Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(26)

Adri smiled and shook her head. “You’re right. That was a stupid thing to say. I’m happy for you. Let’s get to work, okay?”

Stevie took a surreptitious deep breath. She hated when Adri did shit like this, saying something that made Stevie feel small and unsure, then immediately apologizing so Stevie couldn’t even be mad about it.

“Fine,” Stevie said. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Our first priority is finding our Beatrice.”

“What about Tori?”

“Pregnant,” Adri said, smiling. “Nearly six months and due in September, so she can’t do it.”

“Oh my god, really?” Stevie said. “That’s great for her.” Tori was a Black lesbian who’d been with the same woman, Lakshmi, since they were fifteen and baby queers in Arkansas. They’d been trying to get pregnant for years and had gone through a couple miscarriages, so Stevie was delighted to hear this.

Tori was also their best lead actress.

“There’s no one else?” Stevie asked.

Adri shook her head. “No one good enough. Molly hates Shakespeare and Cassandra can’t do comedy to save her life. I’ve already cast Jasper as Hero. We’ve got to find someone new. Someone amazing.”

“Should be easy enough,” Stevie said wryly. Like all directors, Adri was picky, critical, and demanding. Double that when it came to Shakespeare, so finding a brand-new Beatrice with whom Stevie had onstage chemistry and who satisfied Adri’s standard of perfection?

Well. It was going to be a long day.





SEVEN POTENTIAL BEATRICES later, Stevie was ready to fling herself into the sea.

Too bubbly.

Not enough energy.

No intuition.

They’re trying too hard.

I don’t believe you want to bang them, Stevie.

That last one was a real zinger, as this comment from Adri felt like it was more about Stevie’s acting than the hopeful thespian with whom she was sharing the stage. Still, Stevie didn’t take it personally—acting was the one area in her life where she could take direction and not immediately feel the need to breathe into a paper bag. This was the game, the show, and if you wanted to get better, to shine, you had to be willing to suck every now and then.

Still, Adri was particularly brutal today and Stevie’s exhaustion level was climbing.

“What, my dear Lady Disdain!” Stevie said as Benedick. A terrified-looking white person named Candice stood opposite her, ears full of piercings, short hair dyed lavender, eyes wide as saucers as they looked at the script.

“Are you yet living?” Stevie went on, motioning toward Candice.

“Um, oh, right.” Candice peered at the script before speaking robotically. “Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself—”

“Thank you,” Adri said, forefinger and thumb rubbing at her temples. Then she smiled beatifically. “Wonderful, Candice, we’ll be in touch.”

Candice skulked away, and Stevie collapsed onto the stage, limbs flailing out like a starfish.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Adri said, but she was laughing.

“I thought that was the point,” Stevie said, staring up into the lights and wires.

Adri sighed. “I can’t help it if these people can’t act.”

“You didn’t even let the poor soul finish the line!” Stevie sat up and rubbed her face. “I need a break.”

“Okay, yeah,” Adri said, plopping down into one of the velvet seats. “It’s past lunchtime anyway. Maybe we could get something delivered.”

“No,” Stevie said, getting to her feet. “I’ll go pick something up. I need some air.”

Adri nodded. “Sushi?”

“Sushi,” Stevie said, coming down from stage right and grabbing her bag from the first row. “You want your usual?”

Adri’s eyes went soft, her smile small and a little sad. “You still remember it?”

Stevie didn’t answer at first. Of course she fucking remembered it. Spicy tuna. Philly roll, but with avocado added and fresh salmon instead of smoked. Steamed gyoza. Six months couldn’t erase six years, no matter how much Adri sometimes made Stevie feel like it could.

Stevie nodded, clearing her throat as she dug into her bag for her phone. “Okay, I’ll be back,” she said after she put the order in at their favorite place, then started heading up the aisle.

“Stevie,” Adri said, grabbing her hand as she passed.

Stevie froze, her breath locked in her chest. Before she could stop herself, her eyes went to a tiny tattoo at the base of Adri’s throat—a solid black heart, inked five years ago. Stevie had a matching one just like it, an ill-conceived romantic gesture on their one-year anniversary she couldn’t bring herself to get removed.

She didn’t want Adri back. She knew she didn’t. Toward the end, they were practically roommates—no kissing, no sex, just quiet nights and sleeping back-to-back.

But.

She missed being someone’s.

She loved belonging to one person. Always had, ever since she and her middle school friends sneaked their mothers’ romance novels, reading them under the covers at sleepovers and giggling over the sexy bits. But Stevie had always loved the final declarations even more. When one person—usually a man, because heteronormativity—would confess that he couldn’t live without the other person. He couldn’t even breathe. That single-minded devotion always sent her heart racing. That union that felt both impossible and inevitable.