On Friday morning, Joy walked into the office thinking far more about the parade and what could go wrong than about work. She wasn’t formally taking leave until the following week, but mentally, she was already disengaged.

She greeted Taylor who was, naturally, there early and who filled her in on a couple of upcoming meetings before leaning conspiratorially over her desk. “So,” she asked, her eyes shining a little, “is it true that Chris and Vanessa Swink are engaged?”

Joy’s stomach gave a nasty lurch. “Engaged? I ... I don’t know.”

Taylor looked a little embarrassed. “I was just doing some research—real research, I swear—on him online, and there’s all this talk about Vanessa being engaged. People are speculating that it’s Chris. Everyone said they were dating while they were making Galactic Crusaders.”

“Hm.” Joy looked at the paper coffee cup in her hand and tried to sound disinterested. “He hasn’t said anything about it to me. I’ll ask next time I see him.”

When she reached the sanctuary of her own office, Joy shut the door. She quickly googled Vanessa Swink and was greeted with photos of a gorgeous, grinning brunette sporting an ostentatious diamond ring and a cheeky wink.

“Who’s the Lucky Man?” asked one headline. “Someone Bought Vanessa a Ring, but She Won’t Say Who,” declared another.

“Whom,” Joy muttered to herself. She took a sip of her coffee, but it was tasteless. He had been flirting with her the other night, hadn’t he? If Charlotte hadn’t come home, she was sure he would have kissed her.

But if he was engaged—

Visions of that awful photograph of Scott and Melanie on the front page of the student newspaper flooded her mind, along with all the betrayal, the hurt, the anger …

But maybe he wasn’t engaged. It was all rumor and innuendo at this stage, though as she scrolled through picture after picture of Chris standing or sitting next to Vanessa, it looked like the rumors might be well-founded.

Maybe she’d just misread the other night completely, Joy thought. It wasn’t like she’d had a lot of practice lately in dealing with men, after all. Maybe the wine was just a polite gesture, maybe she’d misinterpreted his casual friendliness for genuine interest. After all, he hadn’t done anything since then that could be even remotely considered making a pass at her …

Or maybe Chris was engaged and had been flirting with her, and he was just another lying, cheating—

She closed the browser and got up from her desk. Feeling the need to move, she began going through a stack of folders and papers that she’d been meaning to file, but she couldn’t get her mind off Chris. And Vanessa.

Vanessa Swink? Really? She was so ... so …

Joy wanted to say “trashy”—and her off-screen image certainly emphasized big hair, short skirts and high heels. But she was also twenty-seven years old, gorgeous, and one of Hollywood’s top female stars. It wasn’t fair to call her trashy, even to herself. It made her sound bitter and jealous—

No, that wasn’t right. She wasn’t jealous.

Not over Chris, anyway.

She was, maybe, a little jealous over Vanessa’s success and youth and the brash attitude she projected. At twenty-seven, Vanessa was the age Joy had been when she’d acted in Much Ado about Nothing—when Charlotte was still little, when Joy still thought the cracks in her marriage could be mended, that she’d have more children, a fulfilling career, and a great relationship with Scott.

It seemed almost impossible now that she could have been that naive.

The day didn’t improve much after that.

Peter, the little weasel, missed a deadline for a research report and tried to put the blame on Taylor. Taylor’s normally professional demeanor slipped to the point that Joy thought she might be on the verge of tears. A local farm that had promised to donate a share of next summer’s harvest, worth $500, to the Players’ silent auction called to say they’d changed their mind, leaving her with nothing more interesting than a few gift certificates and a well-stocked basket of hair products from a local stylist. To top it off, she got an email from Scott asking if she’d thought any more about the house, and hinting that he might get the lawyers involved after all.

When she got home, she was exhausted, and still had rehearsal to get through. That made her think of Chris, which made her wonder all over again if he was engaged to Vanessa Swink, and her mood became even darker.

The globe in the living room caught her eye, and she glared at it bitterly, half tempted to take it off its pedestal and give it a good kick. But instead, she turned into the kitchen to fix a quick dinner for herself before she faced the play.

* * *

Friday’s rehearsal had not gone well. Almost half the cast was late, Wyatt was on patrol, Charlotte had gone into Portland to be with her dad on his birthday, five actors had forgotten their scripts, and no one had memorized all their lines, not even Brice.

On second thought, Chris mused, he wasn’t sure why he’d expected anything else. Brice might be the most experienced actor out of them all, but he was also stoned out of his gourd most of the time.

To top it off, Joy was in a bad mood because ... he didn’t know why, and Simon, who was supposed to have dropped by for more fittings, had called to say that he’d be staying home with Victor, who wasn’t doing well that evening.

“Not doing well” was code for “in a lot of pain.”

The news that his mentor was failing drove Chris to a new level of grim determination. “One scene,” he mumbled to himself. “I just want to get one scene down tonight.”

“You only need to stay if you’re in Act Three, Scene Two. We’ll take it from lines 124 to 354.” He swept the assembled cast again with his eyes. “That’s Helena, Hermia, Demetrius … Brice, if you could stay and read Lysander, and ... that’s it. You guys stay. Everyone else, go home. Get a good night’s sleep, and be back here tomorrow at one. And don’t forget to bring your damn scripts!” he yelled at the retreating backs of the majority of actors.

“All right, you four, on stage. Helena, you enter stage right, Demetrius, you’re right behind her. Lysander, you’re asleep, but Brice, you can stand over just to the right there and wait for your cue. Hermia, you’re in the wings, stage left, waiting for your cue, and ... action!”

Chris tried to focus on the positives: Krystal, to her credit, remembered most of her lines, and Luke, as Lysander, was doing a good job of expressing sudden lust for the bewildered Helena. But Tracie still carried her script in one hand and glanced at it more than should have been necessary, and Joy ... geez, what had her panties in such a bunch? She sat beside him and glowered.

After running the scene through three times and getting the blocking more or less down, he called a break. “Five minutes. When we come back, no scripts.” He gave Tracie a pointed look who returned it with a sheepish shrug.

Tracie and Krystal went for their bags, Tracie for her knitting and Krystal for her phone. Brice and Luke fell into a quiet conversation on the stage.

Chris turned to Joy. “And how are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” she replied in a tone of voice that meant the exact opposite.

Was this about the other night, he wondered? That hadn’t gone exactly the way he’d hoped, and there hadn’t been a good opportunity since then to try again. Maybe he should have just given her a call or something, instead of waiting for the right moment.

Either way, it wasn’t like he could get into it right now.

“You want to, I dunno, hang out later and talk about it?” he asked.

She turned to him, looking as if she were going to snap at him, but they were interrupted by the sound of Tracie’s voice.

“Krystal? Honey, are you okay?”

Chris and Joy looked up. Krystal was sitting at the edge of the stage staring at her phone, her bag open beside her. Her face was white as a sheet and she held one hand over her mouth.

Tracie rushed over to her. “Krystal?”

Krystal did not answer. She seemed to be frozen in shock, unable to take her eyes off the screen.

Joy pushed past Chris to the aisle and hurried over to Krystal, Chris at her heels. Luke and Brice, who had been standing toward the back of the stage, seemed to realize something was wrong and walked cautiously toward the edge of the stage, looking awkward and concerned.

Tracie put an arm around her. “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked in a soft voice.

Krystal turned the phone face down on her lap, but she didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, just gazed into space with a look of shock.

Chris’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. Her face reminded him of his mother’s when she’d gotten the news that his father had been killed. “Krystal?” he asked. “What’s wrong? Has someone been hurt?”

Krystal shook her head as if trying to clear it. “No. No one’s hurt,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel very well. I need to leave.” She slid off the stage, took a step, then swayed as if she might faint.

Tracie grabbed her, and Luke jumped down from the stage.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Tracie asked in a quiet voice.

Krystal was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Would you mind?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Sure,” Tracie said gently. “Luke, do you think you could drive Krystal’s car after us? I’ll give you a ride back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure,” said Luke, clearly anxious to help. “I’ll ... I’ll get your stuff.” He swept up Tracie’s and Krystal’s bags, then his own backpack, gave Chris an apologetic nod, and trailed the two women up the aisle.

Joy, Chris, and Brice watched them go. Krystal was slightly hunched, Tracie’s arm around her shoulder.

Brice walked heavily down the steps from the stage.

“Poor girl. I do hope she’s all right.” There was a long moment of silence. “Well, I guess I may as well take my leave as well.”

Chris nodded in resignation. “Yeah, of course. We’ll see you tomorrow. Study your lines.”

Brice undid the cloak he’d worn while in character.

“I’ll get that for you,” said Joy quietly, taking the cloak.

Brice nodded his thanks, picked up the denim jacket he’d discarded earlier and lumbered out one of the theater’s side doors.

“Shit,” Chris said. He looked at Joy, who was still staring up the aisle where Krystal, Luke and Tracie had disappeared. She looked a bit stricken herself. “You okay?”

She snapped her attention away from the theater’s back door and turned, making for the stage. “I’m going to tidy up. You can go home.”

“I can help.”

She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Don’t worry about it. Go home and get some rest.” Her voice was thick with frustration and barely repressed anger.

He frowned, confused. “What’s the matter? I can help. I want to help.” He followed her across the stage through the dark wings and into the green room. Maybe once he’d caught up with her, he’d broach the topic of the other night, he thought.

She hung up Brice’s cape, dusting it off with her hands before turning to survey the green room.

“This place is a mess. You need to talk to the cast about cleaning up after themselves.”

Chris frowned. The green room was a mess—plastic soda and water bottles littered various surfaces, a half-eaten bag of chips had been left on the floor, and several props and had been discarded on the battered old couch rather than put away properly.

But since when had Joy needed him to give the cast orders? She usually did that herself.

“Uh, okay.”

She was putting away the props, and he started picking up the empty bottles and tossing them into a nearby garbage can. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to talk about the other night.

“You can go home if you like,” Chris offered, trying to be helpful. “I can take care of it.”

She glared at him. “I have to lock up, remember?”

“No, you don’t. The backdoor locks on its own.”

Joy frowned. “Someone with keys should be here just in case.”

“Then give me the keys.”

She shook her head. “They’re signed out in my name, which makes them my responsibility.”

“Big deal. I’m not going to lose the keys. If I do, I’ll pay for new ones. Why don’t you just go home? Get some … rest or something.”

Joy suddenly turned at put her hands on her hips. “Tonight was a disaster.”

Some of the frustration he’d felt throughout the evening’s rehearsal started to boil over. The evening had gone badly enough, and now she seemed to be taking her bad mood out on him.

“Well, yes. Yes, it was,” he agreed, trying to keep his voice even. “I didn’t account for one of the leads being on patrol and another having some kind of personal tragedy she needed to deal with. Shit happens. It’ll go better tomorrow.”

“I sure as heck hope so, because you need to get on the ball and make this happen.”

He could tell she didn’t appreciate the snort he gave. “What are you, my mother?”

“Is that a crack about my age?” she snapped.

“No, it’s a remark about your attitude,” he snapped back.

“My attitude? We’ve only blocked two out of five acts, and half the actors don’t even know their lines. You won’t be here for most of next week, and you don’t even seem worried about it!”

“We’ve still got almost six weeks before the first performance. We’re on schedule!”

“Do we even have a schedule?”

“Of course we have a schedule!” He paused. “It’s in my head.”

She huffed with impatience. “It seems like you’re more worried about your picnic than stepping up and telling people what do.”

He took a step closer to her. “I’m bonding with the cast. We’re forming a team. You know, where people work together? To support each other?” Sarcasm bled into his voice.

She took a step closer to him. She looked like she was one breath away from shaking her finger in his face.

“Oh silly me,” she said. “Here I thought that staying until midnight to make sure nothing slips through the cracks could be considered ‘supportive.’“ She made air quotes with her fingers.

Now they were standing chest to chest and he was looking down into her flashing green eyes. “Are you really being ‘supportive,’“ he mocked her with air quotes of his own, “or are you just indulging your martyr complex?”

Her face darkened from anger to absolute fury and her mouth moved slightly as she groped for words to express her frustration.

“Are you engaged to Vanessa Swink?” she suddenly asked.

“What?” The sudden change of subject threw him off balance. “No. God, no! She’s a great person, but she’d totally crazy. Why on earth did you think—”

He looked at her again, and realized he wasn’t interested in knowing why she thought he was engaged, but why she would care.

Did she care?

Suddenly the air around them seemed to change, as if an electric current had run through the room. They were mere inches apart. He could see the streaks of gold in her eyes and hear her breathing a little harder than usual. He lost track of what he wanted to say or why. All he could think of was how attractive Joy was when she was passionate like this.

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he said before he could stop the cliché from falling from his mouth.

For a moment they faced off like enemies. He wondered if she’d slap him or just turn around and leave.

Suddenly she was in his arms, her hands were in his hair pulling his face to hers, her body was pressed against him, and their lips met in a searing kiss.