I can work on something, if you want me to. I know a realtor.
I look like a nice, thoughtful guy. It's not at all because the idea of her staying in the dorms, so close to me, would drive me crazy. It's going to be hard enough to be around her and not resume right where we left off.
It's almost as if I'm imagining her sneaking into my twin bed.
Everything about this conversation goes against my rules. I'm happy to be texting this, so I can measure my words. I don't know what would come flying out of my mouth if we were speaking.
Um, I guess?
I see three dots waving on the screen. I don't know what to say. Lucky for me, she continues texting.
Is this crazy? It feels crazy.
It's totally crazy, for both of us. She has no stage experience. I'd be a fool to cast her, practically unseen. On the other hand, with her name recognition—and what it's already doing for The Edison—I'd be a fool not to cast her.
A little crazy is good every now and again.
I'm in.
As those two words dance across the screen, a pit forms in my stomach. I have a strict policy, and I'm breaking it. I'm going to need every ounce of control and restraint to stick to my guns. If this is going to work, I need to be cool and aloof.
That's all there is to it.
Cool and aloof.
Chapter 23: Tabitha
Cool and aloof.
He's been so cool and aloof the past two months that I could practically get frostbite. Maybe he doesn't do the distance thing well. Maybe once we're not three thousand miles apart, he won't seem so distant.
Distant isn't even the word.
Once I'd texted him, that was it. Everything came from Grayson, or it went through Gayle, who took me on officially as a client. She worked on the contracts and negotiated everything. She's also made the travel reservations and figured out where I'm going to live for the six weeks I'll be spending in the rinky-dink town of Hicklam.
I mean, seriously, it even has hick in the name.
Gayle swears she found me a good place to stay. She's always taken good care of Angie, so I hope she does the same for me. I'm probably pretty stupid to trust this whole process. Angie and Mandy keep telling me it will be great.
And maybe I could get more excited if only Henderson wasn’t being so cool and aloof. I've had six texts from him in two freakin' months, not that I'm counting.
Who does he think he is, blowing me off like that? I sort of wish I hadn't agreed to do his stupid theater in the first place. Maybe I wouldn't have if I'd known he was going to drop me so completely.
Yet now, here I am, landing in Albany of all places. Paisley, Maria, and I still have almost an hour car ride ahead of us, once we get our bags.
It's already been a long day and one of us is whining excessively.
The other is only four and is handling this in stride.
Maria, of course, is the consummate professional. Thank God she had the forethought to suggest I ship things out ahead of time. I can't imagine trying to haul all that luggage, plus Paisley. It's especially stressful because—shocker—I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing. Grayson told me he'd have a driver waiting for me in baggage claim, and sure enough, as I descend the escalator, I see the sign with "Stetson" on it.
Not that many people think of my last name right off the bat, so we get through this arduous process without being stopped. I mean, who would think I'd be flying into Albany? This airport seems small and empty compared to some of the other places I've been. There's only one terminal!
"Hello Ms. Stetson. I'm Kyle. Grayson Keene sent me." He's overly stiff and awkward, and if I'm not mistaken, he curtsies a little. I start to laugh, but quickly rein it in when I see the serious expression on his face.
I look around for a cart to put our luggage on, including Paisley's booster seat that I'm losing my grip on. Seriously, traveling with a little kid is not all it's cracked up to be.
Henderson better'd be worth it.
