Dead Ends // Hugh Jackman

Chapter 13

"Do you have plans for this week?"

Pulling away from my computer slightly to look at Hugh better, I gulp nervously. I'm not sure why he asks, especially when we just started working on the synopsis.

I'm barely getting the hang of things, and we have a lot to go over before any talks of other things should be brought up, but I know he wouldn't ask if he didn't seem it necessary. I don't think Hugh is the kind of person who likes to waste people's time.

So, I answer him.

"Uh, no, not yet. I have a week break before I start volunteering again for the fall semester."

He quirks his head at that. "Volunteering?"

"Yeah," I nod. "I go to the university to help students with their creative writing skills."

"Ah, that's right!" He exclaims, suddenly sitting up straight. He says it like he already knows but momentarily forgot.

I don't remember telling him about that. How does he know that's what I do?

"That's where I first saw you," he further explains. "So, that's why you were there."

He doesn't know, but he recalls seeing me?

Then, it dawns on me. He opened the door for me once in that ridiculous getup. When he was hiding his identity behind a mask and a trench coat, and all I caught sight of were his eyes and the crinkles beside them. I'm surprised he even remembers me from that. The moment was fleeting. We saw each other for maybe 2 seconds at most.

He was just being a gentleman and holding the door for me. I don't get how that can be such a memorable moment for him.

I remain quiet, wondering exactly where he's going with this.

"And you have a week off," he mumbles. More to himself than to me, as if that's what he needs to process the information and formulate a plan.

What that plan entails, I'm not sure. If that is what he's doing.

"Yep." I fidget somewhat uncomfortably in my chair.

"This just might work," he thinks aloud.

What will? I wish he would tell me what's going on in that handsome head of his instead of leaving me here to dwell in my own curiosity.

Can't he tell me while he's thinking on it?

Resting his elbows on top of the table, he hums. I can see him going back and forth on something. Whatever it is exactly.

His gaze dances across our empty trays while trying to come up with a solution to a problem I know nothing about.

I have no idea what's happening right now.

"What is it?" I say after a few more minutes of just sitting there. I'm dying to know.

Hugh locks eyes with me when I ask. There's a glint of hesitation, but there's also some anticipation. It sends a shiver down my spine.

I'm not sure I like how he's looking at me, but I desperately want to find out what he's thinking.

He takes a deep breath. "How do you feel about flying?"

"Like in an airplane?" I clarify.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Uh, I don't mind it?" It unintentionally comes out as a question.

Because why does this feel like it's some sort of test? Like my answer is going to change things depending on the circumstance of what he's hoping for, which I still don't have the faintest clue about what it is.