Vanessa stopped to inhale the scent from a cluster of pale pink blossoms. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” she quoted.
“That’s Juliet’s line,” he said.
“I know. It’s quite a speech. ‘Romeo, doff thy name; and for that name, which is no part of thee, take all myself.’”
His gaze met hers.
Thomas broke away only to reach for the roses she had released. He leaned down, closed his eyes, and breathed the fragrance of the petals.
Thomas
The downpours of rain became more frequent, echoing loudly on the roof of the theater.
Thomas unrolled his sleeping bag behind the last row of seats.
The other crew members claimed the floor in front of the stage.
Someone had thought to bring board games. Happy shouts drifted from the front of the theater as one or another crew member gained a point.
Restless, Thomas went into the lobby. He found Vanessa at the window, watching the storm.
The wrinkle between her eyebrows deepened as the branches of the trees in the plaza whipped back and forth in the windy darkness.
“This your first hurricane?” Thomas asked.
“How’d you guess,” said Vanessa with dry humor.
“Don’t worry. Really. It doesn’t get that bad here. It just sounds bad,” he said, as the wind howled outside. “You want some coffee?”
That got her attention. “Real coffee?”
“Real coffee. I brought my little coffeemaker from home.”
“You are a genius,” she said. “And a hero. And—I will think of more compliments later. Where’s the coffee?”
Coffee obtained, they settled in the back row of the theater, idly watching the other crew members entertain themselves down front.
“They wouldn’t notice if the hurricane carried the both of us away,” Vanessa said.
Thomas chuckled. He crossed and uncrossed his leg, then bounced his knee up and down as if they were in an earthquake, not a hurricane.
Vanessa, who must have noticed his nervous movement, asked if he was all right.
He stopped the nervous movement with an effort. “Me? Oh. Fine. I’m fine,” he said. His flustered delivery belied his words. “Actually,” he said, “I was thinking about the other day. In here.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “On the stage.”
“Ah,” said Vanessa, in comprehension.
“But more importantly, I remember once—long ago—you promised to tell me more about yourself.” He attempted a charming smile, to take her mind off his worries.
“Long ago,” she echoed with a faint smile. “It certainly feels like it.”
“Well, then,” he said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I have a question for you, actually.”
“For me? Uh-oh.”
“What, you got something to hide?” She elbowed him.
“Okay, okay. What’s the question?”
“Have you ever thought about becoming a manager?”
Thomas whistled. “Wow, you don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“Not usually,” she said.
“A serious question demands a serious answer. Let me think.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know if I have a good answer for you. It’s … not for me, Vanessa. I can’t see myself as a manager.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“You’re not going to let me off the hook, are you? All right—for one thing, they wouldn’t promote me to a manager position. How’s that?”
“Let’s say they would,” she said.
“That’s impossible.”
“I think you’re making excuses,” said Vanessa.
Thomas winced as her words hit home like an arrow of truth. “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he said.
“What bad side?” Vanessa batted her eyelashes.
“Don’t give me that innocent face,” he said.
“You want to know what I really think?”
“God, no,” he said, cradling his head in his hands and laughing.
“I think you would be a fantastic manager.” She ticked off qualities on her fingers. “You’re competent. You care about people. And you’re a natural leader.”
He sat up and rolled his eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me. You know I’m right.”
“I’m flattered, is what I am,” he said.
“I don’t flatter.”
Thomas sighed. “Fair enough. I yield. I’ll ask Mr. Destiny for a manager job tomorrow.”
“I could view your sarcasm as insubordination, you know.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.
“Take me away, officer—guilty as charged.” He held out his wrists for imaginary handcuffs.
She encircled his wrists with her hands. “Busted!”
Vanessa
The roar of the storm faded after midnight.
Vanessa turned over in her sleeping bag, unable to sleep.
She sat up.
The crew members by the front of the stage had finally tired themselves out after countless rounds of Twister, collapsing into sleeping bags strewn this way and that.
Thomas, behind the back row, appeared to be asleep.
Vanessa slid out of the sleeping bag and pulled a light jacket over her pajamas. She tiptoed to the lobby to get a view of the momentary calm.
She gazed out the window. Moonlight filtered down in patches as the clouds broke overhead.
The eye of the storm.
A noise behind her made her turn.
Thomas, barefoot, with tousled hair, gently closed the theater door behind him. “Is it the eye?” he asked, drowsiness making his voice husky.
She nodded and turned back to the window.
He came up behind her.
“Beautiful,” he said.
He was close enough that if she leaned back, he would stop her fall.
“I’m going outside,” she said.
She didn’t look back to see if he followed her.
Outside, leaves covered the wet ground. The wind felt deceptively playful instead of fierce.