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We find our row and begin the awkward sidestep shuffle past the people already seated. I mutter apologies each time my knees knock against the back of someone’s head, and my butt collides with a face.

“These seats are tiny,” I whisper to Harrison, who navigates the human obstacle course with far more ease. “Were they designed for hobbits?”

He stifles a laugh. “Welcome to Broadway, McManus. Believe it or not, this theater is one of the more spacious ones.”

Plopping down in our seats in the middle of the row, I stretch out my legs, only to find them wedged firmly against the seat infront of me. I shift from side to side, then attempt a half-hearted slouch.

“I’m going to get deep vein thrombosis,” I grumble. “This is cruel and unusual punishment for anyone over six feet tall.”

Harrison pats my knee sympathetically. “Want me to switch with you? Maybe it’ll be more comfortable from my angle.”

I blow out an exaggerated sigh and resign myself to my fate. “I’m just saying, if the show isn’t amazing, I’m holding you personally responsible for my suffering.”

“You’ll love it,” Harrison says confidently. “And if you don’t, at least you’ll have something new to complain about other than how you don’t fit in.”

Ouch.That one stings more than he probably intended, but before I can respond, the lights dim, and a hush falls over the audience.

The orchestra comes to life with a dramatic flourish, and my attention snaps to the stage. The sound of the organ playing a haunting melody that I recognize from countless parodies and homages sends shivers down my spine.

I lean forward in my seat, all discomfort forgotten, as the magnificent chandelier rises off the stage. Beams of light shoot out in all directions, casting sparkling halos across the theater as it comes to a stop above us, a glittering sword of Damocles.

I’m spellbound.

As the curtainfalls on act one, I leap to my feet and clap so hard my hands sting. My cheeks ache from the wide-ass smile plastered across my face. The music, the costumes, the sets—it’s all much more than I could have ever imagined. I’ve been transported to another world where anything is possible and love conquers all.

Harrison stands beside me, his applause more restrained butno less enthusiastic. He studies me with a knowing smile. “I take it you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Enjoying myself?” I echo incredulously. “H, this is magic.Puremagic. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this show my whole life!”

He chuckles, guiding me out of the row and into the crowded aisle as people file out for intermission. “Welcome to the wonderful world of musical theater, McManus. It’s a beautiful,magicalplace.”

We head to the lobby, where I can’t stop spinning around. Everything is elegant, and I half-expect to see princesses and talking animals waltz by at any moment.

Harrison places his hand on the small of my back—his hand dangerously low to the top of my ass—and steers me over to a relatively quiet corner. “Are you following the story all right?”

I nod eagerly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you have a favorite song yet?”

“I do.The Music of the Night.”

“Great choice,” Harrison says with a smile. “Mine’sThe Phantom of the Opera.That organ at the top of the number just does something to me, you know?”

I nod. “I can relate to the Phantom in a way. Not the stalking part,” I add quickly, seeing Harrison’s raised eyebrows. “But the feeling of being an outsider, of not quite fitting in…”

My voice trails off as I realize how vulnerable I sound. I glance away, suddenly fascinated by a couple of young kids pretending to be the Phantom, a hand over half of their faces.

Harrison’s fingers brush against my hand, bringing my attention back to him. “Charlie?”

I inhale deeply, gathering my courage to say something I’ve never said out loud. “Sometimes I feel as if I came from another planet. You and Danny Boy grew up attending fancy parties, art galleries, and Broadway shows. Meanwhile, I was back in Bomont, milking cows at the crack of dawn and getting excited about the county fair.”

“Charlie, that doesn’t matter?—”

I place a finger on his lips, not letting him finish his thought. I’m on a roll now.

“It does matter. I’ll always be the guy who doesn’t quite fit in. The one who wears a ridiculous penguin suit to a casual night at the theater because it’s the nicest thing I own, and I don’t know any better.” I gesture to my outfit, suddenly self-conscious about how it stretches too tightly across my broad shoulders and how the pants are a smidge too short. “You and Daniel know all the right things to say, the right way to dress, the right forks to use at dinners. But me? I’m constantly second-guessing myself, terrified that I’m going to do or say something that reveals me for the country bumpkin I am.”

My face reddens with shame and frustration, but I can’t stop the torrent of words. The floodgates have opened, releasing all the pent-up insecurities I’ve been bottling for months. I blink rapidly, trying to keep the sudden sting of tears at bay. I didn’t mean to unload like this, not today, at least.