Chapter 5
Chapter Five
She should have pinned down meeting details when he’d texted her this morning to confirm the time of the show instead of just writing, “Perfect. See you there.” Or, she could have texted him one of the two hundred times he’d popped into her mind today, but she’d been so busy.
Plus, she didn’t want to be the woman who starts blast texting after only one date. She wanted to be low-key.
And that brilliant approach had left her standing in the almost rain, getting soggier by the second.
She brushed the dampness from her nose and tried to ignore the hummingbird wings of her pulse.
As soon as she’d left work, nervous thoughts had been skittering through her mind.
How would Aleksei react to her wig? He was bound to find out about it if they engaged in any level of intimacy.
And what about the rest of her body? She hadn’t dated since recovering from Remiza.
Would all her female parts still respond the same way they used to?
She glanced at her watch: 6:28. The three minutes she’d been waiting felt longer than her entire workday.
She’d spent the whole morning laser-focused on finishing the Girard financials.
As soon as she’d triple-checked the last number, Armando had rushed in with an emergency assignment for another client.
She’d gotten out of work late, rushed home, taken Thor on a measly 10-minute walk, showered, and dressed faster than a middle school boy.
Somehow, she’d still managed to get here before Aleksei. Hopefully, he was on his way. She looked at her watch again: 6:29.
She hated being late. Of course, late for her was probably early for most. The play started at 7:00, which, on her normal schedule, meant walking into the theater by 6:30 for a quick—or not so quick, since there was generally a line—trip to the restroom.
That way, she could get to her seat by 6:45.
She hated rushing and climbing over random people.
Sage always managed to slide in next to her as the lights were going down. That would never work for Rosemary. It made her uncomfortable to cut it that close. She just wished she’d mentioned that to Aleksei.
“Hey!” Aleksei appeared next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. She’d been so lost in thought, she nearly jumped out of her flats.
His lips parted in a grin. “Sorry for startling you.”
She felt her own lips widen in return. “If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t be laughing.”
“I’m not laughing. I’m smiling because your surprised expression is so cute.”
Her chest and cheeks warmed at the compliment.
He stepped toward her, sliding his palms down the sleeves of her jacket. Her tense muscles instantly relaxed under the weight of his hands. He was so close, her nose almost touched his jacket. His spiced pine scent and proximity sent a wave of heat to her thighs.
“You should have waited inside. You’re getting wet.”
Yep. She was. Just not in the way he meant.
“It’s okay. It’s a rain jacket. All the wet is on the outside,” she said, grateful for the cool drizzle on her flaming cheeks.
Aleksei pulled his phone out, glanced down at the screen, then slid it back into his jacket pocket. “We’d better get inside,” he said, closing his warm, calloused hand over her wet, chilly one. “I want to hit the restroom and get to our seats. I hate rushing in at the last minute.”
The heat that had ignited in her thighs curled up higher, inching toward her heart as she added “punctual” to her mental list of Aleksei’s positive attributes.
He kept hold of her hand, using his body to carve a path through the crowded lobby.
He was tall but lean, more tennis player than football player, yet he navigated the theatergoers with ease.
She’d taken up hiking and rock-climbing when she’d started taking Remiza.
She loved nature, and if the drug didn’t work, she wanted to spend every minute of the life she had left doing what she enjoyed.
As a result, she’d grown strong and was perfectly capable of making her own way to the ladies’ room, but there was something bone-meltingly sexy in the way his bearing made folks step out of his way.
As she emerged from the restroom, her eyes feasted on the delectable sight that was Aleksei.
His face had strong Eastern European features, with high cheekbones and a chiseled jaw that looked like they were carved from granite.
His feet were covered with the same gray dress sneakers he’d worn yesterday.
Today, instead of jeans and a Henley, he wore khakis and an untucked, fitted, white dress shirt.
A cozy, hot-chocolate feeling filled her chest. He’d gotten dressed up for her.
That warmth snaked through her abdomen as he guided her into the theater with a firm hand resting on her lower back. Once they were settled in their seats, she shifted her attention to the playbill the friendly usher had handed her.
“Oh.” The sound escaped her lips before she could censor herself.
“What’s the matter?” Aleksei asked, his accent changing the “a” in matter to more of an “ah” sound.
She hesitated, letting her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
If she answered honestly, he would think she was uncultured and overly sensitive.
The theater subscription had been Sage’s idea.
They’d already seen Matilda and Beauty and the Beast, so she’d assumed all the plays in the package were upbeat musicals. Now, she regretted coming at all.
She shook her head, irritated by her own insecurity. She wasn’t going to pretend to be something she wasn’t, no matter what Aleksei might think of her.
“I’ve been so busy that I didn’t have a chance to look at what tonight’s play is. It was probably on the sign outside, but somehow, I didn’t see it.”
She hadn’t seen it because she’d been savoring Aleksei’s lean height and square shoulders.
“I didn’t even look at my phone when the usher scanned the QR code. So here we are”—she raised her playbill toward him—“getting ready to see Of Mice and Men.”
“You’re not a fan of Steinbeck?”
She huffed out a breath. “I’m not a fan of miserable, tragic stories.”
The edge of his lips twitched, and a twinkle of amusement lightened his gray-blue eyes, like sun rays through clouds.
His smile encouraged her to continue. “It was required reading in ninth grade at my high school. I hated Mr. Hoffstetler for it. I woke up with nightmares for weeks. How can teachers do that to kids?”
His hand covered her forearm, and the sunbeams disappeared from his eyes. “Do what?”
“Traumatize kids with horrible stories. I get that somebody decided to call it literature, but I was fifteen and just getting back to school after years of home tutors because of my wrecked immune system. I was desperate for joy and normalcy, and Mr. Hoffstetler rolls out goddamn Of Mice and Men.”
The white-haired woman in front of them whirled around and shot Rosemary a disapproving glare.
The amused gleam returned to Aleksei’s eyes.
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “And now, twelve years later, he’s getting me dirty looks for cursing in the theater when he never should have made us read that terrible book in the first place. There’s plenty of hate and misunderstanding floating around in the world—
especially in high school. Shouldn’t kids be reading books with happy endings? Or at least ones where good things come from pain and suffering? There’s way too much tragedy in real life. Kids don’t need it in books.”
* * *
This was personal for Rosemary. Deeply personal. He saw it in the sorrow in her eyes and heard it in her ever-rising tone. Well, rising until the senior citizen in front of them had given them the evil eye. Aleksei was grateful to her for it. It had brought a bit of levity to Rosemary’s dark mood.
He hated seeing her so agitated, but hell, she was beautiful.
She looked like an avenging angel. Even damp, her white-gold hair sparkled in the chandelier light.
Bright pink circles stained her pale cheeks, and her bright blue eyes flashed with an intoxicating blend of heartache and passion.
Even her basic, navy-blue jacket contributed to the image, providing the perfect blank backdrop for her luminescence.
It was a good thing Mr. Hoffstetler wasn’t here, or Aleksei would tell him just what he thought of him.
Yeah, school districts set curricula, not individual teachers, and the guy was just doing his job.
But that job had left Rosemary with trauma that lasted a decade.
She was chewing her lip and twisting her hands, and the play hadn’t even started.
Staying here was only going to make her miserable.
The lights began to rise and fall. The show was imminent.
“Let’s make a run for it.”
The audience had quieted, so his voice was louder than he intended, earning them another glare from the woman in front of them.
Rosemary’s hand flew to her mouth, covering a giggle.
Illogical joy filled him at the transformation of her pinched lips to a full-on grin, but then the theater grew dark.
The deep voice of the narrator boomed through the theater, setting the scene.
He didn’t know her well, but from what he’d gleaned during their short acquaintance, Rosemary wouldn’t be comfortable disrupting the play.
If they were going to leave, he had to push her to do it now.
“Stand up, say excuse me, and dash up the aisle. I’ll meet you on the sidewalk out front.”
“We can’t,” she protested.
He put the no-nonsense edge in his voice that he used when teaching new recruits how to go through a door. The tone he used when hesitation could get someone killed.
“Do it now,” he ordered.
And she did.
He left the theater a few minutes later at the sensible, concerned pace one would use when checking on an ill friend. He found her outside, hunched over, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders slightly shaking.
Panic squeezed his chest. Was she crying?