Always the Last Word (Always the Bridesmaid #4)(19)

In my and Adam's silence, I feel stupid for calling him. He told me to let him know how everything went, and I realize now that he was just being nice. And he probably didn't intend for me to call him the second the meeting with the director ended. He has to work in the morning; I probably woke him up. I open my mouth to apologize, but he cuts in before I can say anything.

"When does the show start?" he asks, his voice filling my car.

"Opening night is April third. I have less than two months to put together costumes for twelve characters."

"They'll be amazing," Adam says without an iota of doubt in his voice.

"They'll be something," I say, wondering how I'm going to stretch the $100 costume budget to create the looks I showed the director.

"They'll be amazing, Evie," Adam says, and his voice doesn't let me argue.

"Thanks," I say, my voice squeaky. In my cold car, I feel my cheeks turn hot.

When did Adam Iberico become capable of making me feel so warm on a cold night?



***



I get the actors' measurements the next day after I get off work. I'm also allowed access to the theatre's wardrobe department. I keep my cool until Jason leaves me to root about the racks, drawers, and boxes cluttering the glorified closet. And root about I do. At one point, I full on squeal at a beautiful embroidery job done on a gown with a skirt so large that it could have only come from a play about Marie Antoinette. I do my best to distance the costumes from the show they were originally purchased or created for and try to figure out how I can apply them to Jane Eyre and the Atmosphere. Except the Marie Antoinette gown; I carefully place it back in its garment bag and tuck it away.

In addition to reading up on Victorian fashion, I've also been watching a number of superhero movies. So many of them are set in space that it just made sense to watch them for research. The movies are actually kind of fun, and man, some of those guys can work it in tight-fitting costumes. It's nice when costume research offers such a nice view of a patriotic hero's backside.

Jason invites me to sit in on the first read-through of the script so that I can get a feel for the characters and each of the actors' interpretations and expectations. I sketch designs as the actors read their lines, I make notes in the script on costume fabric and lighting suggestions for Jason, and I applaud with fervor after the last line is read.

The script is ridiculous, but it has heart. My favorite line is hands down "I am no satellite; no planet's gravitational pull ensnares me." The actors held it together so well that I fully expect them to all win Tony Awards for their performances in this show. I can barely wait to get home to start preparing patterns. So much so that, when Grant texts me to come over, I tell him the truth. I'm busy sewing. I've never once told him I was too busy to see him because of a sewing project. Even when I have been too busy or preoccupied with a sewing project to see Grant, I made up a completely different excuse that sounded less lame. Now that I'm telling him the truth, I shouldn't be surprised that he responds with a text of just question marks.



       
         
       
        

I don't reply. I turn my phone on silent and pick up my fabric scissors.





Chapter Seventeen



"What in the hell happened to you?" Jamie asks, her eyes wide and terrified at my appearance. I did my best to tame my hair and hide the circles under my eyes before coming into work.

My best was obviously not good enough.

"I was up late working on some designs," I say, the last few words unintelligible due to a yawn.

"Again?" she asks as I follow her back to the shop's tiny break room. I fall into a chair as she pours a cup of coffee for me. "You can't keep doing this every night."

"I know, but the director wants to start seeing completed costumes."

I told the same thing to Hank last night when he tried to intervene in the situation. When he unplugged my sewing machine, I may have threatened to break every bone in his hand. And in my sleep-deprived mindset, I think I meant it.

I focus back on Jamie. "Between working here and being forced to attend every single rehearsal, on top of having a semblance of a social life, I just don't have another option."

"You know what you need?'

"Caffeine?" I guess as she slides the cup of coffee toward me. I take a grateful sip, not even caring that I'm burning the roof of my mouth.

"You need a plan of attack."

Oh no. I know that glint in Jamie's eyes. It's the same look she got on her face when Connie mentioned she wanted to start exercising. It's the same look she gets on her face whenever she opens a new planner or starts a new binder for a wedding. It's the same look she gets on her face when she wants to control every aspect of a project.

If I had the energy, I would be running away right now.

"That's okay, Jamie. I think I can figure something out. Really. Don't trouble yourself." My words topple out of my mouth as I try to think of any excuse to not have her force her assistance upon me. It's too late, though. She's already typing furiously into her phone.

My life is now a box on Jamie's to-do list to check off.



***



"I need coffee," I say, slumping onto the bakery's counter. Adam startles at my appearance and I groan. "God, not you too."

"Sorry," he mumbles as he writes my name and order (I don't have to say what I want anymore; he knows, and he also knows better than to question why I'm drinking coffee on my lunch break) onto a cup and hands it off to one of the other employees. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

I close my eyes. "Three hours, I think." 

"If this is what you look like running on three hours of sleep, then you look damn good," he says. I open my eyes and am surprised to find that his face is sincere.

I blush. "Thanks."

I get my order of coffee and bagel with cream cheese and slink away to a corner table. Stopping at the bakery for lunch has become part of my routine. Since I'm clinging to every bit of sleep I can get in the morning, I don't have time to stop in for coffee and, since I don't have much time to talk to Adam about Rachel and Carter right now, swinging by for lunch is only logical, and cheap since Adam rarely charges me for my meal. Plus, it's not nearly as crowded this time of day. Case in point, I'm actually able to get a table.

I've just taken a bite of my bagel when Adam slides into the chair across from me.

"They're getting worse," Adam says. I don't say anything. I heard Rachel and Carter get into an argument two nights ago in her apartment. I don't know what the argument was about, but I do know that Carter stormed out.

"What do you think we should do?" I ask, my mouth full of bagel.

"Well, desperate times call for desperate measures."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Rocoto relleno," he says, his voice just above a whisper.

I raise an eyebrow. "Rocoto? Is that like ricotta? Are you suggesting something involving cheese? Because I am one-hundred percent here for that."

"It's a Peruvian dish," he says, a smile spreading across his face. He loves discussing food too much to be truly annoyed by my smart ass quips. That, or he's getting used to me. "It's a stuffed pepper. My family has this recipe for it. It's been passed down for generations. It's like the Iberico family crest."

"What's so special about it?"

"It's magic."

He says it simply and with so much conviction that I can't help but snort with laughter.

"Adam, you're a good cook-"

"Just 'good'?"

"-But magic stuffed peppers?"

"I know it sounds stupid, but my family has used this for years. This recipe makes people fall in love."

"And what's the magic ingredient?" I ask, barely quelling my laughter.

"Do you really think I'm going to tell you my family's centuries old secret recipe?"

"Well now I don't." I smile. "Okay, this is clearly a stretch but, what the hell. I'm up for a little magic."

"Good," he says. "You'll love it."

"Out of curiosity, does your family have any secret recipes that will keep me awake and alert for the next month? That's the magic I could really use right now."

He laughs as he stands. A line is starting to form near the register. "Promise me something, Evie. When you get off work, go straight home, and go to sleep."

"But-"

"The costumes can wait a day. If you keep going at this rate, you're going to cut off a finger or sew your toes together. Take a night off, okay?" He leans down and squeezes my shoulder. His brown eyes bore into mine. "I'm worried about you. Please get some rest."

"Okay," I say and, for just a millisecond, my eyes flit down to his mouth and my heart thuds against my ribcage. I lick my own lips, which have seem to gone dry. "Okay."



***



As soon as I get back to the dress shop, Jamie shoves a binder in my hand. She rattles off instructions and flips through the binder explaining the symbols and yes, I really do need to convert all my clocks to military time.