Chapter 5 Theo
Theo
When Maya texted him the location for lunch, it definitely wasn’t some quiet, upscale spot with low lighting and linen napkins. Hen’s Kitchen buzzed with light and chatter while chalkboard menus bragged about the best catfish po’boys in Chicago.
Theo liked it immediately.
When he entered, Maya was already seated with her fingers curled around a tall glass of sweet tea. She wore a pink dress with short, fluttery sleeves and a cinched waist that hugged her curves just right. The hem hit mid-thigh, showing off dimpled knees, smooth calves, and tan strappy sandals.
Her makeup was soft, just a warm cinnamon lipstick and a golden highlight that caught every turn of her cheekbone. Her curls were gathered into a low puff at the nape of her neck, with two slick tendrils left loose to frame her face.
Maya eased out of her chair as he approached, and for a moment they did that awkward two-step, handshake or hug, until Maya rolled her eyes and held out her arms.
“Come on,” she said. “You’re not too famous for a hug.”
He grinned and stepped in, trying to be careful with his hands.
She was short enough that his chin hovered just above her head, and softer in all the places he remembered from their dance at Nate’s wedding. She also smelled unfairly delicious, like something floral with a vanilla base.
Theo let the hug last half a second too long before he stepped back.
He’d swapped out his usual jeans and T-shirt for a crisp white button-down and gray slacks, hoping to make an impression. Trimmed his beard that morning. Ran a little product through his wavy black hair. Took extra care not to overdo the cologne.
Just enough effort to look effortless.
“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
“I just got here,” Maya said, her mouth curving into a smirk as she looked him over. “But it’s fine either way. You’re talent now, right? Gotta build the mystique.”
Theo almost laughed as he held up his menu.
Mystique was one word for it. Just looking at her made him lose any cool he’d walked in with.
“Fair warning,” she added, checking her wristwatch, “if they still have catfish at this hour, you need to get the po’boy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He set the menu right back on the table. “You always this bossy?”
She shrugged. “It’s what they’re known for.”
When they ordered, he got the correct sandwich with potato salad and a lemonade. Their waitress had barely left the table before Maya’s posture straightened and her tone shifted.
“So, here’s the thing,” she began. “I’ve never done this part before. Recording, I mean.”
She took a breath, fingers lightly tapping the rim of her glass.
“My previous narrators were a married couple. They were ridiculously in sync, had their own studio, their own rhythm. I’d send the manuscript and a few notes, and they’d just… get it. They knew how to shape the story, how to play off each other.”
Her voice didn’t shake, but there was something tight in it. Controlled. Like she was keeping nerves on a leash.
“This time, it’s just you and me. I know what I want it to sound like, but I don’t know how to get there.” She paused to take a deep breath. “This is the last book in a series, and I know readers have high expectations.”
Theo nodded slowly. “Gotcha… so you’re working with thirty chapters of first-person, dual POV, high-heat romance. I’d take Paul’s chapters, you’d take Yvette’s.”
“Correct.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “And you’ve never recorded anything before?”
Maya cringed as she shrugged. “TikToks. Instagram videos. Is that bad?”
He shook his head. “Not bad at all.” He paused before adding, “I watched a few of them last night. You’ve got a great voice. Warm and inviting. Husky when you’re holding back a secret…”
His words trailed off the moment he caught her expression, somewhere between amused and wide-eyed, like she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or flustered.
Theo cleared his throat, and sat back a little. “Professionally speaking,” he added.
“Of course.”
“Would it help if I describe what I do for my podcast?” he offered.
“Yeah, sure.”
“So for Dead Airwaves, I write or adapt every episode myself,” he began.
“Usually short-form horror, forty-five minutes max. Monologue-style. Sometimes I add layered sound design: wind, floorboards, whispers, but my voice is the focal point. The pacing matters more than people think. If I rush a sentence, it kills the tension. If I wait too long, it turns theatrical.”
He glanced at her, checking if she was still with him.
She was. Quiet and watching with interest.
“My job is to guide the listener through the dark,” he said. “Set the mood. Let them lean in. Let the silence work. If I do it right, they’re not just listening, they’re holding their breath… waiting for a release.”
Maya swallowed.
He tapped once on the table with his fingertip.
“That’s the approach I’d take with Paul’s chapters.
He’s not a horror character, obviously, but he’s got weight.
He’s withholding. Everything he says should sound like it costs something to admit.
So, I’d read him slow. Thoughtful. Keep my voice close, almost like I’m whispering into someone’s headphones. ”
A pause.
Then he added, more gently, “And I’d help you find what works for Yvette. Some people like to perform. Some just want to read. Either way, I’ve got you.”
Maya sat back in her chair like she needed a little more space to think. Not retreating, just... reorienting.
Theo watched her closely.
She’d been sharp from the jump, all structure and deadlines and hidden nerves. But now? Now she looked like she’d just realized this might be a different kind of job than she thought.
“I think,” she said finally, “I might be in over my head.”
“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “I can pull you back up.”
Their server set down their plates, and they thanked her. Maya stirred up her shrimp and grits with a spoon before asking, “Have you told anyone about this yet? Like Nate?”
There it was.
One foot on the gas, the other on the brake.
It was the first time either of them had mentioned her brother out loud.
Theo shook his head. “Nope. I figured that you’d want to hire me first.”
Maya’s eyes held his, serious now. “I am hiring you, but I’d like to keep our working relationship,” she waved a hand over their plates, “between us.”
“That’s fine.” He wasn’t going to be the first person to sprint to her brother with this information…
“And you’re okay with that? Being the guy sneaking around with someone’s big sister?”
He raised a brow. “Sneaking is an interesting way to put it… But yeah, it’s okay. You’re not someone’s big sister. You’re my client.”
She looked away first, down at her plate, before meeting his gaze.
“It’s just easier this way,” she said, almost under her breath. Then, louder, with a small: “Less explaining. Fewer opinions.”
Theo nodded like he accepted it. Like he didn’t want to ask what exactly she’d be explaining…
or to whom. Judging by what he’d read so far, Sweat was going to be a banger—in more ways than one.
People—her family—would certainly have opinions about them crowded in a recording booth, whispering dirty-talk to one another.
Once the intensity of business-talk subsided, they moved on to neighborhood changes, her career, the podcast, and his mom.
She sipped sweet tea while he talked about the fan theories that made him laugh, the recording setup he built from scratch in a closet in Portland, the stalker fan who’d once mailed a bone to his P.O. box.
“A literal bone?”
“Yep. No note. Just a... small animal femur, I think?”
She told him about her writing process, which sounded similar to his own. About attending her author friends’ release parties. The amount of blurbs she has to write in a month. The indie tour circuit and how Sweat was her most ambitious story yet.
And she said it all like it wasn’t a big deal.
Like she hadn’t built a damn career while nobody was watching.
They were picking at a side of cornbread when it happened.
“Excuse me,” a woman said softly. “I’m so sorry to interrupt—are you Theo Ward?”
He turned to find a white woman in her mid-twenties, nervous and flushed, holding her phone like she didn’t want to use it but might explode if she didn’t say something.
“Yeah,” he said gently. “That’s me.”
“I thought so. I—I listen to Dead Airwaves. I knew I recognized your voice but I didn’t want to be creepy, and—oh my God, I am being creepy—”
“You’re not.” He smiled at her. “What’s your name?”
“Dylan,” she breathed. “Can I maybe get a picture? I swear I won’t post until later.”
He glanced at Maya, who was quietly sipping her tea with a smirk.
“Sure,” Theo said. He stood up, Dylan snapped a quick selfie, and before leaving, she whispered, “The 'Gallows Bride' episode is my favorite.”
Theo blinked. “Thank you.”
Dylan gave Maya a quick, apologetic smile and ducked out.
He sat back down slowly.
Maya raised a brow. “Gallows Bride?”
“It’s about a woman who falls in love with a ghost that haunts the train station where her fiancé died. Girls—people—seem to like that one.”
“People like you,” Maya corrected, tilting her head. “You’ve got groupies.”
He laughed, but her eyes didn’t leave his face.
“You’re big time now,” she said with a soft smile. Something about her tone felt like pride, but he didn’t want to bask in it just yet.
He shrugged. “It’s weird. I’m still getting used to being recognized.”
“You handled that really well.”
“I’ve been practicing. Mostly in mirrors. Holding knives.”
She burst out laughing and shook her head. “Weirdo.”
“Occupational hazard,” he said, grinning.
She settled back into her seat, still smiling, and reached for her tea. “I actually tried to listen to one of your episodes this morning. Thought I should do my research.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I made it, like… five minutes in. When the woman started complaining about footsteps in her attic, I said nope! I don’t do all those bumps in the night.”
He raised an eyebrow, slow and deliberate. “That’s funny. I thought you were all about bumps in the night.”
Maya choked on her tea, eyes going wide as she set the glass down too fast. “Teddy!”
“What?” He lifted his hands innocently, though his grin was anything but. “You walked right into that one.”
She tried to glare. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, fighting a smile.
“Don’t worry,” he said, voice dropping just a little. “I keep my horror and my romance in separate files.”
“I mean, do you?” she asked. “They’re quite different…”
Theo tilted his head, considering. “Not as different as you’d think.”
Maya raised an eyebrow.
“In horror, you’re waiting for the monster to show up,” he said. “In romance, you’re waiting for the kiss. Either way, it’s about building tension. Drawing it out. Making you ache for the moment something finally breaks.”
She blinked. Once. Slowly.
Maya let out a soft exhale, her gaze dipping to his mouth. “When do you want to get started?”
“As soon as possible,” he said quickly.
The moment hung there between them, charged and unspoken.
Her smile was tinged with skepticism, like she wasn’t sure if she should trust him…or herself. She shook her head once, slow, as if this whole thing was a crazy mistake she was choosing anyway.
“Of course you do. How’s tomorrow night?”
Theo didn’t hesitate. “Perfect.”
And it was. Too perfect.
Which meant he was probably fucked.