Page 92 of Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

“I... I’m not sure—”

“Before you say you can’t,” Thayer said, holding up her hand. “Think about it. I want you to play Rosalind.”

“Rosalind. As in—”

“The lead.”

Stevie’s head spun. “I don’t understand. There must be a hundred other people you could cast as Rosalind. Famous people. Freaking Natalie Portman.”

Thayer nodded. “True. But I don’t want Natalie Portman. I want what I just saw on that stage. I want what I saw hints of even back when you were eighteen years old and could barely look me in the eyes. I want Stevie Scott.”

This wasn’t real. This had to be a dream. “I just... I’m overwhelmed.”

“I understand that,” Thayer said. “I’m a bit overwhelmed myself. I honestly walked in here hoping to say hello to Adri. And only Adri. I’m surprised to find you still in Portland.”

Stevie’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Anyway, as soon as I saw you up there, I knew I was looking at my Rosalind,” Thayer said. She took a manila folder out of her messenger bag and started flipping through the papers inside. “Somewhere in here is a rehearsal schedule, dates the show will run, all those details. I’ll email it to you as well, but I want you to have this now. Oh, hell, just take the whole thing.”

She held out the folder and Stevie took it, her hand already trembling. She could barely process what Thayer was saying, much less what it meant.

“I’ll need an answer by September first,” Thayer said, “before our auditions officially start. I can help with housing, board, all those details, so don’t let that hold you back. Please promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I...”

“Is that Thayer Calloway?” Ren’s voice echoed from the stage, where they’d just emerged from backstage draped in various fabrics and materials. They held their hand up to their eyes, shading the lights to see to the back of the theater. “Holy shit, it is!”

“What?” Adri said, leaping up from where she was sitting in the front row. “Where?”

“Hi, you two,” Thayer said, waving.

Ren jumped off the stage, all but hurling themself up the aisle, followed closely by Adri.

“Think about it,” Thayer said one more time, squeezing Stevie’s arm before Ren and Adri reached them.

The three of them immediately fell into catching up, Adri telling Thayer about the fundraiser dinner that will go along with the play, both Ren and Adri losing their minds when Thayer mentioned Shakespeare in the Park.

“I’ve just asked Stevie here to come work for me in New York,” Thayer said.

Stevie closed her eyes for a split second while the news landed.

“Holy. Shit,” Ren said, turning to her. “Yes. She’ll do it.”

“Ren,” Stevie said.

“You’re seriously consideringnot? Stevie.”

“I don’t know,” Stevie said, panic rising in her chest. She glanced at Adri, who just stared at her, her red mouth open in a tiny circle.

“Stefania Francesca Scott,” Ren said, folding their arms. Colorful scarves and swaths of fabric fluttered with the motion. “I swear to god.”

“Leave her alone, Ren,” Adri said.

Ren’s eyes narrowed. “For real, Adri? You’re that desperate to keep her under your thumb that you’d talk her out of—”

“I’m not talking her out of anything,” Adri said. “I just said—”

“We know what you said,” Ren said, “and I—”