Page 4 of The Cul-de-Sac War

Bree’s brows shot up. “Oh, right. Yes. Thank you.”

She turned to face the door, feeling her cheeks warm as he stood behind her.

She heard a ripping sound as he tore off half an arm’s length of duct tape. She looked over her shoulder and saw him kneeling on the platform, folding the strip of duct tape inside itself. He reached into his back pocket, unsnapped a pocketknife, and looked up. “Now, how much do you care about this costume?”

She was alone, on a back-lot staircase, with a stranger wielding a knife. She didn’t want the moment to end. Her survival instincts were nonexistent.

Sixty-two seconds later, Bree held still in her camo duct tape–strapped dress as the man stood behind her, close enough that she could smell the aftershave on his neck. But something else was there too. More natural, more subtle. Authentic scents of cool pine, of the Appalachian Mountains in the distance.

She felt his breath release on her shoulder as he slipped his pocketknife into his back pocket and stepped around to face her on the small platform.

“All done,” he said with a satisfied grin.

She smiled back. Her voice was not her own as she heard herself say, “Thank you.”

Titania’s lines echoed down the hall.

“Well, I’ve gotta—” Her words faltered. She tipped her chin toward the stage. Half of her body wanted to stay. The bizarre suggestion swept in and out of her thoughts. I don’t need this job that much. What if we just left it all and went for ice cream? A high-school track? An equally insignificant and isolated stairwell?

She wasn’t sure, but she sensed he felt it too. Their scene closing. The time for their bizarre meeting, their sudden moment, to come to an end.

And the reluctance. At least for her. She dared a quick, deeper glance to his eyes, searching for some clue.

“Good luck.” He smiled. Then set the duct tape in her hand. “In case you need some backup.”

She held it up. The moment had passed. It was time to move on.

She put on an overbright smile as she pulled the door open. “Thanks.”

Twenty seconds later, she floated onstage to deliver her important line.

She stopped beside Birdie—in this moment, Cobweb—fellow fairy and closest friend in the six months since she’d moved to Abingdon, Virginia.

She dipped her head toward Titania.

Met her gaze.

Opened her mouth.

Sensed the hushed auditorium.

Took a breath.

“And I.”

Done.

She stepped back, the brave line given its due in the spotlight.

While the scene continued, Bree couldn’t help scanning the shadowy audience for one certain gentleman, even though he’d said he’d been kicked out by one of the ushers. Even though she’d left him standing on the metal platform. Even though—

Her roving stopped.

Because sure enough she found him, three rows back. Right.

Their eyes locked.

He gave her that smile. A knowing smile. A private smile. A smile that couldn’t look more delighted for her if she had just recited a flawless ten-minute monologue.