Be Careful, It's My Heart, Page 3

  There was no sense in pretending he didn’t know who Tucker was talking about. “Does it matter?” said Brody. “Ancient history. We both moved on.” Of course she’d moved on. A woman like that wouldn’t waste time and wait around. Somebody else would’ve coaxed her to the altar long before now.

  “You with somebody?” asked Tucker pointedly.

  “No.” As if it mattered.

  “Neither is she.”

  Brody tried to ignore how his heart began to pound at that news. “What are you saying, Tuck?”

  “I’m not saying anything. Just stating some facts.” Information delivered, Tucker sat back. “Should be a good show. With you here, all the old gang’s come out of the woodwork.”

  “Think it’ll be enough?”

  “Don’t know. But if anybody can pull this off, it’s Norah.”

  “Norah?”

  “Cam’s fiancée.”

  “Campbell Crawford is getting married?” Brody tried to wrap his brain around that idea.

  At this Tucker grinned. “Yep. Not a local girl, but you’d never know it. Landed here last year, stuck like glue. She’s the one behind the rehab downtown. Heading up this whole campaign toward rural tourism. She’s really jazzed everybody up for revitalizing the town.”

  Which meant she was probably somehow behind the hotel. It made a lot more sense now why his boss had chosen this site. He’d gotten on a kick with urban redevelopment the last few years. Perhaps he’d decided on more of a small town angle. It would suit Peyton’s give-back attitude.

  It was odd to think of Wishful as anything other than dying as it slowly had been over the last several decades. Brody found he liked the idea of new growth, of projects aimed at restoring his hometown to its former glory days. Even if those glory days had burnt out years before he’d been born.

  “Hey Twinkle Toes McGee, get up here for a reading!” shouted Nate.

  “I’m up.” Tucker started to rise.

  “Tucker.” Now Brody’s lips did curve into a smile as he uncurled the hand clenching the armrest, offered it. “It’s really good to see you, man.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, his old friend took it, pulling him in for a back-thumping hug. “Welcome home, boy-o.”

  And just like that, things slid into place, his old best friend accepting his presence without further question. With him, at least, Brody’s return wouldn’t be complicated. That would ease his transition back into the community somewhat. As Tucker climbed out of his seat and headed for the stage where Tyler waited, a script in hand, Brody wished his other relationships could be repaired so easily. Then he cursed himself as an idiot.

  She’d made her answer crystal clear eight years ago. At best he was chasing after a memory of what used to be. Which made him nothing more than the romantic fool who’d thought she’d follow him to the ends of the earth. He’d learned better. He couldn’t allow himself to be ruled by nostalgia for the next few months. No, he’d audition, help save the theater as his good deed. And finally get some closure so when he left at the end of the year, he could finally move on with his life.

  9 Weeks 'Til Show

  Tyler felt a twinge of instinctive annoyance at the sight of Corinne Dawson stepping into the shop, then immediately chastised herself. This wasn’t high school, or even college. They were grown women. The crap from years past didn’t matter anymore. So she had a friendly smile pasted on as Corinne crossed to the counter, her little boy in tow.

  “Hey there, Corinne.” Tyler shifted the smile to her son. “Hi, Kurt.”

  Kurt pressed his face against his mother’s leg, but Tyler could just see the edges of a shy smile.

  Corinne glanced around the empty store. “Slow day?”

  Tyler tried to tell herself that wasn’t some kind of criticism or gloat. “We get a lull this time of day. Was there something I could help you with?”

  “Well, I hope so. See, I’ve been on Pinterest.”

  Tyler laughed. “Famous last words. I think I have about a thousand projects pinned that I’ll never get to.” See, easy. Friendly. Common ground. This isn’t so bad. “What in particular caught your eye?”

  Kurt began to tug at Corinne’s pants leg as she dug around in her purse. “Not right now, baby.”

  “I bet you like trucks,” said Tyler.

  Kurt looked up at her. Big brown eyes dominated his thin face. He nodded solemnly.

  “I’ve got a few trucks over here if you’d like to play with them. If it’s okay with your mom.” She glanced at Corinne, who looked startled for a moment before giving a go ahead wave.

  Tyler retrieved the old wooden toys from the office and set Kurt up on the rug by the consult area. Despite his earlier bashfulness, he dove into the trucks with gusto, making engine and crashing noises. She grinned, “He’s totally adorable, Corinne.”

  “All his daddy’s charm, none of his bad temper,” Corinne agreed.

  Not for the first time, Tyler wondered if Corinne’s ex-husband had abused her. She felt a stirring of sympathy. No matter how hateful Corinne had been when she was younger, nobody deserved that.

  “So there’s this little hanging herb garden thing they made outta Mason jars,” Corinne began. “I’ve got the board to mount them on, but I need these clamp things.”

  “Oh I’ve seen that one. Cool project. Great when you have limited space by a window.” Tyler asked a few more questions and helped her pick out the necessary clamps, along with a small tin of chalkboard paint to make space for labels on each jar. Conscious that errands with a small child could often turn hellish in a second, Tyler was quick about ringing her up. “It’s a little late in the year to start herbs from seeds, but I know for a fact Cecil Pryor has an enormous herb garden and loves sharing.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Corinne glanced at the door for the fifth or sixth time since she came in. “Listen, Tyler, there’s something I think you ought to know.”

  “Oh?”

  “I mean, maybe you already know, but in case you didn’t, I didn’t think it right you be taken unawares.”

  Where’s she going with this? Tyler waited, eyebrows raised.

  “Brody came in to the cafe yesterday.”

  The words struck Tyler like a blow.

  “You didn’t know.” Corinne twisted the strap of her purse “I thought maybe he’d come back to see you.”

  She actually looked…distressed? Or maybe that was just Tyler filtering through her own upset.

  “Nate’s posted the cast list!” sang Piper as she bounced through the door with a jingle. “Tucker just called. How close are you to lunch?”

  “I—”

  “Tyler? Honey, what’s wrong?” Piper skirted around the counter.

  At the touch of her hand, Tyler felt her knees wobble. Determined, she locked them and firmed her mouth. “It’s nothing important.”

  Piper turned, saw Corinne. Defensive temper leapt in her eyes. “What did you do?”

  Tyler curled her hand around Piper’s arm and squeezed in warning before she could pop off. “Thanks for coming in, Corinne. I hope your herb garden project turns out well.”

  With another look of what might have been sympathy, Corinne called to her son. “Come on, Kurt. Time to go.”

  Seeing the child, Piper held her tongue until the pair of them left. As soon as the door shut, she said, “What did that vindictive bitch say to you?”

  “Wasn’t her,” Tyler managed. Too overwhelmed to get into Corinne’s apparent change of heart, she simply folded, sinking to the floor behind the counter. It was good that the store was empty just now, good that no one but Piper was here to see her carefully constructed control crumble to dust. The ache bloomed in her chest, pressing, twisting until she could hardly breathe.

  Piper knelt down, took her hands and waited.

  I will not cry. I will not. Damn it, I won’t shed another tear over him. Tyler dug deep, reaching for the stubborn pride that had gotten her through the first brutal years.

&nb
sp; “Brody’s back.” If her voice shook on that pronouncement, at least she wasn’t sobbing.

  Piper plopped down on the floor and pulled her into a tight hug. “Have you seen him?”

  “No.” Because he hadn’t come back for her.

  “Then maybe she’s lying.”

  “Why would she? Why now, unless he really is here? He’s the reason she’s always hated me.”

  “Then you’ll deal. You’ve been dealing just fine the last eight years.”

  “Well, the last six anyway. I don’t think either of us is under any illusions that I was fine at the beginning.”

  As the back door opened, Tyler brushed at her face, though there were no tears to erase. “That’ll be Morgan. Let me just take a minute, then we’ll go meet Tucker.”

  It helped to slide back into normal, to give Morgan details about what orders had come in, who needed to be notified. As Tyler slipped into the back to retrieve her purse, she imagined building a wall around herself again. Nothing about this could touch her. Which was an absolute lie. But once upon a time, she’d been a damned fine actress. She could play this role.

  “It’s going to be so nice to have you back on stage,” said Piper, linking her arm through Tyler’s.

  “You’re making the assumption I actually got cast.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. Of course you got cast. What’s with the doom and gloom? Are you regretting auditioning?”

  “No. Not really. It’s just a little bit bittersweet.”

  Piper was wise enough not to mention Brody.

  “I spent all those years not performing, and this might be the last show.”

  “Have faith, dear one! The Madrigal will prevail! We will pull this off. You’ll see.”

  That was Piper. The eternal optimist.

  They rounded the corner onto Broad Street and saw Tucker waiting for them up the next block in front of the theater. He was bouncing impatiently on his feet, back to the doors. As soon as he caught sight of them, he made big waving circles of his arms, urging them to hurry up. Though she really wanted to go slow, to prepare herself, Tyler gave in to Piper’s urging and sped up her pace. Then they were there, in front of the doors. In her periphery, Tyler could see the printed page taped to the inside of the glass.

  “Have you looked?” demanded Piper.

  “I was a good boy,” Tucker informed her.

  “Okay then,” she said, taking his hand and Tyler’s. “Together. On three. One. Two. Three.”

  As one, they turned and marched to the door, crowding shoulder to shoulder to read the tiny print.

  Bob Wallace would be played by Myles Stuart. Nobody Tyler knew.

  There, second from the top, Phil Davis-Tucker McGee.

  Next line down, Betty Haynes-Piper Parish.

  And after that…

  Judy Haynes-Tyler Edison.

  Tucker and Piper whooped. Tyler felt something in her unclench. She’d gotten the part. All those years off hadn’t actually ruined her abilities. Relieved, excited, she scanned the rest of the cast list, noting familiar names from shows gone by, and a few new ones, too. And then she ran across a name that shouldn’t have been there at all.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Her voice sounded hard and brittle to her own ears.

  Piper and Tucker stopped dancing around behind her and came to peer back at the list. “What?” asked Piper.

  “Phil’s understudy,” Tyler bit out.

  As soon as Piper hissed a breath, Tyler knew she hadn’t misread it.

  Phil Davis Understudy-Brody Jensen.

  “This isn’t funny,” she said. “What the hell is Nate pulling?”

  “It’s not meant to be funny,” said Tucker. “He showed up for auditions.”

  “How? I was there, Tucker. I didn’t see him.”

  “You left early,” he said, shrugging.

  Goddamn it, he’s going to ruin this for me too. It took everything in her not to rock back and lean against the doors for support.

  “And you didn’t think it wise to maybe mention it?” Tyler glared at him.

  “I didn’t want to upset you,” said Tucker gently. And she hated it. Hated that he saw the need to be gentle about this. Hated that there was a need to be gentle.

  Piper put an arm around her. “Too late for that. Corinne came in the shop to drop the bomb that he was back. It would’ve been better coming from you.”

  “Shit.”

  Tyler closed her eyes and waited for the world to settle again. This wasn’t okay. This was so far beyond not okay. How dare he show up now, after all these years. How dare he audition for the show as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t disappeared with a word, without a trace, without a freaking goodbye.

  She steeled her spine. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “It’s fine.” If she said it enough, it would become true. “The theater is what matters here. The show. I’m not going to let a little bit of history ruin the Madrigal’s chances.” Now that she knew he was back, she wouldn’t be surprised when she saw him again. She could play it cool, show that she’d moved on. Because, damn it, she had moved on. And she was going to use the next three months to prove it, starting with maintaining their post-casting ritual.

  Tyler squared her shoulders. “Let’s go get those milkshakes.”

  ~*~

  Brody was not uncomfortable on stage. He’d made his debut as Oliver when he was eight and never looked back. He enjoyed the lights, the music, the applause. And never once had he balked because of stage fright.

  But on the first night of rehearsals for White Christmas, his stomach flopped around like a beached tuna. Stupid, he told himself. Foolish. Yet none of the tension eased as he slipped in through the familiar lobby doors and made his way into the auditorium. The rest of the cast was congregating at the front, beside the orchestra pit. They were laughing, joking. A few folks were singing. And there was Tyler up on stage, already running through some choreography with Tucker.

  Unlike the night of auditions, the auditorium was well lit, so when she came out of her spin facing the back, she saw him and went utterly motionless, the smile on her face fading. Tucker followed her gaze. Dimly, Brody was aware of him nodding a greeting, but he didn’t return it. He was too busy trying to get his breath back. He felt the punch of her gaze all the way at the back of the room, his feet seeming to root to the spot as he stared back at her. She wasn’t surprised to see him. She’d have read the cast list and known he was coming. Her usually expressive face was carefully blank, giving him no clues as to what she was thinking or feeling. And that was as alien and unfamiliar as his own nerves.

  A loud pop of floorboards interrupted the silence as a couple dozen eyes kept shifting from her to him, waiting for someone to break the stalemate.

  Nate did the honors, giving a ching-a-ring on the piano to get everyone’s attention. “Gather around everybody. We have a project list and a schedule to go over before we get started.”

  Tyler’s attention shifted to the director, and suddenly Brody could move again. So he did, making his way down the aisle and into the congregated actors and musicians. He shook some hands, whispered quiet thank yous to the various people who welcomed him back. But even as Nate spoke, discussing who was on set building, when the work days would be, when the external rehearsals for the orchestra were scheduled, and other miscellany associated with the start of a show, Brody found his attention pulled unerringly to Tyler.

  She didn’t look at him. By all evidence, she was focused on Nate, on the show. But he had a feeling that she was aware of him, that she knew his position in the crowd if for no other reason than to avoid looking at him. He took the opportunity to look his fill at her, cataloging the changes, the differences.

  Her honey blonde hair was scraped back into a prim ballerina’s bun, but slippery strands were already escaping to frame her face, to soften the long line of her neck. That hair would feel like silk. The memory of it sliding thr
ough his fingers made his hands clench. Her face was a little bit sharper now, more serious, but no less appealing. Where her face had sharpened, her body had softened. Not in an unhealthy way. She was still every bit as trim and fit as she’d been in college. But her hips were a little fuller, her curves more gently rounded, and well displayed by the form-fitting yoga pants and t-shirt she wore. Which wouldn’t have been her intention. She’d want comfort and ease of motion.

  “…choreographer will be here on Friday, so the name of the game this week is to learn all your music and start learning your lines. The schedule is in your script packets.” Nate picked one up, waved it. “Now, if any of you are familiar with the actual stage production of White Christmas The Musical, you will know that it bears little resemblance to the movie we all know and love. I chose this show based on nostalgia. White Christmas is my favorite Christmas movie, and it’s incredibly well-known. People hear we’re putting on a production, that’s the story they expect to see. So I contacted the Irving Berlin estate and requested permission to make my own adaptation of the movie script. Given we are a town of less than five thousand, they don’t have a lot of fear this will become a raging success, so they actually said yes. That said, it’s a one shot deal. We get one three week run of the show, and that’s that. Permanently retired after that. But at least we’ll be adhering as faithfully as possible to the actual plot and script of the movie, with minor changes to facilitate our set limitations. So come and get ’em and let’s get started.”

  Well that’ll make lines that much easier to learn, thought Brody. White Christmas had been an annual tradition with his mother.

  Brody got in line with the others, taking advantage of the general milling and conversation to wend his way forward, closer to Tyler. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing. Testing himself, or maybe her.

  “Hey, Tyler.”

  She stood very straight, very still, not budging when the line in front of her moved.

  Brody circled around her, offered a smile.

  Those clear gray eyes were icy, distant. “Brody.” Her tone was flat—not accusatory, but not welcoming, either. In a woman he’d once believed embodied warmth and generosity, it felt like a slap. He wasn’t sure what he should’ve expected, but it wasn’t this.