Two-Step Page 30

  It’s because of him that I now have a new manager, Lisa Livingston. She’s flying in next week to meet with me in person, but we’ve already had a few calls and a flurry of text messages about what I need her to provide and what I see as my next steps.

  I almost feel bad saying it, but it’s all been so easy—once I stood up to Moira.

  And I’m sorry that Ramon still feels guilty for leaving town, but if he hadn’t, Beau probably wouldn’t have been there when he was, and I might not have found the strength to do what I needed to do.

  What I’ve needed to do for years, if I’m being honest.

  The difference this time is Beau. He believed I could stand up to her, and I think that made me believe I could too. That I could defy her and strike out on my own and the world wouldn’t fracture and fall to pieces.

  He helped me to trust my gut, and that made it feel safe. I mean, what could be safer than trusting myself?

  And trusting myself has made me feel different in other ways. Not just different, but more tuned in. More awake. I’ve even noticed it on set.

  In the scene we filmed this morning—when Raven has to confront a traitorous member of her coven—I felt a moment of… I don’t even know what it was. Energy, maybe? When my co-star needed just a little push to deliver her line with the right amount of force and feeling.

  And that need felt like a pull—one that made me breathe deeper and deliver my line—the righteous accusation—with my own strong feeling. And when I did, it was like being the source of an updraft that sent her soaring.

  She nailed the scene, and Jonathan was over the moon.

  I can’t wait to tell Beau about it. All day, every day, I find myself itching to see him. Talk to him. Hell, even just text him. I’d never bring my phone on set and defy my director’s no-phone rule, but I’m counting down the minutes until Jonathan calls lunch so I can sprint to my trailer and check my messages.

  When it happens, I’m not disappointed. The text is just twenty minutes old.

  Beau: How’s my girl?

  My smile runs wild. Whenever he calls me his girl or his girlfriend, I feel this tugging in my heart, like he’s beckoning me to him. I go willingly.

  Me: Good. Nailed a scene earlier. Felt awesome.

  I don’t think I can explain in a text how plugged-in I felt. Maybe it’s something I can share during class tonight. Or later.

  Beau: Not surprised. You’re really good.

  This catches my attention. He hasn’t admitted to watching the show.

  Me: Have you been on Netflix recently?

  I stand motionless in my trailer, watching the dots bounce and holding my breath.

  Beau: Is it weird if I say yes?

  Laughter escapes me.

  Me: No! I’m honored.

  If I’m being honest, I’m more than honored. I’m thrilled! Beau is not really a TV-watching kind of guy. But spending time with him has shown me a whole host of his interests. The man loves public radio, especially the early-morning local programming that’s all in Cajun French. He listens on his phone in my bedroom when I’m in the bathroom getting ready, and I hear him singing along with the music or muttering in French to something the show’s host says.

  I don’t understand a word, but it’s adorable.

  Beau: So far, I’ve seen three episodes of Hexed. It’s odd, but I enjoy it.

  I bite my lip.

  Me: Odd?

  I’d like to just stare at my phone, but I also have to actually eat during lunch. We’ll be filming until six tonight. I open the mini fridge and take out the lunch Ramon packed for me this morning.

  It was always something Moira insisted on. The studio caters breakfasts and lunches for the cast and crew, but she never wanted me to eat from the spread.

  No portion control, she’d griped. And you might as well just ask for food poisoning with all that sitting out and God knows who picking over it.

  Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell Ray not to worry about packing lunch. From what I’ve seen on the tables, there’s plenty of choice and lots of healthy options.

  A little rush spikes in my blood. This has happened a lot over the last few days. A little thrill of rebellion like the heady high of a teenager sneaking out or taking the car without permission.

  Except I’m not a teenager. I never went through a rebellious stage, but that isn’t what this is. This is about claiming my independence.

  Beau: Not odd in a bad way. Just watching you. On the screen, you’re you, but you’re also not you.

  I grin.

  Me: It’s called “acting.” Maybe you’ve heard of it?

  Beau: Grivoise

  Me: What’s that mean?

  I dig into my grilled chicken salad, but I never take my eyes off the screen.

  Beau: Sassy. And that I do see in your character. When her sass comes out, I see you.

  My grin pulls wider.

  Me: Is that a bad thing?

  Beau: It’s a really good thing. I love it.

  That one word sets my heart thumping.

  Beau: How many episodes are there?

  Me: Three seasons with 22 each, so 66.

  Sixty-six episodes seems like a lot when I type it out like that, but those years went by in a flash. I’ve enjoyed making the movie, but the routine of the show was comforting. We’re getting toward the end of production, and I’m growing more and more anxious about what’s next.

  Beau: I need to pace myself.

  I blink and reread his text.

  Me: What do you mean?

  Seconds pass and no dots appear. I take a few bites, roll my shoulders, and try to relax a little before we have to start up again.

  Beau: So I can hold onto a part of you when you’re gone.

  The words core me like an apple.

  The hole they leave behind fills with heartache. We haven’t really talked about what will happen when I finish the movie, but every day that passes brings us closer to that turning point, and I can’t pretend I’m not afraid.

  I’m terrified of losing him.

  I wonder what he would say if I asked him to come back to L.A. with me. I know it sounds crazy. It’s way too soon. But I keep picturing him with me, and it’s a picture I like.

  My heart swims high up in my chest as I type.

  Me: What part of you will you give me to hold onto?

  I wait for his response and try to finish the second half of my salad, but now that my heart is lodged under my collarbone, I think my stomach has left the building.

  Beau: Pretty sure you’ll be taking my heart with you.

  Tears spring to my eyes. I don’t type it, but if we can’t work something out, I’m pretty sure I’ll be leaving mine here.

  The following week, I’m so excited, I could levitate. I have good news. The studio is giving Beau the part. Lisa worked it all out. I get to dance with him for the movie, and I can’t wait to tell him.

  When Ramon, Sally, and I step into the kitchen at the dance studio, my eyes lock on his. It’s been like this since the storm. Like the completion of an electric circuit. Automatic. Energetic. Stunning. And it takes me a second to realize other people are in the room.

  Along with Beau, his uncle and a woman I don’t know, stand at the table crowded with dishes. Rich, almost buttery aromas swirl in the air.

  “Hi,” I blurt a startled greeting.

  The woman smiles wide at me, her twinkling eyes a bright blue. “Well, aren’t you just the most adorable little thing,” she purrs, coming toward me with an outstretched hand. I take it, but not before I flit my gaze to Beau and find him watching me with amusement dancing in his eyes.

  “I’m Aunt Lorraine,” the woman says, pumping my hand. Her grip is strong, and I remember Beau describing his aunt as a force of nature. She is that. And beautiful besides. Her hair is a kind of faded gold that—along with the blue of her eyes—makes me think she’s used to commanding attention. “So nice to finally meet you.”

  While Mr. Hebert introduces Sally
and Ramon, my eyes dart to the full table and then back to Beau for an explanation, but he’s just wearing a self-satisfied grin.

  Lorraine clasps her hands together and pitches her voice above the pleasantries. “Beau told me he feeds y’all before class, and when I asked him what he’d been makin’, he said finger food.” Lorraine wrinkles her nose on the last words before throwing her hands up. “Well, I thought it would just be a shame for you to be here and not try some real Cajun cookin’, so I whipped up a few things.”

  Three covered dishes and a basket draped in a white cloth line the length of the table. Nothing here was just whipped up. The feast before us took hours to assemble, and it smells so good, my mouth waters.

  I’m speechless. And a little intimidated.

  “Oh my gosh,” I manage. Ray and Sally murmur their own awe, but, led by his nose, Ramon steps closer. I really have no idea what to say. “Wow… I’m overwhelmed. It smells wonderful, but you didn’t—”

  Lorraine lifts a prohibiting hand. “No-no. Don’t you dare say I didn’t have to do it. I’m sixty years old. I know I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do, which means I always get my way.” She says this fast and kind of sharp, but with good humor. I look at Beau and see he’s holding back a laugh.

  Mr. Hebert closes the distance between them and slides his now cast-free arm around Lorraine’s ample hips. He eyes her with what looks like affection and real appreciation.

  “Lorraine is one helluva cook. I know that better than anyone,” he says proudly. The look in his eyes makes me smile. It’s clear just seeing them together that they have history. And chemistry. “And I can vouch that the only thing she loves better than cooking is watching the people around her enjoy what she’s made.”

  “Oh, hush, David,” she says, flapping her hand in a way that I think everyone knows is just for show because her eyes sparkle at him. Lorraine turns her bright gaze to me. “Besides, I have never heard my nephew carry on about someone the way he’s talked about you.”

  All eyes land on me, and I feel like the sum of my secrets is on display. As though all of them can read the truth in my heart—the words I haven’t even confessed to Beau.

  My face heats, but when I look to Beau for rescue, I see I’m not the only one blushing.

  In a moment, he’s at my side, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

  “Cajun families live to embarrass each other,” he whispers in my ear. And then, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you all day.”

  My heart squeezes, and if my skin is still hot, it’s not from embarrassment. “You too.” I lay my hand over his heart before he draws back. I’ve waited all day to be in his arms.

  Who would have thought I would have hungered for our dance lessons as much as I do?

  With Beau’s touch, I’ve forgotten all about the feast in front of us, but Ramon hasn’t.

  “What is all this?” He sounds like a man ready to fall to his knees.

  “Crawfish fettuccine, smothered cabbage, garlic-butter French bread,” Lorraine rattles off with a lilt of pride, “and sweet potato pie for dessert.”

  “It sounds divine,” Sally coos. It also sounds heavy and decadent, but I ignore Moira’s voice in my head, screeching about calories and carbs. Beau’s aunt went to a lot of trouble, and I’m not about to insult her by not eating her food.

  “Well, grab a plate and dig in. It won’t stay hot forever, and you won’t get anything like this in California.”

  Ramon doesn’t waste any time, and Sally steps in behind him. But Lorraine’s mention of California triggers a gut clench. My eyes find Beau. His intent gaze is fixed on me, and I have the sudden certainty he’s thinking the same thing.

  Our time is running out.

  We stare into each other, neither of us moving or glancing away. For one unbroken moment, what I see in his eyes must mirror what’s in mine. Joy. Sorrow. Fear. Courage. Grief. Love.

  I swallow against the tightness in my throat, and Beau’s focus sharpens—as if he recognizes I need rescuing.

  “C’mon. You really should try this. I’ll make you a plate.” His words are for everyone else, but the cover they provide is for me.

  I nod and let him serve both of us while I get myself together. It’s the first time today tears have threatened—it’s happening more and more often—but this is one time when I don’t want an audience.

  When Beau hands me a plate of food, I let myself savor the rich aromas. We sit. We eat. And words cannot describe the wonders. Delicious. Delectable. Divine. They all fail to capture the experience.

  I can’t remember the last time I ate fettuccine of any kind, but there’s just something wicked about a broad noodle swimming in a spicy, creamy, sauce. I’ve eaten crawfish before—on a salad in a California restaurant that claimed to be Cajun-fusion. They were tiny, flavorless things. But these? These are plump, sassy, and swirl up perfectly in a bite of pasta.

  My friends and I can’t stop moaning and praising the food—even after I share my good news about Beau’s film debsut. His Aunt Lorraine teases him mercilessly. She’s a trip, and his uncle can’t take his eyes off her. Now that I’ve met her, I can see why their relationship has been off-and-on. She’s kind of a lot to take, but I like her.

  And I can’t help but feel that this meal is a kind of welcome from his family. It’s something I never thought about wanting, but now that it’s being offered, I treasure it. I just wish I could enjoy it for longer.

  When it’s clear that we’re all done, Beau collects everyone’s plates. I’m stuffed.

  “I can’t even imagine dancing right now,” I groan, getting to my feet.

  “Best way to work off a meal,” Lorraine says brightly.

  Mr. Hebert stands and offers her his arm, his smile rueful. “I don’t have a busted elbow anymore. We could join them.”

  Lorraine takes his arm and stands with a smirk. “Hmph. If you hadn’t had that busted elbow, we probably wouldn’t be talking.”

  Beau returns from the sink. He leans in close and whispers in my ear, “Hear that? Looks like they have you to thank for bringing them back together.”

  I pull a face but keep my voice low. “To thank or to blame?”

  He smothers his laugh. I love making him laugh. I love making anyone laugh, but with Beau, it feels like I’ve really triumphed.

  We move into the studio, and even though I feel like I’ve just had Thanksgiving dinner, our warm-up leaves me ready to go through the routines.

  Beau starts the music—we’ve been practicing exclusively with the tracks from the movie the last two weeks—and then I’m in his arms. Right where I want to be.

  I’m not ready for this to end.

  The thought shreds me. The feeling is full body. And Beau doesn’t miss it.

  “What’s wrong?” He moves me through a brush-off turn, and even though my heart is in my shoes, I don’t misstep or stumble. He’s made me so comfortable with this routine, I’ll probably never forget it.

  At least that’s one thing I’ll get to keep.

  “Tell me,” he urges, righting us again.

  I reach for the thread of hope that has been teasing me for days. “I want to be with you.” I speak lowly so only he can hear.

  He gives me a sad smile. “You are with me.”

  My stomach plunges. Is this his way of telling me to enjoy the moment? Just enjoy what we have while we have it—even if it’s doomed? My blood rises with the urgency to make plans and to nail down something solid, some kind of future.

  The thought of losing him makes me bold. “I want to keep being with you.”

  A pained look crosses his face. “I want that too.”

  His expression ignites my panic. “Is it that impossible? You’re looking at me like it’s impossible.”

  Beau frowns and shakes his head. “I’m not saying it’s impossible. If you’re offering me a long-distance relationship, I’ll take it and run with it.” Breath leaves him in a rush. “I’ll take anything I ca
n get, Iris. I meant what I said. You are with me. Even when you’re not. I don’t think that’s going to change when you’re two thousand miles away.”

  My chest is so tight it takes real effort to breathe. “That’s how it is for me too. But the thought of being two thousand miles away from you physically hurts.”

  It’s as though my words pummel him. His eyes pinch, and his shoulders bow. He groans low, but I hear it. It sounds like pain.

  And that physically hurts too.

  “I have to be back in L.A. for an audition on August 3rd,” I say, going for broke. “Would you come and spend the rest of your summer break with me?”

  Emotions war in his eyes. Surprise. Joy. Crushing disappointment. “I have teacher in-service meetings starting August 4th.”

  I only just stop myself from saying that there are schools in L.A. too. I mean, because that would be crazy, right? Beau wouldn’t uproot his whole life for me, and even if he would, it could be disastrous. We haven’t known each other all that long.

  Except it feels like I need to know him for the rest of my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  BEAU

  I’m in love with Iris Adams.

  I look at myself in the trailer’s mirror and know that’s the only explanation. No other way would I consent to letting someone film me dancing in this getup. A half-dozen other guys are in here changing too, but none of their costumes are this flashy.

  If I thought for even a second that being in this movie would give me any street cred with my students, I was dead wrong. This black, Western-retro dress shirt alone is going to ruin my hard-nose reputation.

  And I don’t care.

  Okay, maybe I care a little. I swear, I look like I’ve just walked out of Cavender’s. If only the shirt didn’t have the red embroidered flowers down the chest, on the collar, and across my shoulders. I could handle the pearl snaps and white piping, but jeez, these flowers.

  I step out of the trailer, and the wardrobe assistant who greeted me ten minutes ago is standing there—holding a black, felt cowboy hat in her hands.

  “You look great!”

  I can’t take my eyes off that hat. I’ve never worn a cowboy hat in my life. “You do know that Cajuns don’t dress like this, right?”