The champagne flute was warm in her hand.
Not because the evening was hot—Manhattan in early December had a bite to it, and the party was packed tight enough that the heating was working overtime.
No, the flute was warm because she’d been holding it for the better part of twenty minutes, caught in a conversation that felt less like networking and more like being studied.
Director Marcus Webb
—and that’s the thing about casting, you can feel when someone’s right. You walk into a room, and there’s just this click.
leans in, glassy-eyed from his second drink I’m getting that click right now, actually.
Paulette laughed. It was polite, practiced, the kind of laugh she’d perfected in a dozen rooms just like this one.
Across the room, Joe’s jaw tightened.
He’d been watching for the last ten minutes. He told himself it was professional curiosity—Marcus Webb was a rising name in indie theater, and any producer worth his salt kept an eye on talent.
Director Marcus Webb
You know, I’ve got a read-through next week. pauses, letting the invitation hang You should come. I’ll introduce you around.
Paulette’s smile flickered. She glanced across the room, searching for an escape route—
And found Joe’s eyes already on her.
Director Marcus Webb
Paulette? tilting his head, trying to follow her gaze You okay?
Joe set his glass down on a passing tray with more force than necessary. He was already moving before he realized he’d decided to.
Rafa
falling into step beside him, drink in hand Go on. Before you combust.
Joe Keery
Don’t.
Rafa
I’m just saying—you’ve got that look. The one you get before you do something you’ll pretend to regret later.
Joe didn’t answer. He just crossed the room in five strides, cutting through the crowd like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Director Marcus Webb
—so if you’re free Thursday, I could—
Joe Keery
cutting in, voice sharp Hey.
Paulette blinked. Her eyes widened slightly, catching something in his expression she hadn’t seen before.
Director Marcus Webb
straightening up, smile turning wary Joe. Didn’t see you there.
Joe Keery
We’re leaving.
Paulette frowned. The champagne flute lowered to her side.
Paulette
quietly, measuring Joe. I’m talking—
Joe Keery
Not anymore.
He held her gaze. There was a beat of silence—the kind that made the air feel thin.
Marcus Webb cleared his throat, looking between them with the uneasy awareness of a man who’d just stepped into something he didn’t understand.
Director Marcus Webb
I, uh—I’ll catch you later, Paulette. he slips away, vanishing into the crowd
Joe’s hand found the small of her back. It was light, barely there—but it was a claim. A quiet, unmistakable this one’s taken.
Paulette let herself be led. Not because she couldn’t resist, but because she wanted to see where this was going.
The hallway was quieter. The muffled thrum of the party faded behind the heavy door, leaving them in the kind of silence that pressed in on all sides.
Joe’s hand dropped. He paced a few steps, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of discomposure.
Paulette
crossing her arms, voice even What was that?
Joe Keery
turning on her, eyebrows raised What was that? You were all over him.
Paulette
I was talking.
Joe Keery
Yeah, well. I didn’t like it.
Paulette
a beat, then Since when do you care?
That hit. Joe’s mouth opened, then closed. He exhaled hard, pacing once more, jaw working.
Paulette
quieter now, but no less steady Joe. Since when do you care?
He stopped. He turned to face her fully, and something in his expression shifted—the mask cracking, just slightly.
Joe Keery
voice rough, lower Since it’s you.
She stilled.
The words hung between them, heavy and raw, refusing to be taken back.
Joe Keery
taking a step closer, searching her face It means I hate seeing anyone else think they have a chance with you.
a shaky breath Because I’ve been in love with you for years.
The silence that followed felt infinite.
Paulette’s breath caught. Her arms uncrossed slowly, falling to her sides, like she didn’t quite trust her own body.
Joe Keery
stepping closer, softer now but no less intense Every time they call you “mom,” it feels right. Every time you look at me like this is a family—I don’t want to pretend anymore.
She swallowed. Her eyes were glassy—not with tears, but something close to disbelief.
Paulette
whispering Then don’t.
That was all it took.
Joe closed the distance in one step. His hands came up to cup her face, and he kissed her like he’d been holding it back for years—deep, desperate, unguarded.
She kissed him back just as hard. Her fingers curled into the front of his jacket, pulling him closer, anchoring herself in the moment.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, breathing uneven—
Rafa
from somewhere behind them, dry as dust Finally.
Neither of them cared.