His professionally trained voice articulated every word to dramatic perfection. “We’re down to the details now—if the gremlins in this old theater will give us a break.”
“Gremlins?”
Doug looked up into the steel rafters of the catwalk two stories above their heads before bringing his dark eyes back to hers. “I don’t know a theater that isn’t haunted. Or a production that feels like it’s going to be ready in time. Those were brand-new battery packs we put in the microphones tonight, but they still weren’t working.”
“And you think the gremlins are responsible?” she teased.
Laughing, he patted her shoulder again. “More likely a short in a wire somewhere. But we need to figure out that glitch, put the finishing touches on makeup and costumes, and get the rest of the set painted before we open next weekend.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” she answered, subtly pulling away from his touch. Doug Price was one of those ageless-looking souls who could be forty or fifty or maybe even sixty but who had the energy—and apparently the libido—of a much younger man. “It’s a fun holiday tradition that your group puts on this show every year. Tyler’s having a blast being a part of it.”
“And you?”
Katie smiled. Despite dodging a few touches and missing those extra hours of sleep, she’d enjoyed the creative energy she’d been a part of these past few weeks. “Me, too.”
“Douglas?” A man’s voice from the stage interrupted the conversation. Francis Sergel, the tall, gaunt gentleman who played the Spirit of Christmas Future, had a sharp, nasal voice. Fortunately, he’d gotten the role because he looked the part and didn’t have to speak onstage. “Curtain calls? You said you’d block them this evening.”
“In a minute.” Doug’s hand was on her shoulder again. “You want to go grab a coffee after rehearsal? My treat.”
Although she knew him to be divorced, Doug was probably old enough to be her father, and she simply wasn’t interested in his flirtations. She had too many responsibilities to have time to be interested in any man besides her son.
“Sorry. I’ve got work to finish.” She gestured to her laptop and saw the screen-saver picture had come up—a picture of Trent Dixon, a longtime friend and coworker. Trent, a former college football player, was carrying her son on his big shoulders after a fun day spent in Columbia, Missouri, at a Mizzou football game. Dressed in black-and-gold jerseys and jeans, both guys were smiling as if they’d had the time of their lives—and she suspected they had. Trent was as good to Tyler now as he’d been to her back in high school when she’d been a brand-new teenage mom and she’d needed a real friend. As always, the image of man and boy made her smile...and triggered a little pang of regret.
Katie quickly pushed a key and sent the image away before that useless melancholy could take hold. She’d made her choices—and a relationship with Trent wasn’t one of them. She needed the brawny KCPD detective as a friend—Tyler needed him as a friend—more than she needed Trent to be a boyfriend or lover or even something more. She’d nearly ruined that friendship back in high school. She’d nearly ruined her entire life with the foolish impulses she’d succumbed to back then. She wasn’t going to make those mistakes again.
Katie pointed to the small brown-haired boy onstage. All her choices as an adult were based on whatever was best for her son. “It’s a school night for Tyler, too. So we need to head home.”
But Doug had seen the momentary trip down memory lane in her lengthy pause. He reached over the seat to tap the edge of the laptop. “Was that Tyler’s dad?”
The scent of gel or spray on his perfectly coiffed hair was a little overpowering as he brushed up beside her. Katie leaned to the far side of her seat to get some fresh air. “No. His father signed away his rights before Tyler was born. He’s not in the picture.”
She realized the tactical error as soon as the words left her mouth. Doug’s grin widened as if she’d just given him a green light to hit on her. She mentally scrambled to backtrack and flashed a red light instead.
Easy. She clicked the mouse pad and pulled up the screen saver again, letting Trent’s defensive-lineman shoulders and six feet five inches of height do their intimidation thing, even from a picture on a small screen. “This is Trent Dixon. He’s a friend. A good friend,” she emphasized, hoping Doug would interpret her longtime acquaintance with the boy who’d grown up across the street from her as a message that she wasn’t interested in returning his nightly flirtations. “He’s a cop. A KCPD detective.”
If Trent’s imposing size wasn’t intimidating enough, the gun and badge usually ensured just about anybody’s cooperation.
“I see. Maybe another time.” Doug was king of his own little company of community theater volunteers and apparently didn’t accept the word no from one of his lowly subjects. “I’ll at least see you at the cast party after opening night, right?”
For Tyler’s sake, she’d go and help her son celebrate his success—not because Doug kept asking her out. Katie lowered her head, brushing her thumb across the bottom of her keyboard, studying Trent’s image as plan B popped into her head. Trent was Tyler’s big buddy—the main male role model in her son’s life besides her uncle Dwight, who’d taken her in when he’d married Katie’s aunt Maddie nine years ago. Trent would be at the show’s opening night. She’d make sure to introduce the big guy to Doug and let the handsy director rethink his efforts to date her. Katie was smiling at her evil little plan when she looked up again. “Sure. All three of us will be there.”
“Doug?” Francis Sergel’s voice had risen to a whiny pitch. “Curtain call?”
“I’m coming.” The director waved off the middle-aged man with the beady dark eyes. “By the way, Tyler’s done a great job memorizing his lines—faster than the other kids, and he’s the youngest one.”
Katie recognized the flattery for what it was, another attempt to make a connection with her. But she couldn’t deny how proud she was of how her nine-year-old had taken to acting the way she once had. “Thanks. He’s worked really hard.”
“I can tell you’ve worked hard with him. He stays in character well, too.”
“Douglas. Tonight?” Francis pulled the black hood off his head, although his dark, bushy beard and mustache still concealed half his face. “I’d like to get out of this costume.”
“Coming.” Doug squeezed her shoulder again as he stood. “See you tomorrow night.” He clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention onstage and sidled out into the aisle. “All right, cast—I need everybody’s eyes right here.”
But Francis’s dark gaze held hers long enough to make her twitch uncomfortably in her seat. The man didn’t need the Grim Reaper mask she was making for him. With his skin pinched over his bony cheeks and his eyes refusing to blink, he already gave her the willies. When he finally looked away and joined the clump of actors gathering center stage, Katie released the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. What was that about?
Dismissing the man’s interest as some kind of censure for keeping the director from doing his job, Katie turned to Tyler and winked. She tilted her head to encourage him to pay attention to Doug before she dropped her focus back to the computer in her lap. Francis was a bit of a diva on the best of nights. If he had a problem with Doug trying to make time with her, she’d send the actor straight to the source of the problem—aka, not her.
Feeling the need to tune out Doug and Francis and the prospect of another late night, Katie turned back to her computer. Blocking the final bows and running them a few times would take several minutes, leaving her the opportunity to get a little work done and hopefully free up some time once she got home and put Tyler to bed.
With quick precision, she keyed in the password to access encrypted work files she’d been organizing for the police department—sometimes on the clock, sometimes