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Regret filled me, but apologizing now, in front of our teenage audience, would only make it worse. I focused on my cast, directing Lissie and Caleb to begin the scene again from the top.
I went through the motions for the rest of practice, but part of my attention stayed with Eve as she worked with her stagehands. My lack of willpower grated. Yes, Eve was the most beautiful woman I'd met in a long time, smart, savvy, and independent. It didn't mean that my interest was returned. Just because I lived for our teasing, didn't mean she enjoyed it as much.
We played through scene after scene, the cast slowly getting the hang of my stage direction, until Tia's older brother arrived, keys in hand to take her home.
"Good practice, everyone. I'll see you all tomorrow, five sharp." I said the last with a meaningful look at Eve, who rolled her eyes, but at least didn't stick out her tongue or flip me off in front of my students.
So, progress?
I waited as my charges gathered their backpacks, laughing and joking with their castmates as they left for the evening, very aware that Eve hadn't bolted after my dismissal. At least not yet.
Maybe, like me, she was ready to quit hiding from the chemistry between us. After my bungled attempt to playact with Eve, I had to admit that I wanted to spend more time with her. Maybe we’d only ever be friends, but even that was a step up from how we started.
Slowly, I approached her on stage, keeping my distance, like I might a wild animal, wary for any signs that she was under duress. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my slacks, striving for casual. Nonthreatening. "So, do you want to grab dinner again?"
Eve looked up from the paint she was capping, expression hard to read.
"What did you have in mind?"
I bit back the urge to confess a few choice fantasies, striving for cool. "I have stew at home in the Crock Pot."
Eve's eyes danced, mirth in her expression. "Why, Principal Gleason, how domestic of you. Did you bake fresh bread to go with?"
I scratched at my ear. "Cornbread, actually."
"Well, now I feel like a jerk. That sounds amazing. Can I bring anything?"
"Just your spirit of forgiveness."
"For what?" she asked, brow wrinkling.
"Putting you on the spot earlier." I shrugged, grimacing. "I overstepped, assuming you'd be okay with it."
She waved away my apology. "I didn't used to get stage fright. It's more of a recent thing, speaking in front of large groups."
"Sounds like there's a story there," I said when she paused. I'd always assumed she resisted helping with the play because she didn't like me; not because of genuine fear. “I’m sorry for pushing. You’re already doing me a favor, managing the crew. It’s hard to imagine you uncertain under any circumstances.”
Eve forced a smile, but it couldn't quite dissipate the shadows in her brown eyes. "It's not a tale I want to bring into my new life," she admonished gently, gesturing toward the door. "Dinner sounds great, no apology needed. But are you sure you want to invite me home? I'm a bonafide stray. What will people think? Their precious Principal Gleason entertaining a woman in his home?"
Honesty propelled me forward. "Depends on who you ask. If it's my mom? Probably about damn time.” Eve cracked a smile. “Everyone else? I don't really care. We both have to eat. I mean, it’s more of an apology than a d-.” I cut myself off, not liking the way Eve’s brow wrinkled as I hinted at the ‘d’ word. I tugged at my collar, gathering my courage to ask what I really wanted to. “I'm single. You're single…" I stretched it out, waiting for confirmation, feeling relieved when she nodded. "Then it's no one's business who I cook for."
Eve's lips pursed, eyes alight with something akin to mischief over the way I’d stumbled through my invitation. "True. But that won't stop the gossip. Small town, and all that," she said, waving a delicate hand in the air.
"One dinner can't be all that bad," I said.
"Two," she corrected.
"The betting usually starts at three," I assured, lips twitching when Eve seemed confused. "Silvia Nemitz is the local bookie if you want to get in on the action."
Eve's brow wrinkled. "I'm not following."
"Mrs. Nemitz probably has a betting pool set up for every single person in town, age twenty-one to fifty, if the gossip is true. Kind of a hookup/marry/kill game-type situation."
Eve's eyes widened. "She doesnot."
I chuckled. "It's mostly rumor, but knowing Ivan and Zander's mom, I believe it. She's been thick as thieves with the other matriarchs in Campfire for years, and not long after every engagement is announced, someone in town seems suddenly flush with cash."
"A secret betting ring? InCampfire?"
