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I felt compelled to defend myself to my father, the man I respected more than anyone, even when he made me want to throttle him.
“You don’t understand these numbers or how it will change dramatically after the initial costs because this isn’t your business. This is mine. I knowexactlywhat I’m doing. I’ve modeled my store after several highly successful similar ones across the country that I’ve researched in finite detail.” I scoffed. “Dad, when have you ever seen me do anything without extreme, detailed planning?”
His own irritation with me—his stubborn son—subsided. He heaved out a sigh. “I was only trying to help. I don’t want you to—” He stopped himself, not saying what I clearly knew he was about to.
“I know, Dad. You don’t want me to fail. Neither do I,” I stated the obvious. The fear that he could be right tried to raise its ugly head, but I stomped it down. That was when my anxiety spiked and let those demons into my head. “You’ve got to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
His gaze dipped down as he nodded, then he looked back up at me. “Fine.” He stood and exhaled another sigh, apparently completely frustrated with me.
Laughable. I’d wanted to punch him in the face when I first saw those numbers on his screen. And he was exasperated withme? I realized he did everything out of concern for me, but this was beyond crossing a line. I was done being Dad’s pet.
Something inside me eased at the thought.
“And delete those,” I told him as I turned for the door.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “You’re coming to the fundraiser next Saturday.”
A command, not a question. The tightness returned in a millisecond. Every time I thought I was out from under his thumb, he reminded me I wasn’t.
I’d been attending the local fundraisers since I was a teenager. They were good for business, mingling with the money of Beauville. And seeing as my store catered to a lot of clientele in those circles, I’d have to keep attending.
“Sure,” I said, “but I’ll be bringing someone.”
“Good, good. I’d like to meet this new girl.”
I heard his indifference, even if he didn’t mean it. But I couldn’t blame him. No girl I ever brought around lasted very long. I wasn’t about to get sentimental with my dad and tell him this girl was different.
This girl was everything. She made the shadows go away when she smiled. She made me happier than I’d ever been in my entire life.
“I’ve gotta get to rehearsal,” I told him as I walked out, knowing he didn’t understand why I wasted time volunteering with community theater.
What he didn’t understand was that the stage was my joy, my escape from the mundane and the hard work of everyday life. Yes, I’d longed to open this business. But it was work. A living.
The theater was play.
And I wanted to be there more than anywhere else these days because a beautiful redhead was waiting there for me.
I was practically running when I walked back into the kitchen. I kissed Mom, grabbed the gumbo, and tore out of there before Hale or Pop could make another comment. All I could think about was getting to the theater and getting toher.
Chapter Twenty
~BETTY~
Something was wrong.Even though Bennett had pulled me in for a tight hug the second he stepped on stage at rehearsal, the hug lingered longer than expected with our small audience of Peter, Trish, Frank, and Meredith.
One of his arms scooped underneath my long cardigan that hung down to my thighs to cover my butt in my comfy tights I was wearing. Since my hair was up in a messy bun out of my way, his nose grazed my neck as he inhaled against my skin. I shivered. Right when I went to pull him tighter, he let me go and abruptly settled into studying his script, avoiding eye contact with me.
I thought maybe he didn’t want to show PDA or something, especially since we hadn’t let the cast or directors know we were dating. Not that it would make a difference. Peter milled around the stage, showing Trish where he wanted a small set of stairs and landing built upstage, paying zero attention to us.
I stepped closer and whispered, “Is everything okay?”
“Of course.” He gave me a big smile, but my instincts told me otherwise. After several years of analyzing teenagers’ mood swings based on body posture and facial expressions, my Spidey senses were pretty damn attuned to when something was amiss.
“Is it about this morning?” I whispered as we walked backstage to our opening positions where no one could see us.
He turned, eyes wide with concern. “No, no.” He cupped my face, giving me the eye contact I’d been craving since he walked in. “Just work stuff. And my Dad. Nothing to worry about.” Then he kissed me softly right as Peter yelled, “Action!” from the audience.
We launched into Act One, nailing every scene without missing a beat. We even had Trish cackling so loud we had to pause in the group scenes that included Corie’s mother and Mr. Velasco’s characters, who served as the comic relief of the play. We’d have to pause for laughter with a live audience, so it was good practice.
