Telling me that he loves me.
And it feels good. It feels so damn good, but I’m afraid it isn’t real. I’m so scared he’s going to run at the first sign of trouble again, and I’ll be left all alone, but this time so brokenhearted that I won’t ever pick up the pieces.
I’m afraid, so damn afraid.
But in this kiss, with him here in this theater, I can forget that fear.
At least for a little while.
Slowly, we break apart. He rests his forehead on mine and I laugh stupidly as he wipes away my tears again.
“You’re really going to call it the Webb Theater?” I ask.
He grins and shrugs. “Why not?”
“People are going to think it’s for my father.”
“We can call it the Blair instead.”
I hesitate and tap a finger against my lip. “Yeah. The Blair. Okay, I think I’d like that.”
“I’ll make a new sign. I’ll need about a month—”
“You fucking asshole,” I say, shoving him, and he grins at me, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry. Bad joke.”
I wrap my arms around myself and put some space between us. My heart’s juddering fast and I feel dizzy like if I don’t go to him again, I’ll collapse, but it’s too addicting and too scary. I’m not ready to take that tumble. Not yet, at least.
“What do we do now?” I ask quietly. “I mean, is this place ready to open?”
“I’ll hire some people to finish it up. Then I’ll get staff in place, start reaching out to booking agents, get a few shows lined up, and away we go. You don’t have to worry about any of it.”
“What if I want to worry?”
He smiles, but tries to suppress it. “You can be as involved as you want. Your name’s out front, after all.”
“And on the deed.”
He laughs. “Damn right.”
“You’re really not joking? This place is mine?”
“It’s yours, as much as you want of it.”
I turn around slowly, looking at the intricate designs on the walls, at the carpets, at the seats. I try to imagine it filled with people, the electricity of the crowd, the excitement of a good show, the cheers and clapping and laughter. I can almost taste it, the life, the joy.
“Okay then, Baptist. I’ll see where you go with all this.”
“Glad you’re on board, Blair.”
“But I think there’s something you and I need to do first.”
His smile fades. “What’s that?”
“My father told me what Cowan did. About the revenge and the movie he’s filming. He didn’t lie to either of us—he only told us each half the truth. And there are other people he fucked with, other little revenge movies he made.”
Baptist laughs and shakes his head. “You’re fucking kidding me.”