Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

never scheduled anyone to come. Oh, Mr Knightly, I’m so sorry. I screwed it up royally.”

“I’m not going to say this isn’t bad, Pinky. It’s bad. It could take months to schedule another pitch. We could lose half our cast.”

“Judy said she’d try to squeeze us in a couple weeks from now if she can. She felt just as bad as I do. We bonded over our love of knitting. She made sweaters for all her animals. Even the tortoise. His name is Wyland. After the artist.”

“Okay, okay, Pinky. Can we focus, here?”

“Yes. I’m all about that, Mr Knightly.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Jaxson.”

“Of course, Mr Jaxson. What are we going to do?”

“We’re gonna go home. You will have a relaxing dinner, knit your sweaters, or whatever you like to do, and forget about the movie for one night. And one night only. I’m going to take the evening to think about what our next steps are and tomorrow morning, get here before anyone else, and we’ll jump into our plan. Got that?”

She nodded vehemently. “Yes. Got it. Olive Garden take-out, knitting, Wheel of Fortune.”

“Okaaay. Right, if that’s what you do to relax. Brilliant.”

She gave me a weak, grateful smile and shuffled toward the door.

“And Pinky… don’t tell this to anyone yet.”

“Okay. Bye, Mr Jaxson.”

As she walked away, I wondered if it was too late in life to pick up a different career. Maybe something less stressful—like a tightrope walker or one of those Deadliest Catch guys. If I had something to bang my head against, no time would be more appropriate than at that moment.

On my way to my car, I spotted Emma and Harriet having a rather animated conversation with Frank.

“There you are,” said Emma, waving me over to their little pow wow. “We were just making plans to meet up at Unplugged later on.”

“Actually, Emma, there’s something quite pressing I’d like to discuss with you tonight.”

Harriet pressed her lips together and grabbed Frank by the arm.

“We… just remembered we have to go over there.” She pointed to the other end of the car park. “See you tonight.”

The women hugged and did that female air kiss thing, and, like a complete dude, Frank fist bumped me. I didn’t want to be a complete jerk, so I reciprocated. Emma smiled sweetly at me as if I came bearing chocolate chip bikkies. She always looked at me like that—not that I deserved it.

“So, you wanna come over for dinner before karaoke? Mum’s making a flaxseed eggplant parmesan. And by parmesan, I mean nutritional yeast sprinkles. It’s actually not so bad if you drench it in marinara sauce.”

“It would be better if we make it at my house. I love your Mum and all, but I’d rather not have distractions.”

“Brilliant. Her marinara is rubbish. What’s on the menu?”

“Food. And bring your workout clothes.”

I needed to blow off some steam and, although I worked out better alone, there was something comforting about having Emma on the treadmill while I took my aggression out on the stationary bike.

She arrived on my doorstep two hours later sporting exercise clothing that would make Olivia Newton John green with envy. She even wore a terry cloth headband. It was a good look for her. Then again, every look was good on Emma.

“Prepare to be amazed, sir. I’ve been practicing my moves.”

“I think I’ll pass on the Jazzercize.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious. I’m talking about weights. Pumping iron like a boss.” She got in my face, waving her hands like a street thug.

“Oh? Well, let’s get to it, shall we?”

She led the way to my home gym, and I watched her swagger before me.

Crikey. I needed to clear my mind, not fill it with a fantasy in spandex.

“What kinds of moves are we talking about exactly?” I questioned as she positioned herself in front of my free weights. “Do you dance with them?”

“No. I murder them.”

“Murder them? Sounds a bit harsh.”

“You have to show them who’s in charge,” she said with a wink. “It’s mind over matter.”

“All right. How much can you lift?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Two hundred.”

“Ha! Emma, you can’t lift two hundred pounds.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Okay. Pick me up.”

“What? No.”

“Why not?” I challenged.

“Because you’re soft and squishy. I need something sturdy. Like barbells.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I sauntered away from her to get myself a clean towel, showing her my back so she couldn’t see the big grin on my face.

“What?”

I turned back around with a playful scowl.

“Oh, that you’re all talk. That’s okay. I’m just gonna go over here and start with the—”

I was unable to finish my teasing because she knocked the wind right out of me when she ploughed her shoulder into my belly, pushing me off balance. She wrapped her arms around my legs and… lifted me off the floor. It wasn’t much, maybe an inch, but it was enough to catch me off guard with nothing to hold on to except Emma. And let’s face it, she wasn’t exactly sure-footed on a good day. Her legs wobbled, her shoulder crumbled, and we tumbled to the floor in the most ungraceful way imaginable.

It hurt just a little but, after a quick assessment of our damages, we laughed and laughed. She was probably laughing at my awkward descent and subsequent kerplunk to the floor, but I was laughing because it felt good to let it all go. All the stress, all the anxiety, all the worry. I thought I needed to work it out of my system with physical exertion but laughing with Emma made it all melt away. I almost forgot about the fiasco with Pinky.

“Look at the pair of us,” she said, flat on her back on my gym floor.

“Yeah. If only your Aunt Stella could see us now.”

“Quite,” she agreed and inhaled a deep, satisfied breath. “I could lie here all night.”

“And miss your bench pressing?” I teased.

“I dressed up for the part. That’s half the work. And I picked you up, so I think I’m done