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My heart stirred in my chest, kicking up, creating a simmering heat in my stomach. It was different from the way it had felt moments ago when the board members walked in.Vastlydifferent.
I closed my eyes, swaying in place with an unsteady breath out.So not the time!
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Mr. Massy said. “We have time before the fundraiser. We’ll?—”
The sound of the theater’s door opening sounded again, and this time, the lively chatter of the staff was immediately identifiable.
“Either way, we’ll get what we want,” Mr. Holland muttered, and he retreated past us once more, off the stage. Never spotting us. “We always do.”
I let out a breath of relief, nearly ducking my forehead against Aaron’s chest.
“You all have been quite hard at work!” Dr. Conan announced in a voice that was too bright, trying to diffuse any suspicion. “We just dropped by to see how it’s coming along. Turning this dump around quite nicely, aren’t we?”
I lifted my head, looking up at Aaron. I expected our gazes to meet, but instead, I found his own eyes shut.Squeezedshut, almost as if he were in pain. There was a crease between his brows, and his lips were a firm line.
“Aaron,” I whispered.
He didn’t budge, but he did blink his eyes open. They roamed my face, as if searching for something in the darkness. His hand on my upper arm tightened nearly imperceptibly, a twitch of a movement that I only caught because every nerve in my body was hyperaware. The adrenaline of the near-miss still hummed through me, intensifying every passing second. Each of my thoughts related to Aaron Astor. His proximity, his scent, his touch—there was no room in my head for anything else.
Aaron’s stormy eyes dropped to my lips, and for one inexplicable, wild second, I thought he was about to kiss me.
But then the tension shattered in an instant as Aaron dropped both of his hands and stepped back. It threw me back into reality with a snap, the irrational thoughts disintegrating like a dream after waking up. He stepped to the side, further into the maroon curtain, offering me a wider door of escape.
“Stay here,” I whispered to him, the heartbeat in my ears nearly overpowering my words. “I’ll distract them so you can sneak out.”
It wasn’t just to save his own skin, of course. If I got caught sneaking him in here, I was in hot water, too. So, without a backward glance—and with fire-burning cheeks—I bolted. I rushed onto the stage before anyone could climb up, my brain scrambling for a plan,anyplan.
“Hey!” My voice rang out, too chipper, too forced, but I was committed now. I found Paige’s eyes below, but all five workers still turned up to look at me. But no Wallets.Good. “How was lunch?”
And then, with all the grace of a baby deer, I “tripped” over a stack of boxes. My body hit the floor with a brutal, gracelessthud, and the air knocked from my lungs in a gasp. The boxes teetered for half a second before crashing down into another stack of boxes, creating a domino effect, with all of them collapsing on top of me. The noise was deafening—cardboard and cleaning supplies and other random things that’d been stored flew in all directions.
I lay there for a moment, disoriented, every muscle screaming as I forced myself to stay still, hoping the commotion was enough to keep everyone distracted.
And it worked. Paige, ever the dramatic one, let out a shriek, and then there were thudding footsteps everywhere as my coworkers rushed to rescue me from the wreckage. Just enough time for Aaron to slip from the corner, go down the stairs at the side of the stage, and rush from the music hall.
I stared at the stage lights, letting them blind me as my head pounded, one thought.I’m never waving the white flag first again.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Sunlight streamed through the tearoom’s windows on Tuesday, where I worked a serving rotation for the mostly elderly clientele that came in for morning tea. It’d been a slow morning, with only a handful of tables coming in. Almost everyone on the Alderton-Du Ponte staff would’ve preferred a slow day—I hated it. Time crawled by that way.
I wiped down the shiny oak of a table that sat square in the sun’s view, taking my time to get the drops of tea that’d dried on the wood. A box full of cleaning supplies to the head hurt more than I’d planned for. It’d left a beautiful bruise near my right temple, one that was mostly hidden by my bangs. The headache, though, was still a dull pain behind the eyes.
But Aaron had gotten out of the music hall without anyone seeing him, so I’d take the bruise and possible concussion. As long as neither of us had gotten caught.
“Lovisa?”
I looked over my shoulder at the call of my name and almost had a heart attack. For a split second, I thought Grant stood behind me. But, no, my brain latched onto the wrinkles and pepper hair a beat too late. Mr. Holland. I nearly sighed with the knee-shaking relief.
I straightened, balling the rag in my hand. “Well, isn’t this an unlikely place for you to be on a Tuesday morning?” I asked, smiling. “Playing hooky?”
Mr. Holland gave me his own version of a smile—one that almost looked like a grimace—back. “Some days are for building. Others are for planning. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Absolutely.” I had no idea what he meant. “Can I get you some tea?”
“A cup of coffee instead?”
“Anything to go with it? We have scones, cucumber sandwiches?—”