Chapter 9

Megs stared at Gideon, her thoughts reeling. Had he seriously stood there saying nothing while she apologized for withholding information when he hadn’t mentioned that he’d also auditioned for the competition? He’d been in the recording studio with her while she’d recorded those lines. They’d spent hours together at the burger place, and he’d never once thought to mention that the reason he was familiar with the audition material was because he’d also recorded it?

“You were upset that I didn’t tell you my class wasn’t officially dropped, but you watched me audition and didn’t say a thing?” Megs dropped her hand and slipped her phone into her back pocket. “Or did you audition after I told you about it?”

That seemed even more horrifying. She’d been romanticizing that night with him—that kiss— and really he’d only been trying to get information from her so he could use it to his advantage?

“I submitted it that same night, and it’s not—” Gideon ran a hand through his hair. “I should’ve said something.”

“You think?” Megs folded her arms in front of her.

“It didn’t—I didn’t think it was relevant.”

Megs scoffed. “What could’ve been more relevant, Professor? I was recording the audition with you in the room.”

“I told you I’d seen the audition sides.”

Megs chewed the edge of her lip. “Well, I told you I was going to drop the class.”

Gideon shook his head. “That’s not the same—”

“It’s exactly the same! You only gave me part of the story. I just can’t figure out why you wouldn’t tell me the rest.” Megs inspected his face, and her stomach sank. Had it been something to do with her audition? Had he thought her audition wasn’t good enough to warrant a discussion on the topic?

“I didn’t want to audition. I did it for a friend.”

Megs waited. She wasn’t going to walk away this time. “Why would you audition for a friend?”

Gideon pushed up his glasses. “I grew up with Matt—Oscar. He asked me to audition, and I didn’t especially want to, but he was so insistent that I submitted something.” He motioned to her phone. “Can I see that again?”

Megs pulled it out and opened the screen, then zoomed in on the picture Haley had sent her of the finalist list. Apparently, it was posted on the city website, but this had been on the door of the hair salon in town, which meant it could’ve been posted in other places. If Haley knew about it, there was a good chance her mom had seen it too.

But had Gideon just said that Oscar was his friend? The Oscar Calloway? And had he called him by a different name?

Gideon took the phone and read the names on the list, his frown deepening.

“What? Shouldn’t you be excited?”

Gideon blinked and handed the phone back to her. “Half that list is made up of people we were in college with, so I'm not sure how to feel about it.”

“We? As in you and Oscar?” Or Matt? Was that his real name? Megs knew nothing about this author besides the fact that he was popular enough that the women in Sugar Creek were following this competition closer than the last episodes of Grey’s Anatomy.

“It’s a long story.”

“I would say we could talk about it, but since I’m now your student, you apparently can’t discuss anything with me other than soundproofing.”

Gideon gave her a look. “Are you shaming me for keeping university policy?”

Megs scoffed. “I would never.”

“You do understand why that policy is there, don’t you? So creepy older men can’t abuse their position of power and take advantage of women?”

“You’re not ‘older’ or creepy.”

“I’m older than most of my students, and I absolutely would be creepy if I dated them.”

Fair point. Plus, her earlier statement had mostly been a dig anyway. Any guilt she had about not being forthcoming before burgers the other night had evaporated with the finalists list. Now she was happy to let Professor Adams squirm. “Well. It seems that we’ll both be submitting another audition. Good luck, Professor.” Megs strode back to her table and picked her bag up off the floor.

This was all probably for the better. Sure, they’d shared a toe-curling—on her part, at least—kiss and an evening of the best conversation she’d had in months, but it wasn’t like anything would’ve come from it. He was a professor. She was a barista who still lived with her mother.

Plus, she’d decided over the last hour that she wasn’t going to drop this class, which meant there was no reason for her to talk with Gideon anyway. At least not about anything other than recording for the next eight weeks. She would absorb as much as she could from his lectures and assignments to justify spending her three hundred dollars.

Every part of her balked at this conclusion. Their conversation had been effortless. He was funny and sneaky hot, and he’d offered to buy her flip-flops.

She could almost see the angel and devil sitting on her shoulders. Focus, Megs. Now that she was a finalist, she might still be able to get the money she needed for her apartment without finishing that certification course.

Megs groaned as she weaved through the tables. Her mother was going to see her name on that list, which meant Sylvia DeBosse would be expecting an explanation before she even walked through the door.

Megs put this thought as far from her head as possible as she drove home, parked in the driveway, and tiptoed into the house. Her mother wasn’t home, so Megs celebrated with a bowl of Cheerios before hiding away in her room.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, her phone lighting up with notifications. Texts of congratulations flooded in, but it was a subject line in one email that caught her eye—a message from Oscar Calloway himself. Her heart stuttered in anticipation as she opened it.

Dear Megs,

Congratulations! You have been selected as a finalist for my Heartsong romance series. I was floored by your audition and can’t wait to hear more.

I’ve been discreet about the stages of this competition because the whole production is a bit unorthodox. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that one motivator for the competition is to create hype for the series. My team is adamant that I become more active on social media, so this is my attempt to keep them at bay and create content that won’t make me want to poke my eyes out.

Megs snorted. She liked this Oscar character already.

I hope that this process will be fun and beneficial for all involved, especially the contestants. That means you :).

All that said, this is your official invitation to participate in a series of events over the next couple of weeks. We’ll be reenacting some scenes from the novel, all expenses paid, as well as working on narration and performance. My hope is that we’ll all learn more about ourselves, our storytelling, and that I’ll have no hesitation in choosing my narrator for a series that is near and dear to my heart.

To kick things off, this weekend you’ll be working in small groups with an acting coach. You're invited for dinner and drinks at six o’clock on Friday at The Rustic Table, a local restaurant in Sugar Creek. Here, you’ll meet your fellow contestants and be placed into your groups for the weekend.

Then our first activity will be a small group coaching session at my home. Further details will be provided during our dinner gathering. I look forward to seeing you in person this weekend and wish you the best of luck in the competition!

Sincerely,

Oscar

Megs' blinked and stared at the screen. She couldn’t tell if her heart was racing because she was excited or because she was dreading all of this. On the one hand, free dinner. On the other, did she want to commit to spending time with people she barely knew for weeks? Did she want to live out scenes from a romance novel? Barf. Did she want to do all of that with Gideon there with her?

She thought of him watching her eat that burger at Sammy’s, grease dripping down her chin. Getting kicked out of class had dulled her inhibitions that night, but now?

She closed her laptop and lay back on the bed. Gideon knew Oscar, and he’d said that most of the people on the finalist list were people they both knew. Maybe they could all mingle together and she could find the other black sheep of the group.

It was a free dinner and the chance at five thousand dollars. Five grand. Yeah, she’d do any number of embarrassing things for that kind of money. If Oscar needed content, she’d give him content. She pulled her phone out and blew the dust off her old TikTok account, then pressed record.

On Tuesday afternoon, Gideon placed a slice of smoked turkey onto a thick cut of freshly baked rye bread. Next to him, onions sizzled on a pan. The perfect white noise.

Could’ve done one more set, his mind chastised, still analyzing his morning workout in the background. He'd pushed himself, of course. That burn seeped into his muscles and left him with a satisfying fatigue that made him feel like he’d accomplished something.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were his days off, though even when he thought those words he used air quotes. Teachers never truly got a reprieve during the school year.

A soft hiss brought him back to the present, and he quickly flipped the onions, allowing the other side to caramelize. He had grading to do, and he needed to get through the task list he kept on his phone. Gideon spread a thin layer of Dijon mustard onto the bread.

When the onions were golden brown, he turned off the stove and layered them over the turkey, then added a slice of aged cheddar and crisp lettuce. He might eat frozen burritos in the teacher’s lounge during the week, but when he was at home, he took advantage. Gideon pressed down on the sandwich, cut it in half diagonally, then leaned over the counter and took a bite.

Perfection. Why was he so good at making sandwiches? Gideon set it down on the plate and brushed the crumbs from his fingers before pulling his silver laptop closer. He never intended to work during dinner every night, but that had become his unintentional routine. Probably because mealtimes were when he felt the most lonely.

It had been three years since Jess had moved out, and it still felt like something was missing in the apartment. He didn’t miss her, exactly. That relationship had run its course months before they finally pulled the plug. But he missed having someone to make a second sandwich for.

Gideon opened his laptop, and the screen lit it up. He signed into his portal and clicked over to the semester assignments. Each student had been tasked with submitting a simple recording, highlighting one of the techniques he'd taught in the past weeks. He pulled on his headphones and pressed play.

The first submission was decent. It had some minor interference but overall, good. He made a quick note in the feedback section and keyed in the grade. The second was surprisingly better. He went down the list, the rhythmic pattern of play-grade-note becoming almost meditative.

Not for the first time, he applauded himself for making the assignments less than three minutes. He didn’t hate grading like some of his colleagues, but the quality of work in the first few weeks was flattered by short and snappy. He finished off his sandwich as he worked and eventually got to the last student without a grade.

Gideon paused when he scrolled over Megs' name. There was a blank space where her assignments should’ve been submitted. He hadn’t asked if Megs knew where to find the course material, but she’d taken classes before. She had to understand how the system worked.

Since she’d barely decided to officially join the class yesterday, he doubted she’d had time to complete anything if she’d even read through the assignments. Still, he needed to put in something now, even if it was a placeholder. He wouldn’t deduct points for submitting late, so whenever she submitted, he could change the grades.

As Gideon typed in the zeroes, his stomach clenched. And this was why it was a terrible idea to have more than a professional relationship with a student. He wanted to omit the assignments for her and have her start at week three, but that wouldn’t be doing her any real favors. His curriculum built on itself, and these four assignments wouldn’t take her more than a couple of hours once she caught up on the lessons.

She’d understand that, wouldn’t she? He shouldn’t be worried about whether she understood. He shouldn’t be worried about anything other than giving her the same concessions he’d give any other student. Gideon exhaled and closed the laptop.

Megs’ bedroom door slammed open, and her head snapped up. Sylvia DeBosse was in the doorway. Her wild curly hair framed her face like an untamed halo as her eyes darted around the room, finally landing on Megs sitting on the bed. Megs was instantly transported to her high school self, when her room was plastered with posters of Broadway shows and art supplies littered every available surface. Now her walls were clean, and the only creative tools sitting on her dresser were a tripod and a few black pens, yet she still cringed at the look on her mother’s face.

"Really, Megs?" Her mom brandished a printed sheet of paper in front of her, and Megs knew precisely what it was. The list of finalists for the audiobook competition. "You're still playing around with this nonsense?"

Megs, sitting cross-legged on her bed, phone in hand, felt her face heat up. Playing around. Nice. "Umm, yeah . . . I thought it might be worth a shot."

"Megs, you need to grow up." Sylvia tossed the paper onto the bed next to Megs. "Stop distracting yourself with things that are only going to lead to more disappointment."

Megs’ chest tightened as her mother's words sliced through her. Nonsense. Disappointment. How could her mother say those things when she loved acting and theater just as much as she did? She wanted to ask the question out loud but knew it wouldn’t get her anywhere.

Her mom had a safe job. She had something to fall back on. That was the difference, and truth be told, Megs had started to doubt herself far before her mother had ever spoken her thoughts out loud. But she couldn’t force herself to stop wanting it.

Sylvia softened her tone. "Look, Megs, I just want you to focus on something that has a real future—like your coding certification course. It’s a much more stable career path that will allow you to have hobbies like this. Eventually, right?"

Megs nodded slowly, not wanting to meet her mother's eyes. She was twenty-five, and right now she felt as impotent as when she was fifteen.

Her mother groaned and dropped down on the end of the bed. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all confrontational. When I saw this—” She shook her head. “I do see the progress you’re making. How’s the course going, by the way? We haven’t had a good conversation since the weekend.”

Megs hesitated, her fingers twisting around a loose curl. This was going to be painful, but the longer she delayed her horrifying revelation, the worse it was going to be. "I missed one of the classes, which means I have to wait to certify during the next session.”

There. She said it. Ripped off the bandaid.

"What?" Her mother’s voice rose as the whites of her eyes expanded. "Why? How did that happen?"

"Because I was fifteen minutes late to class and they locked me out of the building," Megs refused to slump or drop her head, even though she felt like crawling into a hole and hibernating. This was always how it was between her and her mother. Sylvia dug in, and Megs dug in even harder.

Sylvia blew out a breath. “I don’t understand how you were late.” Her voice was low and calm, which meant she was working to keep an explosion at bay.

Megs couldn’t help herself. “You don’t understand how someone could be late? There’s no possible explanation for someone showing up fifteen minutes after they’d intended to?”

Her mother’s eyes flashed. “Not when it’s important. Like, say, to secure a roof over your head. Why were you late?”

“I’m not a child any—”

“You’re acting like one.”

Megs threw up her hands. “There was recording equipment on campus. I went early to record that audition, and the professor—”

"Are you kidding me?" And there it was. The explosion Megs knew was coming. "You jeopardized your entire future for an audition? Megs, when are you going to learn? You’re twenty-five years old, and it's still always about your dreams, your fantasies . . . ”

As her mother ranted, Megs shriveled like the flowers in the pots by their front door when she forgot to water them. What was the point of having dreams if they always got in the way of being successful? What was the point of her existence if she was always a disappointment to the people who knew her best?

Sylvia finished with a statement that was probably supposed to be impactful, but Megs didn’t hear it. The ringing in her ears prevented her from hearing the door close or her mother’s footsteps down the hall.