Page 197 of Love Felt Like This

“Rolling.”

“Mark it.”

Someone steps out with a clapboard.

“Birds on the Block. Season one. Episode three, scene one. Take one.”

“Action!”

And then we’re off to the races. The moment the puppeteers roll onstage, every bit of tension melts away.

There are bouncing birds. Goofy voices. Clever one-liners. And Bernie is beside me the whole time, along with Carmen Crow and Hector Hawk, dancing to “The E Song,” calling out wrong words, getting corrected by each other and me.

It’s pure magic.

When the director finally calls, “Cut!” I don’t move. I want to do it again. And thankfully, we do. There are about three more takes, just to make sure we get everything right. Each time is more exciting than the last, and when we finish, there’s a round of applause from the cast and crew.

Ava immediately runs to me, and I crouch down onstage to pull her into my arms.

“Have a good time?” I ask.

“Bernie funny.”

“He was, wasn’t he?”

“Daddy too.”

I kiss her forehead with my eyes closed, and when I open them, Beverly is across the room smiling at us. She averts her gaze the second she notices I’m looking back.

“You can stick around for a bit and hang out,” the woman in charge says, tucking her clipboard against her chest. “Most people do.”

“Want to, munchkin?” I ask Ava.

She’s already gasping in excitement.

I take Ava off to the side and grab my guitar case to bring with us. Someone pulls up a chair for us and passes over my abandoned coffee cup. I sit and pull Ava into my lap as we watch a scene where two birds chat with a child actor about how sharing is caring. In the corner, there’s that new puppet I don’t recognize. The ostrich. He occasionally plays piano by bashing his head into it. It’s so ridiculous I cover my mouth not to laugh. I cup a palm over Ava’s mouth when she giggles a bit too.

They perform a few more takes, similar to how they filmed our scenes, and there’s another collective round of clapping, like they can’t help but congratulate everyone on a good job with every effort.

It’s so positive.

I want to drink it in.

And then I feel her before I see her.

Beverly stands next to our chair. Her head tilts to the side as she watches the stage. Her shoulder brushes against mine, and I want nothing more than to lean closer.

“Thanks for doing this,” she says. “This is for you.” She extends a small sticker. It’s the logo of Birds on the Block, with all five of the main birds’ faces smiling back. I tuck it into my back pocket.

She’s so close, warm, and still smelling like grapefruit. It washes over me, more than I expect it to. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to not see her smile for another three months or however long it may be.

We should tap the brakes.

Bullshit.

Total bullshit.

I wish I’d never said that. Another, more rational part of me knows it was the right call. We’ve both been drowning in work these past three months. She got this show off the ground. Could she have done that if she was also distracted by a boyfriend in Europe? I don’t know.