12. Chapter Twelve #2
“Impressive, right? They don’t make theaters like this anymore.”
She stared, taking in the history all around her, thinking of all the stories this theater could tell. “You’re sure the clue is here?”
“We’re going to find out. After the show, though.
” He handed her a playbill as an usher checked their tickets and directed them to their seats.
Inside, the venue was even more breathtaking.
The domed ceiling glittered with tiny golden stars.
Rows of plush, red velvet seats stretched in elegant rows.
Intricate gold molding framed the stage, exuding pure magic.
Paige glanced at her ticket as they made their way down the lighted aisle, nearly to the stage. “Ethan. These seats must’ve cost you a fortune.”
He shrugged. “I wanted to get those.” He pointed toward the second row, nearly filled. “My grandparents always sat in that row. I think that’s where the clue is.”
Paige sucked in a breath. “That would totally fit the riddle.”
For now, though? The clue hunt would have to wait. Because, for the next few hours, she was going to enjoy a Broadway show— Wicked . With Ethan. And a packed theater.
They settled into their seats, and as the lights dimmed, the hush of anticipation swept through the audience.
The first swell of the orchestra filled the hall, wrapping around them like ribbons.
The actors took the stage, their voices powerful and sweeping.
And Paige was completely enthralled. By the show.
The ambiance. The man sitting beside her, leaning in close to share whispers.
They laughed at the same moments, caught each other sneaking glances, and somewhere between the first and second act, she realized something. She was having fun. She was happy. Not fake-happy. Really, genuinely happy. She was enjoying the night, really enjoying Ethan’s company.
And then—Ethan leaned close, his breath brushing her ear as he murmured, “Thanks for being my date tonight.”
Paige’s breath caught. She held it for a few seconds.
No one was watching. There were no cameras, no expectations. No one could hear him. He didn’t have to say that. And yet, he had.
She nodded, as goosebumps ran down her arms, her mind scrambling to process why that simple sentence had knocked the air from her lungs. This was supposed to be fake. Except, sitting next to Ethan in the dark, it didn’t feel fake . . . at all.
The warmth of his voice. The soft brush of his shoulder against hers.
The whispered commentary. An entire discussion during intermission about how it’s possible to be a hero and a villain at the same time, depending on perspective.
They’d shared a drink, shared their thoughts, shared laughter—just like any normal couple on a date would.
And maybe that was what was throwing her off. This didn’t feel like part of the plan. It didn’t feel pretend. This felt like something she could get used to.
When the show ended, the last notes faded, and the curtain dropped, they sat side by side, chatting about the music, story, and wonder of it all—waiting for the second row to empty so they could start their search.
It all felt normal. As if this was something they did all the time.
Like this was their standing date, and somehow she’d slipped into a different version of her life.
“You ready?” Ethan grabbed her hand.
She blinked, his touch snapping her out of her thoughts. “For?”
“The clue.” He smiled, warm and inviting, like he hadn’t just tilted her entire emotional axis.
Right. The clue. That’s what they were here for. She nodded and grabbed her clutch, her heart thumping harder than it should have. She stood, smoothing her shirt as Ethan slung his jacket over his arm. Together, they made their way down to the second row.
“It’s got to be here,” Ethan said as he stepped into the row. After a few glances around, he crouched down and ran a hand under the first seat. “They always sat here.”
Paige scooted around Ethan and moved to the next seat. She felt along the frame of the chair, the armrests, the cushioning, looking for any place a piece of paper might hide. They searched in silence, both focused and determined, until they reached the end of the row and exchanged a look.
Nothing.
Ethan frowned. “Maybe we need a different angle.” He dropped to his knees on the red carpet, getting low, checking beneath the chairs again, which gave Paige an unreasonably good look at how his shirt stretched across his muscular back.
Not the time, Paige.
Distracting herself from Ethan’s rippling shoulders, she reached into her clutch and pulled out the last clue, scanning the riddle once more.
Framed in light, a century’s glow,
A hidden mark where dreamers go.
Stars above, stars below,
Find the name that stole the show.
Paige stopped reading after the first verse and turned, scanning the theater.
Her gaze ran over the domed ceiling painted with stars.
The stage where stars had just danced. Rows of red and gold seats which stretched across the room.
The clue could be anywhere. Then her gaze flitted toward the lobby and landed on a grand, lighted display case filled with old, framed playbills and movie posters. Her stomach flipped.
Find the name that stole the show.
“Oh,” Paige breathed. “Ethan, we need to check there.”
He pulled himself out from under a chair, sitting back on his heels. “What?”
She pointed toward the display case. “I think we’re looking in the wrong place.”
He rose, and they hurried toward the lobby, Paige’s sandals clicking obnoxiously as she wished—for the hundredth time—that she’d worn her sneakers.
The case stretched across the wall, holding decades’ worth of Chicago Theatre history.
Dozens of playbills, posters, and ticket stubs arranged in neat rows.
Ethan’s gaze flicked over the collection as he walked. Paige did the same, not sure what they were looking for, until Ethan suddenly stopped.
His gaze locked on a black-and-white playbill from decades ago.
The way he was staring at it, Paige knew it was something special.
The playbill had bold, elegant typography, featuring the show title of Forty Carats .
It included an illustration of a sophisticated woman in an evening gown and pearls, with a young, dashing man looking at her adoringly.
The actor’s names were bolded below the illustration.
Paige swallowed. “What do you know about this play?”
Ethan stepped closer. “It was the first show my grandparents saw together.” He reached out, his fingers grazing the glass. Then he turned to her, like they’d just unearthed a treasure.
Paige smiled, her pulse picking up. They both immediately started searching, fingers tracing the frame, the edges, the grooves. Paige went low and Ethan went high. When he stopped abruptly, Paige held her breath.
“No way,” he murmured, pulling a small, aged envelope out from behind the top of the case.
Paige exhaled. “You found it!” She popped up beside him, getting a better look. The cursive and red wax seal were perfectly familiar. Her stomach flipped, and they both stared. Neither moved. Neither spoke. The moment felt . . . special.
“Hey.” Paige placed a hand on Ethan’s arm. “You okay?” He was staring at the envelope like it might vanish if he wasn’t careful.
His throat bobbed, and he let out a slow breath. “Yeah.” He met her gaze, a weight settling between them, but Paige didn’t focus on it for long. She was distracted by two ushers behind Ethan, who watched them curiously.
“Let’s go read this somewhere more private.
” She took his hand and pulled him through the lobby, through the heavy doors, and out into the night before anyone questioned what they were doing.
Outside, the city hummed—people, traffic, energy.
There was still a crowd of theatergoers and Paige navigated through them.
When she stopped further down the sidewalk, Ethan spun her toward him, pure happiness in his eyes, and Paige laughed, like they’d just run from the cops.
“I can’t believe we found another one,” he said, his voice filled with quiet wonder.
She couldn’t either. And more so, she couldn’t believe how good it felt, standing there with him.
Ethan held her gaze, and Paige could’ve sworn the entire city blurred away. No more honking horns, streetlights, or people swarming about.
“Where should we go? To read it?” he asked, and Paige’s thoughts tumbled.
Where did she want to go? With Ethan? Her pulse kicked, just thinking of what might happen if they were alone.
“We could go to my place?” he offered, and her heart tripped. “It’s not too far from here. Queenie would be happy to see you. I’ve got wine and snacks.”
She should say no. But she didn’t want to. Her lips parted, the words forming—
“Excuse me?” Someone cleared their throat beside them, and Paige jumped, afraid the ushers had tracked them outside to accuse them of stealing.
Oh, no.
They turned. A journalist with a press badge and an eager expression stood there, phone in hand. “You’re Ethan Cole and Paige Moon, right?” Her eyes gleamed. “The reality TV star and the romance author?”
Paige’s mouth hung open.
Ethan’s fingers curled around the envelope. “Uh—”
“I knew I recognized you,” the woman gushed. “The whole viral street sign moment—flipping hilarious and adorable! I run a culture and entertainment blog, and our readers would love an inside scoop on your relationship. Could I ask you a few questions?”
Heat crawled up Paige’s neck. What was she supposed to do?
How was she supposed to act? She was still processing the way Ethan had looked at her a moment ago, the way her heart had completely betrayed her.
But Ethan? He didn’t even blink. Without hesitation, he slid the envelope in his back pocket and grabbed Paige’s hand, pulling her close.
“One question,” he said to the journalist, his eyes never leaving Paige’s.
Paige tried not to melt. Tried not to overanalyze the way his hand held hers. Tried not to wonder if he was doing this just for show.
“Oh, you two are just adorable,” the journalist cooed. “Can you tell me how you met?”
“Fate,” Ethan answered, without missing a beat. And the way he said it—like it was the simplest truth in the world—made Paige’s insides flip.
“Aww!” The journalist lifted her phone. “Do you mind if I get a few photos?”
Paige opened her mouth to object or agree or literally say anything, but Ethan beat her to it.
“Of course.”
Then, in one smooth motion, he pulled her even closer.
Oh, no.
Oh, yes!
Oh, what was happening?!
“Fabulous! This is perfect,” the journalist urged them on. “Yes, yes, just like that!”
Paige wasn’t sure what to do with her hands or face or racing heart.
She tried to channel one of her romance heroines, but when her eyes flicked up to meet Ethan’s, she forgot what she was doing.
Because he was looking at her like she was the leading lady of the show they’d just watched.
Like she’d swept him off his feet with a magical performance.
His thumb brushed the back of her hand, sending a trail of heat up her spine.
The journalist snapped a few more photos. “Oh, you two have such great chemistry!”
Paige let out a nervous laugh.
And then—
Ethan’s gaze deepened. His fingers curled tighter around hers and his expression shifted as he asked, “Have I told you how beautiful you are today?”
The words were soft and low, meant only for her.
But Paige heard them like a thunderclap.
Her breath hitched, and for one stupid, panicked second, her lips worked faster than her brain and she awkwardly replied, “No.” But only because she couldn’t think straight.
She’d momentarily forgotten their code question.
The phrase Ethan had come up with. The secret way he could ask if he could kiss her.
Her heart pounded, and when disappointment shifted across Ethan’s face, she remembered. And she barely let him suffer before breathing out a single word.
“Yes,” she breathed, wanting him to kiss her. The problem was, she wanted it for real. “I meant, yes,” she repeated, and Ethan’s mouth twitched at the corners, just before his eyes darkened, like the deep blue of an ocean.
And then—slowly, deliberately—he leaned in.
His hand slid over her jaw, into her hair, tilting her head exactly the way he wanted. Paige’s breath shook. Her lips parted. Her pulse thundered. His lips hung just inches from hers as he studied her, for what felt like hours.
And then he closed the distance, with a deep, consuming, knee-weakening kiss.
For a split second, her knees buckled—actually buckled—and Ethan grabbed hold of her waist. He gathered her close without missing a beautiful beat with his lips.
Who was this man?
And what kind of spell had he cast on her?
Her senses catalogued him. Aged leather and spice. Pillow-soft lips taking charge of hers. A strong embrace, holding her upright.
A shiver ran up her spine.
His kiss made her dizzy. It tasted like trouble and heaven, sending conflicting messages to her brain. And just when Paige reached up to pull him even closer, the journalist spoke.
“These pictures are perfect! Thanks, guys!”
Her words crashed through the moment, and Paige slowly came back to reality, breath still uneven, heart still racing, lips still tingling.
She pulled back.
Because it was a stark, gut-punching reminder—that Ethan had kissed her for the camera. He’d kissed her for show.
And the worst part?
She’d kissed him like it was the start of something real.