Page 9 of Reeve

Ivy needs to stop sniffling. Or bring tissues to rehearsal.

Remind Reeve that the programs need to be printed and ready two weeks from today. And what about newspaper ads? What are we doing to advertise? Juneau? Anc?

I roll my eyes at that note. For heaven’s sake. Is he expecting people to fly in from Anchorage or Juneau for the show?

I love Bruce’s faith in his productions, but come on!

“What’s so funny?”

I look up to see Aaron standing on the stage, arms crossed over his chest.

“Huh? Nothing. Just a note Bruce made.”

“What did it say?”

“It’s not important.”

He jumps down from the stage and walks down the aisle, sidestepping into the row in front of where I’m sitting. He kneels on a theater chair, facing me. There’s a large table between us, but he’s pretty close. And wearing a paint-stained T-shirt that’s a size too small is doing him alotof favors. I can see the outline of his pecs, and the upper part of his six-pack…or is that an eight—

“It made you smile,” he points out. “And that’s a rare sight.”

I widen my eyes with annoyance and jerk them up to his. “For you, maybe. But not for people I actually like.”

His jaw tightens, and he rakes his hand over his head, rubbing it with annoyance. “You know what I’d like, Reeve?”

I reach for another pile of index cards, looking down at them.

“It would be impossible for me to care less.”

“Right,” he says. “Because you hate me so much.”

Sawyer can’t love Ivy so much in the first few scenes. He needs to let his affection build.

Tell Ivy not to pitch her voice so high—she’s not Minnie Mouse.

I ignore Aaron, continuing to type up Bruce’s notes on my laptop and hoping he’ll take the hint and go away.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, lets it go loudly, then bellows, “Reeve!”

Because he yells, my head snaps up. “What?”

“I’d like for us to be friends!”

“Don’t yell at me!”

“It’s impossible to get your attention!”

“Because I don’t want to give it to you!”

“Reeve!” he yells again. He leans his head back, looking straight up at the ceiling. “For God’s sake, give me a fucking break!”

There’s something about his pose…or the fact that he invokes God…or that his voice registers so much angst…but I lean back in my seat, eyes wide, and attention riveted on Aaron. When I don’t snap back with some smart-ass comment, he lowers his head, looking down at me.

Brown eyes meet blue.

Every muscle in his body is tense and popped.

We stare at each other, the moment so loaded, so fraught, so intense, I have no idea what will happen next. When he makes a strangled sound, for one hot second I think he might leap over the table and devour me.

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