Free The Actor and the Housewife by Shannon Hale Page B

thought.
    It was strange, though, wasn’t it? That she was standing in silence with Felix Callahan, and neither of them seemed the least bit uncomfortable? That he’d come at all, that he’d wanted to dance with her. If she were a different kind of woman, she’d suspect Felix was falling in love with her. Which of course was impossible. But she was in the right setting—attending a ball, dressed in a gown (or at least, something of that genus), leaning against a marble balustrade with a handsome, famous, wealthy man. It was a shame that such a moment was wasted on Becky Jack, married mother of four. She tried to imagine what it would be like if she were someone else, some single, childless beauty, staring up at a sly moon. It was a scrap of a moon really, a fingernail clipping, hardly worth contemplating. If this were a true romantic moment in a screenplay, Becky would beef the moon up, round it out, make it silver and startling in its beauty. She relaxed into a sigh and got carried away rewriting the moment.
    Rachel [that’s the name Becky assigns the single, childless beauty] sighs under the lusciously full moon. She turns to Felix, and sees that he’s not looking at her earring in disgust, but at her face . . . with longing.
    RACHEL: It’s good that we’re together. I can’t believe I just said that. Why did I just say that?
    She wants to take it back, yet feels in her bones that it is one of the truest statements that she’s ever spoken.
    FELIX: Yes, I think so too.
    Felix speaks with a little smolder in his voice.
    RACHEL: Oh.
    FELIX: I’ve changed since our first meeting. You have changed me, Rachel. I can’t stop thinking about you. The thought of you fills my very senses.
    RACHEL: But that’s ridiculous. We’re so different. I mean, I’m just me, and you’re . . . you’re you . You can’t possibly—
    He takes her hand and kisses the backs of her fingers, once. Chills travel down her arm and through her whole body. She has nothing left to say.
    The moment slows. The moment feels like silver. The night isn’t cold, the lights of the city rise up and surround her like stars crowning her head. She feels her knees go soft, her middle woozy. Man, she really is tired. [Strike that—she’s not tired at all. She’s young and vivacious and twenty-nine.]
    He cups his hand around her jaw, running a thumb over her cheek.
    FELIX: Rachel, I don’t know what I’m feeling . . . but I . . . I think you feel it too, don’t you?
    She nods, afraid to move, afraid to think. She stares into those eyes now, feeling like a heroine in a romantic movie. She labels it—Romantic. It helps her brain process what is going on. Felix Callahan touching her face, feeling something for her. Does she feel it too? He starts to lean forward, inviting her body to do the same. She should turn away, she should run away, this must be some kind of joke on her. But instead she’s staring back at him, unresisting. Did she lean too?
    Kiss him, instinct urges. Kiss him and see if it’s like being struck by lightning, if your world changes from mundane to movie, if everything you thought was true is a lie and you fall wildly in love.
    And as he leans and she almost leans, the synapses in her brain begin to fire like a lightning storm. A kiss. Now. Here. Is this her moment? Has she been living in a movie without knowing it, her story leading up to this? The rush of warmth through her limbs, the frantic kick of her heart, the deliciously cold jolt in her belly—maybe this is the best thing in the world. And forget pragmatics and sanity—live for such a moment as this. Live.
    She is definitely leaning now. Her body sighs—her joints soften, her breath relaxes out of her lungs, her eyes even start to close—and his lips are so near . . .
    “You’re cold?”
    “What?” Becky jerked around much faster than Felix’s question could possibly warrant. No more daydreaming. Sheesh, thank goodness mind reading only existed in comic books,