Page 19 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

And Vi . . . she glowed. Prescott glowed right back at her.

Such chemistry on the screen was magnificent. On the stage—glorious.

So why did Maggie’s heart twist? She couldn’t be jealous. She’d never been that sort, and she was far too practical to think a star like Prescott would stoop down to a former ensemble dancer.

What was that uncomfortable twisting?

For Frank, surely. Pining for his Vernice, not knowing she was right here in San Diego. Pining for him.

How magnificently glorious it would be when they reunited.

The scene ended, and Prescott and Vi turned to Maggie.

She applauded. “Brava! Bravo! Keep bringing these scenes to life, and you’ll make those sailor boys fall in love with Shakespeare.”

Vi blushed. “Thank you. Is that all for today?”

“It is.” Maggie rearranged her portfolio. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Bye now.” Vi grabbed her bag and dashed out of the theater.

Prescott’s gaze followed the blonde out the door, then he turned to Maggie. “How long was Vi in Hollywood?”

Maggie stood and straightened the jacket of her gray suit. “A few months. I danced with her in her first picture and her second. Then I joined the USO, and she followed soon after.”

Prescott stepped off the stage with a frown. “If she’d stuck around longer, she might have made it big. She has that certain . . .”

“Presence.”

“Yes. More than beauty or talent—she draws you.” Prescott tapped his hand over his heart.

Maggie also saw it in Vi. “Maybe after the war.”

“I might be able to help her.” He picked up his suit jacket draped over the back of a chair. “I may not be acting in Hollywood now, but I got along well with producers and directors.”

“That would be marvelous. I’d love to see her dream come true.”

“Me too.” He gave her a smile, shy and hopeful, and he slipped on his jacket. “Any plans tonight? Taking your grandpa to the movies again?”

“Tonight’s date is with a stack of dirty dishes in the USO kitchen.” Maggie laughed at the confusion on Prescott’s face. “Mrs. Laverne doesn’t like having us here, so I volunteered to help at tonight’s dance. Apparently I’m not to be trusted with our impressionable servicemen, but I can be trusted with the dishes.”

Prescott did up his buttons with difficulty. “I’m sorry she treats you like that.”

Maggie restrained herself from helping him. “How about you? What are your plans?”

“Dinner at the hotel. Then I’ll read, I guess.” Even on the unscarred side, his smile looked flat.

Poor man was lonely. She gave him a teasing smile. “If you’re desperate, you can help in the kitchen.”

His eyebrows sprang high. “You think they’d take me? I’m sorry. That sounded . . .”

Lonely. Humble. Adorable. “It sounds generous.”

He stared at his hands. “I can’t do much with these. They aren’t capable hands anymore.”

“But they’re willing hands. Come on. We’ll find something for you.”

His grin exploded, lighting the room, and he followed her out of the theater.