Page 54 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
The world around her gradually settled into place, everyone going still and quiet. Fritz caught her eye, raising his brows, silently asking if she was ready. She checked her hands. Relatively steady, especially when anchored in her lap. Her heart rate was another matter. Thankfully, no one would see her racing pulse on camera, though the giant boom mic hanging over her head looked strong enough to pick up the sound. She took a deep breath before nodding. The woman beside Fritz stepped in front of the camera with a clapboard, announcing the scene. With a sharp snap of the boards, they were rolling.
Marlowe stared off into the distance, immediately to the left of the camera and the three guys in black tucked in beside it. Footsteps approached behind her, slow and steady. She stiffened at the sound.
“You always were one for sudden departures,” Angus said.
She played with her earlobe, drawing attention to the fake freckle, giving him time to close about half of the distance toward her.
“The diner gets so stuffy,” she said. “I needed fresh air.”
“There are better places to find it.”
She glanced around at the trash near her feet. When her gaze lifted, Angus was stepping up beside her in his dusty leather motorcycle jacket. His hair was slicked back in Jake’s trademark low pompadour. His jaw was set with stony determination. His eyes were locked on hers.
“I-I shouldn’t even be here,” she stammered. “I’ve been filling in for my cousin before I have to get to… a family event. Just a few days. By Sunday I’ll be gone.”
“Then I’m glad I came by before Sunday.” He barely moved, every gesture subtle, well-honed for the camera. A lift of his chin hinted at a challenge, a tilt of his shoulders brought him closer.
She turned away, pivoting on the milk crates, grateful they were glued together.
“I should get back inside before they—”
“Thirteen years, Adelaide.”
Marlowe closed her eyes. She imagined herself as a twelve-year-old girl, driving away from her first love, unable to say goodbye. The gulf of loss. The trauma of aborted potential. The empty road stretching out behind the car as her parents drove away. When she had the moment clear in her mind, she gripped the crates and pivoted back around to face Angus. Although he was dressed and styled as Jake, she could easily imagine him as the one who got away, thewhat ifthat tugged at her heart years after parting, the biggest missed opportunity of her life.
“I thought I’d never see you again.” He brushed a tendril of hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. The gesture was cliché, seen or described in every romance, but it was referenced so often for good reason. The tenderness of an almost touch, so close to a caress without crossing a line. Affection thinly disguised as an act of assistance.
“We had no reason to see each other again,” she said.
“Didn’t we?” He took a step closer.
“We were kids.” She fussed with the hair he’d brushed aside, echoing his gesture as though doing so might lock in the memory. “We were young. We were bored. We had no one else to play with. It was never going to last past the summer.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Don’t I?” She risked another look in his eyes. Amber toward the centers, russet toward the edges. Dark, thick lashes that were usually much paler. She fought back a smile as she realized they’d been coated in mascara. At her change in expression, his eyes narrowed slightly, a subtle break in his performance, a glimpse of Angus hiding within Jake’s darker, harder shell. Seeing the real him grounded her.Just you and me,she thought as she positioned her hands to push off the milk crates. “My boss is probably—”
“You just left me there!” His voice broke on the words. His posture drooped. In an instant he was a broken man, bent, buckled, a hand clutching at his chest.
She held her position, still half-seated on the crates.
“A family emergency,” she said. “We left in a hurry. I didn’t have a choice.”
“And if youdidhave a choice? What then? What now?”
Her hand drifted to the chain around her neck. He moved closer, his eyes brimming with heartache. Even knowing it was all fake, pity swelled inside her. In that moment she ached to holdhim, though whether that instinct was for his comfort or her own, she couldn’t say. Her gaze traveled over his face and landed on his lips. They were full, almost plump, perfectly bowed at the top, barely parted as his breath came out, forced and fast. She leaned toward him while her hand rolled into a fist around her chain. He smelled like soap and toothpaste. Like Angus.
“We’re not kids now,” he murmured just above a whisper, still drawing closer.
“No,” she managed. “We’re not.”
He reached forward, his movement tentative, tracing one of her eyebrows.
“Can you honestly say you had no idea you might find me here?”
“I told you. I’ve been filling in for my cousin.”
“That wasn’t my question.” His fingertips trailed across her cheek, along her jawline, down her nose, over her earlobe. Her breath sped up with every touch. Her nails pressed into her palm as her grip tightened on the chain. His brows rose. An inquiry. A question. A choice. A blurring line between fantasy and reality. “Tell me the truth.”
