“Catching the bug?”

“Me?” With a shake of her head, Cate moved deliberately to center stage, looked out. All those seats, she thought, from orchestra to the upper balcony, all those faces watching.

In the moment. In the now.

For fun, she did a quick side shuffle, tap, flung out her arms to sell it. Laughed when Lily applauded.

“And that’s as close as I ever want to get. It must be really scary and—I guess the word’s exhilarating to work live onstage. And you’ll do it eight times a week, six nights, two matinees. No, not for me. They’re both magic, right?”

She walked back to Lily. “Magical ways to tell stories. I think it takes the amazing to be really great at both types of magic.”

“My sweets. You’ve pumped me back up a hell of a lot better than this weird protein bar.” Rising, Lily rolled her shoulders. “Now, you’re dismissed.”

“Fired?”

“Not until Mimi’s back. Go, text some of your friends, go shopping or meet up at a coffee shop.”

“Are you sure?”

“Scram. Just text me if you make other dinner plans.”

“I will, thanks. Break a leg.”

Grabbing her phone to book the massage, she went out stage right. Then pulled up short when one of the chorus stepped in front of her.

She glanced up. “Sorry. Texting while walking.”

“I got in your way. I’m Noah. I’m in the chorus.”

She knew; she’d noticed. She’d watched him and the others rehearse numbers over and over, tirelessly—or so it seemed.

Up close, like now, he gave her stomach a flutter. That smooth skin, like the caramel coating on the apples Mrs. Leary had made for All Hallows’ Eve. Golden eyes, sort of like a lion’s, tipped exotically at the corners.

Inside her head, she went: Um, um, um.

But a Sullivan knew how to hit her mark.

“I’ve caught some of the rehearsals. I love the juggling bit you do in ‘We Need a Little Christmas.’ ”

“My grandmother taught me.”

“Really?”

“Yep. She ran away to the circus—seriously—for a few years when she was a kid. So, hey, I should be done by four. You want to get some coffee?”

Inside her head everything sizzled, then went blank.

“I was just heading out, but . . . I could meet you.”

“Sweet. Like four-thirty at Café Café? It’s right around the corner.”

“Yeah, I know it. Okay, sure. I’ll see you later.”

She walked away, casually, all the way to the stage door, stepped out, walked another ten feet to be absolutely sure.

Then she let out a squeal, did a quick dance—an Irish pullback—right on the sidewalk. Since the sidewalk ran in the Theater District of New York City, barely anyone noticed.

She made the booking for Lily, set an alarm to remind her when to order dinner. Then texted her Harvard-bound cousin, one she considered the most reliable and least silly.

How soon can you meet me at Sephora? The one on 42nd?

While she waited, she wondered if she should go home and change, or just buy a new outfit.

Too much, don’t be an idiot. It’s just coffee. Do you want him to know he’s the first male not related to you who’s ever asked you to have coffee?

Last class done at 2:45. Around 3?

Perfect. See you there.

What’s up?

I’ve got a date! Just coffee, but a date.

Awesome! See you there.

Since she had time to kill, Cate slowed her pace, worked out some areas of conversation. When she reached Forty-second, she went into Sephora, strolled the aisles.

Ended up filling a basket more from nerves than wants. And checked her phone half a dozen times even as she reminded herself Noah couldn’t text her to cancel because he didn’t have her number.

Should she have given him her number?

Then she yipped and jolted when her phone signaled an incoming text.

Just walked in. Where r u?

Meet me at the makeover counter.

She spotted her cousin, romantic strawberry-blond hair swinging, serious-minded black-framed glasses over hazel eyes, and a loaded backpack over her shoulder.

“Okay, who is he, where’d you meet him, and is he cute?”

“Noah, he’s in Mame—chorus—and he’s all-caps cute.”

“A thespian, so some common ground. What look are you going for?”

“I—”

One of the roaming staff—a guy with a cloud puff of emerald green in jet-black hair, beautifully kohled brown eyes—moved in. “Good afternoon, ladies, what can I help you with today? I’d just love to do your eyes,” he said to Cate. “And yours.”

“It’s her.” Mallory pointed at Cate. “She’s got a date.”

“Oooh. A hot one?”

“It’s just coffee.”

“These things have to start somewhere. Sit down right here, and let Jarmaine work his magic.”

She could do her own makeup, and thought she had a good hand with it. But for this . . . “I want to look like I didn’t really bother, you know? Or only a little.”

“Trust me.” Jarmaine took Cate’s chin in his hand, turned her face this way, that way. “You have some good choices in your basket. I can use some of those. So.” Jarmaine whipped out some makeup wipes. “What’s he like? Does he have a friend?”

He swept, buffed, brushed, lined while Mallory looked on.

“I like what you’re doing with her eyes. They’re already crazy blue, but you’re making them, like, bolder.”

“She chose a good palette, neutral but not boring. We’re going for the I didn’t do a thing, I’m just this ridiculously beautiful, so neutrals are best.”

“I’m going to braid your hair,” Mallory decided. “Just a casual, low, loose braid. It’ll go with the makeup.” Out of a section of her backpack, Mallory pulled a fold-up brush, a small rat-tail comb, and a little clear case holding a selection of bands.

Her mother’s daughter, Cate thought.

“Hair and makeup.” Jarmaine smiled at Cate. “Movie star treatment.”

She smiled back even as she thought: Jesus God, I really hope not.

After Jarmaine deemed her done and gorgeous, after she checked out, she went out with Mallory.

“I’ll walk with you part of the way, then cut over. I’ve got a boatload of studying to do. But I still expect a full report.”

“You’ll get it. Thanks for coming with me. I’m stupid nervous.”

“Just be Cate, and unless he’s a moron, he’s going to ask you out again. Unless his big cute hides a jerk, you’re going to go out with him again. Slow down a little, you want to get there about five after coffee-date time. Not rude late, but not on the mark.”

“I need to learn these things.”

“Listen to me. I am the master.”

Mallory hooked an arm through Cate’s, gave her a hip bump.

“Don’t stay over an hour, even if you’re doing great. Maybe, in this case, an hour and fifteen—but that’s max. Then you’ve got to go. If he wants more, and he will, he’ll ask to see you again. But don’t do the need to check your schedule deal—lame and pissy—unless you really have to.”