Page 65 of The Voice We Find

“‘That’s not a bubble maker, it’s a snow machine,’” I say as Noelle. “‘It’s actually the highest-rated model on the market today.’”

“‘That might be the most embarrassing thing you’ve said yet.’”

“‘It is not. That happens to be my secret weapon for creating my signature winter wonderlands,’” she says defensively. “‘It only takes soap, and it comes with a remote start.’”

“‘Nope. I was wrong,’” Blake deadpans. “‘That right there is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever said. How ’bout we take that same remote and skip this conversation back a few so you have time to reassess your freaky devotion to a glorified soap belcher,huh?’” August raises his hand as if he’s about to engage said remote. “‘Ready, set, go.’”

A tickle of hysteria crawls up my throat as soon as he speaks his final word, and soon my girlish giggle turns into a full-bodied guffaw.

“I’m s-s-s-orry,” I say, trying to get ahold of myself. “Just a sec.”

When I hear the low rumble of his laugh and see the bounce of his shoulders, any ground I’ve gained is gone. It’s all over now. My dignity, my professionalism, my hope of finishing out this chapter within the next fifteen minutes before I have to head back to the winery for work.

“And here I thought you were supposed to be the professional,” August jests, still laughing. “You’d never get away with that during a live performance.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I don’t plan to ever be on stage again, then, huh?” It’s meant as a joke, one that should be easily bypassed by the next clever turn of phrase, but his pause is too long and his eyes are too focused, and suddenly, the humor in the air is charged by something new. Something tangible and raw and real.

Too real.

The seconds tick by like minutes, and the ache in my throat expands to my chest.

“What happened in New York, Sophie?”

Everything in me wants to divert us back to the script, back to the flirty fun of our characters, but how can I do that to him when he’s shared things with me that are ten times more personal than what I’ve shared with him?

“I bombed a pretty big performance on opening night, and there was simply no coming back from it.”

“Bombed how?”

I blink, swallow, and feel the sweat gather at the nape of my neck as I glance over his shoulder at the closed door behind him. August must sense my growing need for air, because without taking his eyes off me, he reaches back for the door handle and breaks the seal, popping it open. The rush of AC offers my claustrophobia immediate relief.

“According to industry reviews and the official statement from my director, I had a ‘nervous breakdown on stage due to a panic disorder I failed to disclose to my director or fellow cast members before opening night.’” I’d memorized the quote, though every time I think it, the twist in my gut tightens. “Thankfully, my understudy was prepared. They closed the curtain, helped me off stage, and my understudy stepped in and saved the show. There are even rumors her performance will be up for a Tony Award.” I don’t want to be a poor sport, so I keep my grin in place. “It’s hard”—impossible—“to come back from a failure like that in my industry. I was labeled a liability overnight and couldn’t even get a first audition, much less a paying role for months afterward. I moved back to California because I was out of options and time ... and money.”

That’s a lot to process, but I can tell by August’s expression that he’s trying. “Had that ever happened to you before? The panic attack, I mean?”

Few in my life have bothered to ask such a question; fewer still have been close enough to know the truth. I rub my hands down my bare thighs and grip my knees for something solid to hold on to. I blow out a breath, reliving the moment that triggered the end of my professional acting career. “I had a scare the night before the show opened.”

But just as August’s shoulders tense, Gabby peeks her head through the open door, and I jump. She immediately apologizes, using both her voice and her hands.

“Sorry, sorry!” She grimaces. “I was so happy to see the Escalade was still here after Portia dropped me off. She says hi, by the way.”

It’s a tough mental transition, but I do my best to smile as I stand to embrace her. I make sure to pull back all the way before I start to speak again. “We were just finishing up in here.”

Gabby repositions herself, her eyes widening as she takes in her brother. “Are you both recording in here? At the same time?”

August stands, which shrinks the already too-small room. “We’re working on a Christmas project.”

Gabby signsChristmas, and I nod and repeat the sign.

“Like the Christmas movies I watch on TV?” she clarifies. “The romance ones?”

Heat warms my cheeks as I avoid eye contact with her brother. Three is definitely a crowd in this booth. “There is some romance in this story, yes.”

Her gaze bounces between us.

Gabby has many qualities, but subtlety is not one of them.

She taps her chin and grins. “I think you need some Christmas inspiration for your studio, August.”

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