm, and reassuring, and nodded. For the first time that week, a real sense of calm flickered within me. Despite the relentless crazy of tech week and the weight of so many looming uncertainties, there was something profoundly grounding in knowing that Elliot was here, a constant beacon of stability amidst the storm. And for that evening, I allowed myself a long, measured exhale, embracing the moment of reprieve.