Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(48)

“She was thinking we could help one another, if you had the time and interest.” Mel smiled at April. “We keep saying we should have costumes for our performances. You know, outfits that would work together onstage and show we’re a folk group. But none of us can figure out what exactly that would look like. If you’d be willing to turn your design eye to those—”

“We could help you sew one of your costumes,” Pablo finished. “If that’s something that would interest you. If not, no worries.”

The molded plastic chair beneath her squeaked as April lurched forward, the movement jerky in her enthusiasm.

“Yes.” She beamed at her new coworkers. All of them, in turn.

“I would love that.”

This was what she’d been missing in her work. Openness and the ability to talk about her life outside the office. Relationships built on and because of that openness.

God, the freedom was intoxicating. She was practically giddy with it.

“We’ll let you get a bit more settled first, and then we can work out the details.” Mel waved a ring-bedecked hand. “If you change your mind in the meantime, not a problem.”

“You have a lot going on at the moment. Obviously.” Heidi’s nose ring glinted as she leaned back in her chair. “Look, it’s really none of our business, and feel free not to answer, but—”

“Marcus Caster-Rupp is the bane of my existence as a lesbian,” Mel interrupted. “If he didn’t exist, I would be all the way at the end of the Kinsey scale, but alas.”

Heidi shrugged. “I’m bi, so I embrace my status as a Castersexual.”

“What’s he like in person?” Mel asked. “Equally hot?”

While Kei rolled his eyes and stood to gather his trash, Pablo rested his elbows on the table. “Did he say anything about his skin care routine?”

“Please tell us he’s actually a decent guy. He seems that way in all his interviews, but . . .” Heidi scrunched up her face in an anticipatory wince. “You just don’t know.”

What could April say? “Ummm, okay.” Easy stuff first. “I don’t know anything about his skin care routine. I’m sorry, Pablo. You might want to check online. There might be articles about it.”

He shook his head, then began consolidating his own trash. “I probably couldn’t afford the products he uses anyway, but I was curious. My girlfriend says his face has ‘the perfect amount of weathering.’ Whatever that means.”

April knew what it meant.

Those crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the faint lines across his forehead only enhanced his appeal. They were the gilt on his already gorgeous lily.

Now on to shakier ground.

“He’s just as handsome in person,” she told Mel. “Maybe more so.”

Because in person, he was real. A shirt wrinkled by her fist or a loose shoelace only made him seem warmer and more solid and . . . touchable.

Face-to-face, he was still blindingly beautiful, yes, but not perfect. Not a demigod. Just a man. And since he was a real person to her now, she didn’t want to talk about his sexual appeal to strangers. Like her explicit fics, the topic suddenly seemed like a violation.

His physical beauty she would gladly discuss. His fuckability? No. Not anymore.

“Whew.” Mel made a show of fanning herself. “I’m not certain that’s physically possible, but I trust your judgment. You’re the only one who’s been up close and personal with him, after all.”

Finally, the most complicated response of all.

Please tell us he’s actually a decent guy.

April wouldn’t discuss the differences between his public persona and private demeanor. He had his reasons for maintaining that facade, whatever they were, and she wouldn’t violate his privacy in that way, either. She also wouldn’t violate her own by describing their final moments together or the reason for her anger.

But she could tell a circumscribed truth.

“You don’t have to worry, Heidi.” She did her best to smile, because she was telling the truth, and she wanted its sincerity believed. “He was nothing but kind to me.”

Even though he’d nudged her toward the gym and a healthy breakfast, she meant that. He’d almost certainly intended the invitation as a gesture of concern, despite its inherent condescension. And when he’d talked about the buffet, she’d cut him off before he could finish telling her the choices. Maybe he’d have kept listing weight-loss-friendly options, but maybe—

No, there was no point going over that moment yet again. She’d made her decision, and she’d live with it. No matter how many times she’d questioned her knee-jerk reaction to his words this past week.

You know, those probably are the items he always has for breakfast, given the nutritional and fitness demands of his work. The thought wouldn’t leave her, no matter how she exhausted herself unpacking boxes and moving furniture. You asked what he could recommend, and if that’s what he eats, healthy foods were very literally all he could honestly recommend.

Her smile faded, despite her best efforts. “I don’t think we’ll be going out again, so I’m afraid I won’t have more insider information in the future.”

Even if she changed her mind at this point, even if she texted him to propose another date—which she definitely, definitely wouldn’t—he might not accept. Not after the way she’d turned cold and dismissive in the cab, and not given the hurt she’d heard underlining every word he’d said after that point.