air in the community theater auditorium was cool compared to the outside warmth of the sunny spring morning. It smelled like sawdust and paint, musty curtains, a little bit of sweat, and a whole lot of excitement.
It smelled like a show.
Maggie smiled and waved to friends from past productions as she put her gym bag down on one of the seats in the first row.
There was an audition sign-up sheet posted on the apron of the stage, and she signed in.
“Sign me in, too.”
She looked up to see Matt leaning over her shoulder to look at the list. His hands were on the stage, on either side of her, effectively pinning her in.
His teeth flashed white and perfect as he grinned at her. He was standing so close, Maggie caught a whiff of the spearmint toothpaste he’d used, probably right before leaving his house. He was wearing all black—a snugly-fitting T-shirt, sweats, and a pair of jazz shoes that had clearly seen a lot of use. Howard Osford, the slightly balding, slightly overweight tenor who usually won the romantic leads out of lack of competition didn’t stand a chance today.
“What are you singing?” she asked as he watched her add his name to the list.
Matt shrugged, straightening up and freeing her. He followed her back to her gym bag, throwing himself casually into the seat next to it. “Want to do a duet?” He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and looked up at her, a glint in his eyes.
Maggie stopped taking off her street shoes to glare at him. “That always really pissed me off.”
“What?” He grinned, knowing darn well what she was talking about.
“The way you could come into an audition totally unprepared and walk away with the lead.”
Matt tried not to be obvious about watching her as she pulled off her T-shirt and adjusted her sports bra. She was wearing tight black pants that flared and a colorful dance top that left her midriff bare.
“You should get a belly button ring,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Ouch. No thanks.”
“You know, it’s been more than three years since I’ve gone on an audition,” he said. The room was filled with dozens of hopeful singers and dancers. It didn’t matter the town or the state—the hope that hung in the air at an audition was always the same.
“Are you scared?” she asked.
Matt tried to look frightened. “I won’t be if you sing a duet with me.”
She just laughed. “Not a chance. I, for one, worked hard to prepare a song.”
“Then let me use you as a prop.”
Maggie crossed her arms. “Come again?”
Ooh, he loved it when she put on a little attitude. Sweet Maggie had a backbone beneath that soft outer layer. “A prop,” he repeated, working hard not to smile. “You know, a warm body to sing to. I always do much better when I’m not up on stage all alone.”
She laughed in his face. “Tough luck. That’s what an audition is all about—being on stage all by your little old self. You can sing to me all you want, but I’m going to be right down here.” She shook her head in disgust. “Prop.”
“Okay,” Matt said.
“That’s it? No fussing? No begging? No whining? Just, okay?”
He tipped his head back and smiled up at her. “It’s only an audition.”
“I hate you,” she said, and walked away.
Ten minutes later, the first trembling victim stepped onto the stage, and Matt joined Maggie at the back of the room.
“I’m up twentieth,” she whispered. “You’re twenty-first. Have you decided what to sing?”
He nodded yes. “I’m doing something from my favorite show.”
“What is your favorite show?”
“West Side Story. It was the most fun I’ve had on stage in my entire life.”
Maggie looked at him, perplexed. “You mean, back in high school?”
“Yup.”
He looked up at the stage, watching as the director cut the singer off midsong. Maggie studied his profile, remembering the turmoil of his senior year.
Another singer mounted the stage and made it through about sixteen bars before being stopped and thanked for coming.
“Sheesh.” Matt glanced at her. “This director is brutal. They’re dropping like flies. He doesn’t give anyone time to warm up. At this rate, you’re going to be up there in less than a minute.”
“He is pretty harsh,” Maggie agreed, then asked, “How could West Side Story be your favorite show? You were miserable the entire time. You had that big fight with Angie….”
“As Matthew I was miserable,” he told her. “But I sure loved being Tony.”
He had a funny little half smile on his face, and a look in his eyes that made her heart beat faster.
He looked back at the stage, and Maggie watched him watch the auditions.
“Maria was a great part,” she told him softly. “But it was very hard each night to watch you die.”
He glanced at her, and the look on his face was one she absolutely couldn’t read.
“Maggie Stanton,” a stout woman with cat-eyed glasses and a clipboard finally called. “You’re next.”
Yikes.
Matt caught her arm as she started for the stage, pulling her into his arms for a hug. “Break a leg, Mags.”
She looked up at him, and the realization hit her hard, leaving her feeling weak. She wanted him to kiss her.
He was handsome and vibrant and so very alive and she wanted him to kiss her.
He wasn’t Angie’s boyfriend anymore and she wanted him to kiss her.
And he did.
On the cheek.
She swallowed her disappointment as she walked down the theater aisle toward the stage. Those sparks she’d thought were flying all over the place must’ve been only in her mind.
Or else he would have really kissed her, wouldn’t he?
He saw her as a friend, a buddy to hang with.
Which was a good thing. Matt had never been cut out for anything but short-term, intensely passionate flings. True, they wouldn’t leave his bedroom for a week, but after that week, it would probably be over. Any kind of romance with him would definitely be a mistake—particularly since she was going to be working with him.
She was going to work with him.
She’d called her boss at A&B this morning, and he’d accepted her resignation gracefully. In fact, he’d told her he didn’t even need the usual two weeks notice. Times were tough all over, Maggie knew, and business had been off lately, even at the big law firms.
She just had to go in some time next week, clean out her desk and drop off the company cell phone.
She handed her music to the accompanist with a smile, moved center stage and nodded to the director. He was someone she’d never worked with before, someone who didn’t know her from Eve. She could see him glancing through her resume, and she turned back to the piano player and nodded.
As the first strains of music surrounded her, Maggie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting herself become the character—a thirtysomething dancer pleading for a second chance on the stage.
As