Page 96 of Yours, Unexpectedly

A voice that is distinctly not Grant’s.

“Lady Beatrice,” it says and my head whips around, my eyes meeting deep green ones. Anders takes a step toward me. “Have you wept all this while?” he asks.

I’m stunned silent. My heart can’t decide if it wants to relocate to my throat or my stomach, bouncing endlessly up and down in an erratic rhythm. “I—I…” I trail off because suddenly there is nothing in my brain.

Anders takes another step toward me, eyes crinkling at the corners in the way I love so much. “I said,” he begins, “have you wept all this while?”

I know that’s the line but it feels like Anders is asking me, not Benedick asking Beatrice.

I begin to nod my head, but stop when I catch Anders’ eyes drift over my shoulder. He dips his chin and then grabs my hand, leaning closer to whisper, “Is this okay, Baby Bardot?”

“Coffee…” is my response. And then one brain cell returns so I can elaborate. “I think I shouldn’t have had so much coffee today.”

The corner of his mouth curves up and I’m mesmerized. I want to touch it, but I don’t. “I left you decaf this morning.”

I’m still caught on his mouth, the words not immediately registering. “You… decaf. Oh.” I’m beyond flustered.

Anders’ hands come up to my shoulders now, running lovingly up and down my arms while he begins deep breathing. It has the intended effect and I inhale along with him. “There you go,” he praises. “I like your shirt, by the way.”

I look down because I can’t remember where I am, let alone what I’m wearing. The shirt says, “Prose Before Bros” and has a giant picture of Shakespeare on it.

“Are you ready?” he asks, squeezing my hands affectionately. His expression is one of pure belief. There is not a doubt in his mind that I can do this and that fuels me.

“I’m ready,” I whisper. I turn to apologize to Professor Callahan, but he just has a sly smile on his face, the old man was probably in on this the whole time.

Anders steps back and begins again. “Lady Beatrice,” he repeats. “Have you wept all this while?”

“Yea,” I respond. And then with more confidence, “and I will weep a while longer.”

His brow furrows, two lines forming right over the top of his nose. “I will not desire that.” And this time I know he’s talking right to me, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear.

Throughout most of the rest of the scene, we are no longer Benedick and Beatrice. Anders speaks his own heart when he says, “I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is that not strange?”

I, in turn, speak mine when I finish with, “I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.”

And even though it is definitely not in the stage directions, we kiss.

“These next few years will be difficult, Mr. Olsson.” Professor Callahan eyes me over the rim of his glasses, taking a moment to appraise me. “For many reasons,” he adds ominously.

“I’m ready for a change, Professor,” I reply. “Something has to change.”

He nods, as if I said the right thing. “Change will be good for you, Mr. Olsson.” He pauses. “I’m proud of you.”

I want to be proud of me, too. “Thanks, Professor.”

With the help of several people, I am finally kissing Bex again.

Callahan didn’t take much convincing—that man loves love—but I did feel kind of bad about kicking Grant out of his own final scene. Callahan agreed to let him do a monologue instead of a scene like everyone else. He performed it earlier this morning and did a kick ass job—I’m glad he transferred into the program.

Luci and Riz were easy to persuade, too, both alluding to the fact that Bex seemed as miserable as I was without her.

As much as I don’t want to stop kissing Bex, I also realize we are in front of the class I used to teach and should probably rein it in. I pull back and she lets out a whimper that instantly makes me half hard. Another thing I would not like to happen in front of a crowd. “Let’s get out of here,” I say, unable to resist one last peck.

“Okay,” she nods.

“Okay,” I smile.

We make our way out of the theater, into the perfect spring day, and over to my car, stumbling the whole way. Stopping to kiss, stopping to laugh—God, I’ve missed her laugh—stopping to breathe each other in.

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