Brief Encounters

Part 34

Harry's Point of View

William had just left, and Jeanna's preview night for Wicked was coming up. It wasn't really my scene-musicals, the stage, the whole spectacle of it-but I knew it was a big deal. A packed house of critics, all eyes on her-it was the kind of pressure that could crack even the strongest performer.

I told myself I'd keep it simple. Send flowers. A little gesture, nothing too loud. Something to say, I see you. I'm rooting for you. It wasn't supposed to mean anything more than that. Or so I convinced myself.

The problem? The bloody card.

I spent far too long agonizing over what to write. Everything I came up with either felt too formal or too personal. Too much or not enough.

Good luck, Jeanna. You're going to shine.
Knock 'em dead tonight, Bubble Queen.
To the amazing Jeanna: show them why you're the star.

None of it worked. It was ridiculous, really, the way my brain tangled over a few words. Before I knew it, the preview night had come and gone, and the flowers still sat on my kitchen counter. Brilliant move, Harry. Really stellar.

So, I decided to do the next best thing: deliver them myself.

"How hard can this be?" I muttered to myself, staring at the blank card as if it might magically fill itself in.

In the end, indecision won out. It was now well past the preview night, and I hadn't sent the flowers. Brilliant work, Harry. Really top-notch.

So, I decided to do the next best thing: deliver them myself.

The next afternoon, I found myself standing outside her apartment, bouquet in hand. It was a strange sight, I'm sure-me, a prince, fidgeting with flowers like some lovesick teenager.

I buzzed her apartment, feeling slightly ridiculous.

There was a pause, and then her voice crackled through the intercom. "Hello?"

"Hey, Jeanna, it's Harry," I said, trying to sound casual. "I, uh... I've, uh, got something for you."

"Harry?" There was a mix of surprise and amusement in her voice. "Come on up."

Moments later, the door swung open, and there she was, barefoot in leggings and an oversized sweater. Her hair was loose, a little messy, and she had that post-performance glow that somehow made her even more stunning.

I was, holding the flowers like a schoolboy with a crush.

"Well, if it isn't Prince Charming," she teased, her lips quirking into a smile. Her eyes dropped to the bouquet in my hands. "Flowers? For me? Let me guess-late congratulations for preview night?"

Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut in from behind her.

"Harry, you're late." Idina stepped into view an eyebrow raised. She looked every bit the Broadway queen she was, exuding an effortless confidence that made me feel like I'd been caught sneaking into a royal court.

"Late? I wasn't aware there was a schedule?" I asked, caught off guard. The first and last time I'd seen her was at Jeanna's birthday party-a night that blurred into a haze of laughter, bad karaoke, and far too many drinks. I'd been embarrassingly drunk, the kind of drunk where you're sure you're charming but probably just a complete idiot.

And now here she was, sharp-eyed and perfectly sober, with that look that said she remembered everything.

"With Jeanna, there's always a schedule," Idina quipped. "Roses? Really? A bit predictable, don't you think?"

"Hey," I protested, holding the bouquet just out of her reach. "These are for Jeanna... Actually, these are from William"

"Sure they are," she replied with a wink, turning back to me.

I chuckled, caught but not minding. "Alright, you got me. They're from me. I couldn't let your big moment pass without something for my future sister-in-law."

The words tasted bitter as I said them, each syllable carrying a weight I wasn't ready to face. Future sister-in-law. It hurt more than I wanted to admit, the reality of what those words meant settling heavily in my chest. But I kept the smirk, the playful tone, hoping it was enough to mask the ache underneath.

"Well, don't just stand there. Let him in before the neighbors think you're running a secret garden." Idina added.

I followed them inside, her apartment instantly making me feel at ease. It was warm and inviting, with soft lighting, cozy furniture, and small personal touches-a Broadway poster here, a stack of scripts there, and a coffee table covered with books and half-finished mugs of tea.

"Make yourself at home," She gestured toward the couch as she headed toward the kitchen. "Do you want some tea? Coffee? Or do I need to break out something stronger?" she asked, her voice tinged with humor.

"Tea sounds great," I replied, settling onto the sofa and setting the flowers on the table. "You've got a nice place here. Feels very... you."

"Thanks," she said with a chuckle "It's a bit chaotic, but I like it that way. Keeps me grounded."

She returned with two steaming mugs, setting them down before plopping into the armchair across from me. She tucked her legs under herself, the picture of someone utterly at home.

"So, what's the verdict? How'd preview night go for you two?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Jeanna groaned dramatically, a grin tugging at her lips. "Oh, you mean Wicked: The Survival Edition? It was... It was... an adventure."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"Well," she began, her eyes sparkling with humor, "five minutes before curtain, the tech crew realized the lights for my bubble entrance were out of sync. Instead of a magical descent, I would've looked like a disco ball someone forgot to turn off."

I tried not to laugh. "And the solution?"

"Stall and pray," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "I waved like the bloody Queen of England from the bubble while they scrambled to fix it. Somehow, they pulled it off just in time."

"And the audience?"

"None the wiser," she said with a laugh. "They were too busy enjoying the show to notice a thing. But I swear, Harry, if I ever have to do that again, I'm demanding hazard pay."

Idina, who had been lounging with her glass of wine, raised an eyebrow and chimed in with a smirk. "Oh, and I didn't tell anI once had to do an entire scene with a broken heel. I was basically pirouetting on one foot while the other one just-snaps-offstage. They had to send someone to find a replacement heel mid-scene. I thought I was going to have to do the whole show with one bloody shoe!"

We all laughed, the kind of easy, unguarded laughter that felt rare these days.

But as the laughter faded, I found myself watching her. The way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way her voice still carried that spark of excitement when she talked about her work. She was magnetic in a way that didn't make sense. She wasn't mine to admire, and yet I couldn't help myself.

She's William's, I reminded myself, the thought sharp and grounding. Not yours. Never yours.

It should have been enough to stop the pull I felt toward her, but it wasn't. It only made me want to bury it deeper, to pretend it wasn't there. Because what good would it do? What could I possibly offer her that William couldn't?

I drained the last of my tea, setting the mug down a little harder than I meant to.

"Thanks for coming by," she said softly. "And for the flowers. It really does mean the world to me."

"Anytime," I replied, forcing a smile.

As I left her apartment, I couldn't shake the weight in my chest. I told myself it was just admiration, just a passing fondness for someone who deserved all the good things coming her way.

But deep down, I knew better.

And that terrified me.