𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 • Neil Perry

Chapter 12

BALANCING a hearty book of Keats poetry on top of her head, Evelyn walked to and fro down the left-centre aisle of the Everett Theatre. It had been a little after the dress rehearsal and everyone involved in the production had cleared out except her.

She took exceptionally careful steps, her arms balanced out slightly at her sides, with such a meticulous focus that she had neglected to notice Neil creep up on her until he pinched the book from her head. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

But she took a deep breath when she saw it was only him. "You scared me."

"That was the idea," he teased, echoing her words from what felt like a lifetime ago.

She rolled her eyes in spite of her charmed smile, and sat herself down in one of the rows.

Neil joined her and asked, "Why are you still here? I thought you left."

"I could ask you the same thing," she remarked as she angled her body side on enough that she could lean her elbow on the back of her chair and lean her head against her balled fist.

Neil angled himself towards her, too. "I just wanted things to sink in a little."

"All those rehearsals and costume fittings weren't enough?" she teased this time, making him smile.

"Well, what's your excuse?"

She smiled more warmly. "Same."

"You're not...nervous are you?" He gasped the moment she pursed her lips into a tight thin line. "You are." Then she rolled her eyes and pulled her arm down from the back of her chair. "Thee Evelyn Peterson nervous? I never thought I'd live to see the day."

"It's too perfect," she explained as she picked at her fingers, "having everything I wanted all along fall right into my lap."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"No, I guess not," she mumbled. "I think I've just got this idea that all of this is the calm before the storm."

"I think there will be a storm tomorrow, just not in the way you expect."

Evelyn's eyebrows pushed together. "What do you mean?"

"You're the storm," he told her. "You're going to get on that stage and shake everyone and everything up. It's what you do."

"And that's a good thing?"

"It's best thing—maybe my favourite thing about you." Evelyn didn't really know what to say. She wasn't sure there was anything she could really say to that that would've been sufficient. But it didn't matter. "I have something that might cheer you up."

"What?" she asked whilst he dug in the pocket of his coat.

Until he suddenly stopped reaching and relaxed. "Close your eyes."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"All right." Then entirely taking her off guard, he leaned over and kissed her.

It wasn't until she instinctively closed her eyes—in response to how gentle his lips felt—that she realised it wasn't a spur of the moment gesture. He pulled away just slow enough that he could ensure that she kept her eyes closed once he had opened his own.

And surely enough, she had. Then in his second act of not giving her orders, he took one of her hands in between his own and placed something from his pocket in her open palm.

She felt how square the object was and the thin plastic that covered it. But she didn't open her eyes to confirm her suspicions until Neil let go of her wrist, deciding to take that as his silent permission. And once he had, her eyes flickered open to reveal a packet of Du Maurier cigarettes sitting in the palm of her hand.

A faint laugh escaped her nose.

"This way we both get what we want," he said, and Evelyn couldn't hear any sound that travelled further than the thumping of her heart in her ears.

"What is wrong with you?" she said.

That absolutely terrified him. "What? You don't like it?"

"No," she said, "I love it. That's the problem."

All the sudden fear in him vanquished, but beneath that remained his lingering confusion.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he said, confusing her. "It didn't work. You're still down about something. What is it?"

Evelyn searched his eyes, unsure of how deep into her feelings to get before finally deciding to explore the one feeling she had been avoiding. "I spoke to Chris last weekend."

When she thought he might chastise or be upset with her for not telling him, he only asked, "What happened?"

"She told me I deserve love."

"She's right."

Evelyn scoffed.

"She is," he said in the kind of way one might say something if they were defending themselves.

"I just wish she was meaner," Evelyn admitted. "This would all be so much easier if she was just...awful. But she's not, because of course she's not."

She held up the cigarette box, "Then you do things like this and I don't understand it."

"What if I told you I'm in love with you?" he said out of the blue, shaking something in her that only showed in her wide eyes. "Would that help you understand it better?"

"No," she responded flatly. "It'd be abundantly more confusing actually."

"How?"

"Well, for one, it's remarkable that you can be so certain, and then secondly, in the time that I've know you I've done nothing worthy of being loved—not really anyway."

"That's a load. I could tell you all the reasons but that depends on how much time you have."

"In that case, none. I hate compliments."

"That's strange, because I faintly recall you nitpicking the word 'pretty' from me the first time we met."

"I hate compliments when they mean something," she corrected, her sincerity hardly puncturing his humour.

"And I meant that then," he told her. "I've never said anything to you that I haven't meant. I don't think I have the stomach for it."

"You didn't tell me how you know," she realised. "How can you be sure that you're not mistaking love for lust or like?"

"I just know," he shrugged and frowned. "I'm sorry if that scares you, and I don't expect you to love me back. I just want you to know that there isn't a person on this planet that is more capable of being loved than you. At least to me."

She laughed through her nose. "Only you would apologise for loving someone."

And he laughed, too.

"Have you got a light?"

Neil dug his hand in the same pocket he retrieved the cigarettes from, and took out a lighter. He lit it once as proof.

She held up the cigarettes. "Should we take these outside?"

They sat by a bench far across the premises and both lit a cigarette of their own. They talked almost all night. And when Evelyn arrived back to her room, she was in a good enough mood that she found herself wanting to settle the silent feud between herself and her roommate Martha.

She took a flier she kept on her desk for the play tomorrow night, and wrote in red ink: 'Please come!'

She didn't expect her to by any means, but that didn't mean she didn't at the very least hope.

She took a cigarette from the box Neil had gifted her and used it as both an olive branch and a weight to hold the sheet of paper down on Martha's bed situated at the left side of the room.