Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(64)

But he’d stepped away with a friendly smile, and I was reminded again exactly what he felt and where the boundaries of our relationship lay.

I reached for his hand and squeezed. “How can I ever thank you for tonight? It’s been a dream. I wouldn’t have wanted to experience it with anyone but you.” Not even Will, I thought to myself, brushing the words away.

“You don’t have to thank me, Annie.”

“But I want to, and someday, I’ll make it up to you.”

Something in his face shifted, a flash of emotion in his eyes I couldn’t catch before it was gone. “Annie, I…”

He didn’t—couldn’t?—finish, searching my face, as if the words were written on my cheeks and nose and lips.

“What?” I asked. The word was barely above a whisper. “You can tell me.”

Greg took a breath, opening his lips as if to speak, but his eyes shifted to look behind me, and in a second’s time, the moment passed.

“Ah, here we go,” he said as he stood, his eyes behind me. “Come on.”

He took my hand, and I followed breathlessly as Juliet herself stood at the side entrance of the stage, waving us up.

“Oh my God, Greg. Oh my God!” I giggled as he towed me up the stairs and to the stage, not stopping until we were standing right in front of her.

She was even more beautiful up close. Her blonde hair hung down her back in princess waves, her eyes big and blue, her legs ten miles long in her pink chiffon costume.

“Annie,” he said with the most marvelous smile on his face, “I’d like you to meet Lily Thomas.”

She extended her hand, her smile wide and friendly. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Rose told me all about you.”

A shocked laugh bubbled out of me. “You’re kidding.”

But she laughed sweetly. “She tells me pretty much everything, and I know enough about Wasted Words that it’s a wonder I don’t work there myself.” She moved to press her cheek to Greg’s. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

“I have to say,” I started with a shaky voice, completely starstruck, “that was incredible. I’ve never…I mean, I’ve been to a few shows, but I’ve never seen anything like that. You were incredible. God,” I touched my warm cheek. “That sounds so corny. I’m just speechless.”

Lily laughed, her cheeks rosy, too. “Thank you, Annie. Really, it’s all music and lights and production. I’m just lucky to be a part of it all. Can I show you guys around?”

And to my utter and complete joy, she did.

We followed her backstage. There was a line of mirrors with lights for the dancers, and props and people were scattered around backstage. She walked us to the sewing station, a special spot littered with supplies to sew their shoes. She even showed me how to do it. I got to hold a real-life ballerina shoe with satin ribbons backstage at a theater in the Lincoln Center.

I was checking off firsts I hadn’t even known I had.

By the time we were finished, the stage was mostly empty, and the theater had cleared out other than a few people who seemed to belong there.

Lily left us to speak to a stern man who glanced at me and back at her with a disapproving arch of his brow and a conceding nod.

My hand was still in Greg’s. I didn’t even notice until he bent and brought his lips to my ear.

“I have one more surprise for you.”

When he reappeared in my line of vision, his smile could have powered the sun.

“Come with me,” Lily said, waving us behind her.

Down a set of stairs we went and to a doorway, passing through to bring us into the orchestra pit.

It was a place I’d dreamed of, a place I’d only imagined until tonight. And the vision left me breathless.

Greg let me go so I could wander around the cluster of chairs arranged in radiating half-circles, my tentative fingers brushing the tops of the chairs and trays of the music stands. I stepped around the director’s podium and looked up to see the stage and theater from this angle. We were surrounded by the building itself, the sunken space the very heart of the theater, the place where the music lived and breathed.

I turned back to Greg, tears stinging my eyes again, but it was Lily who said, “Keep going.”

When I looked back, my gaze found the piano.

I slowly approached it, touched the ebony and ivory, imagined the sound echoing against the balconies, wondering if, someday, I would be so lucky as to play in a place like this.

Greg was at my elbow. “Go ahead. Have a seat.”

I whipped my head around to gape at him. “I can’t.”

Lily nodded around Greg, grinning. “Yes, you sure can.”

“Are you…are you sure? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I have full and complete permission,” she said with a sweep of her hand.

“I know it’s not technically onstage,” Greg said gently, “but I thought you might still be able to cross it off your list.”

“I can’t…I can’t believe…” I muttered and took a wobbly step toward the bench.

Greg had ahold of me from behind before my foot hit the ground, one hand cupping my elbow and the other on my waist.

“Annie, are you all right?” The worry in his voice almost broke me into a million pieces.