His Dream Role (3 page)

“If you're sure.”

“I am. This will be a good experience for all of us.” She made a scissor motion with her fingers. “Cut those apron strings a little.”

Her mom smiled and pulled her into a hug. “You can try to cut away all you want, but I'm holding on.”

“Thanks.”

The cab ride back to the city felt like it took forever. By the time she walked through her front door, she was exhausted. She collapsed on her couch with her laptop so she could study. Instead, she Googled “Doctor Who tenth doctor.”
Cute. Dorky, but cute.
Much like her actor friend. She immediately recognized the clothes she'd seen earlier in the day. His face was different, of course, but he'd nailed the costume.

She wondered how he chose the characters to dress up as. And why? Even more important, what was his name?

Her homework sat untouched as she started Netflix and searched for
Doctor Who
. Maybe watching might give her some insight into who this guy was.

Free walked into his childhood home and yelled, “I'm home.”

“What's with the yelling?” his mom called from the living room.

Free left his jacket in the foyer and walked into the living room, where his mother was entertaining some guests. Whoops. “Sorry, Mom. I didn't know you had people over.”

She rose from her seat and kissed his cheek. “You might be more aware of what happens around here if you visited more often. How are you?”

“I'm fine. I wanted to drop off these.” He pulled the tickets for opening night from his pocket.

“Oh, lovely.” She turned to her friends. “My son, Humphrey, is starring in
A Christmas Carol
.”

“I'm not starring. I'm Fred.”

She poked his arm. “Still a major role. It's not like you're a caroler.”

“They couldn't cast me as a caroler. I can't sing for sh—anything.”

His mom shot him a sharp look. Although Amelia Mitchell cursed on occasion, she would never stand for it with company in the house. “Um, is Dad around?”

“In his study, as always.”

He waved to his mother's friends. “Nice to see you all.” Then he ducked back through the foyer to the other end of the house to see his dad.

Entering his dad's study was like stepping back in time. Free remembered being young, maybe six, and sneaking in here and sitting under the desk to listen to his father work. Anthony Mitchell always seemed so important. He had phone calls to make and meetings to attend.

In a way, none of that had changed. His father was a major player in investment banking, but now it didn't seem so mysterious. Free understood the business, so it removed some of the magic. “Hey, Dad.”

“Humphrey, what are you doing here?”

“Jeez, can't a guy just visit his parents without having a reason?”

“At twenty-two? No. Sons tend to come home when they want something.”

“Well, I wanted to talk to Mom, but she's busy.”

“Anything I can help with?”

His dad help with charity? Not likely. “No, but did you see that Tritec is poised to take over Omnibyte?”

“Who are Tritec and Omnibyte?” Even as he asked, his dad was pulling up company information on his computer.

“They're both relatively small tech firms, but together, they can be in a position to become major players.”

“Where did you hear about this?”

“I read. You have the
Wall Street Journal
delivered to my apartment even though I can access it online.” Free took a seat in the oversized leather chair across from his father.

“I saw nothing about this.”

“You would've overlooked them. They haven't made a big enough splash for most people to notice. But I've been watching. Tritec just got an influx of new investors, and it looks like they're prepared to announce something big before attempting a takeover.”

His dad didn't respond. He was absorbed in reading whatever was on the screen in front of him. Free knew better than to keep talking.

“Hmm,” his dad grunted.

Free had become an expert in deciphering his father's noises. This type of grunt meant he was considering the options. After a few minutes of typing on the computer and taking notes on a legal pad, his dad looked up. “Looks promising. I'll get someone on it.”

Free wished that someone could be him. His dad gave a pile of folders on his desk a little shove.

“Take a look at these. See what you think.”

Free reached over and pulled the stack onto his lap. The files contained financials on various companies that his dad must've been considering investing in.

“Can I take these with me?”

His dad nodded. Ever since last summer, his dad occasionally gave him some research to do even though he wasn't officially on staff yet. He needed to prove himself because other guys would be out to get him from day one. He was the boss's son, so he knew the target on his back would last until he'd proven he was good enough to be a banker.

His dad had no doubts, which made him feel better, but he remembered the tough time Cary had when he started. Other guys sabotaged his every move. It was part of what led to Cary's depression and overeating. Cary had a hard time reconciling the ease with which he interacted with clients with the issues he'd had with colleagues.

“When do you need them back?”

“Yesterday?”

“I have class tomorrow and then rehearsal, but I can have the analysis done the following morning.”

“Rehearsal?”

“
A Christmas Carol
. I left tickets with Mom in case you want to come see it.” He knew his dad wouldn't. Theater wasn't his thing. He'd indulged Free's mom and her love of acting over the years and he tolerated it in Free, but he had zero interest in watching.

“Why didn't Cary come with you today?”

Free shrugged. He hadn't even asked Cary if he wanted to. “Don't you see him at work?”

“Sometimes. I have better things to do than check in on every employee.”

“How long do you think Mom's friends are going to be here?”

His dad threw up his hands. “I never know. I stay out of the way so they don't try to rope me in to any plan they're hatching.”

“What are they doing?”

“To tell you the truth, I have no idea. You know your mother. She's part of so many groups and organizations, who can keep track? I thought today might be book club. If it is, they should be done soon. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Did they have a bottle of wine open?”

“Not that I saw.”

His dad laughed. “Then they're probably wrapping up. Every now and again, they read something sad and then they open wine. They drink and cry over imaginary people.”

A soft knock sounded at the office door and then it swung open. Amelia strode in. “How are my boys?”

“Good meeting?” his dad asked.

“Wonderful.” She turned her attention to Free. “Why are you really here?”

“I came to ask you about a charity thing.”

Amelia clapped. “I love a new project. What are you considering?”

Free stood. “Let's go to the other room so Dad can finish his work.”

Amelia led the way out of the office. His dad mouthed a thank-you to Free as they left.

“I met this girl.”

Amelia spun and gripped his arm. “That's wonderful. What's her name? How long have you been seeing her? When will you bring her by?”

“We aren't dating. I just met her at the coffee shop, and she was telling me about a shelter she works at and how the kids there need books.”

She looped her arm around his and tugged him toward the kitchen. “A book drive. I love a good book drive. What's the shelter?”

“I actually don't know. She didn't give me the name, but I'll probably see her tomorrow. I can get it then.”

“I'll call the girls tonight. It's the perfect time for a book drive. People are out for holiday shopping. What's it take to grab a book and drop it in a donation bin? We'll have a library for your girl by the first of the year.”

His girl? Not even close. His mom's positive disposition rubbed off on him, though. She'd always had the ability to make him believe in the improbable. Hearing his mom develop a plan to impress a girl made him believe he might really have a chance with Samantha.

S
amantha found herself standing in the coffee shop waiting for whatever his name was. How ridiculous was it that she liked a guy but didn't even know his name? She didn't wait for guys; it wasn't her style. But she had a feeling he'd be coming to get his usual coffee before rushing out to rehearsal.

Interesting that he drank boring old black coffee. He was such a colorful, unique guy in his costumes that it seemed he should have a more complicated coffee order.

The door opened and in he came, carrying a plastic bag. He wore a fedora and a leather jacket instead of his longer overcoat. He smiled a cocky grin and then she realized that he was Indiana Jones.

“You're here.”

He tipped his hat. “
I'm like a bad penny. I always turn up.
” He stepped toward the counter to order.

“Wait.” She laid a hand on his arm and then realized that was more personal than they'd been and snatched her hand back. “We've met and talked a couple of times now, but I still don't know your real name.”

He extended a hand to shake. “Humphrey, but my friends call me Free.”

“Free,” she repeated with a nod and shook his hand.

The name was unusual, but suited him. Old-fashioned, yet the nickname was fresh. “Ready for coffee?”

“As always.”

She allowed him to order for her. She liked that he paid attention to her order. Of course he waved off her offer to pay for hers. They sat at a table and he slid the plastic bag over to her. “What's this?”

“Open it.”

Inside the bag, she found five copies of
The Little Engine That Could
. Her throat tightened.

“You said there were kids, as in more than one, but I didn't know how many. I figured five would be a good number to start with.”

“You bought me books?” The words barely squeezed out.

“What's the name of the shelter you work at?”

The question had her looking up sharply. “Why?”

“My mother is always looking for a cause and I told her about you needing books. When I talked to her yesterday, she was ready to start working on a book drive. But I didn't know the name of your shelter, so I couldn't tell her.”

Sam studied his face.

“Is it a secret or something?”

“Not really.” She hesitated. “The thing is, the women come to us for shelter and safety. So while the name isn't a secret, we don't advertise where to find us.”

His face filled with confusion. “Then how do the women find you?”

“Word of mouth, social services, churches.”

“You don't have to tell me anything. I can give you my mom's number and you can explain to her.”

“No. I'm overreacting. It's called the Hope Center.”

“Good name.” He drank another sip. “I have to get going to rehearsal.”

“Before you go, can you tell me why you're dressed in a different costume every time I see you? This is obviously not
A Christmas Carol
.”

He pressed his lips together. “Last summer, my brother was warned by his doctor to lose weight or he'd end up having a stroke. He was embarrassed to go to a gym because he felt like everyone stared. I volunteered to go with him and dress up in costume to draw attention away from him.” He lifted a shoulder as if it was no big deal.

Sam's heart gave a little lurch. She'd known after that first chance meeting that he was a sweet guy, albeit a little weird. This confirmed it. “That's really cool of you.”

“He's my big brother.” He stood to leave.

She reached into her bag, grabbed a scrap of paper, and scribbled on it. “Here's my number. You can pass it on to your mom or whatever.” She sincerely hoped the “whatever” would include him calling her for a date.

He tucked it into his pocket. “See you next week?”

“Definitely.” Sam grabbed her phone and snapped another picture of him.

“What was that for?”

She didn't know why she took the photo. But she'd looked at the one of him as Sherlock Holmes more than a few times since they first spoke. “I've never met Indiana Jones before. My friends will never believe me.”

“Had I known you wanted a photo op, I would've pulled out my whip.”

She laughed, sure he was kidding, but he swept aside his jacket and unfurled a whip. Her jaw dropped. He took his costumes seriously.

“Now I'm ready for a picture.” He winked at her.

She took another photo. This time, he posed with the whip over his head and he gave her that same cocky grin he had when he came in. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

She watched as he rolled up his whip and left the shop. Then she texted the picture to Jess.

Of course, then her phone rang. Jess would want details, not a text. “Hi.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn't encourage the weirdos.”

“He's not a weirdo. I got the whole story and it's sweet.”

“I can't wait to hear this.”

“His name is Free, short for Humphrey. He dresses in costume to help his brother. His brother needs to work out and is embarrassed when people stare at him, so Free dresses up to take the attention off his brother. Isn't that sweet?” She slipped a copy of
The Little Engine That Could
from the bag.

“Still sounds weird.”

“When we talked the other day, I mentioned that we need books at the shelter. He asked me what my favorite book is and today he showed up with five copies for me to take to the shelter for the kids.”

“What's his angle?”

“What?”

“You just met this guy, this weird guy who plays dress-up, and he's bringing you presents. What does he want?”

Sam stared at the glossy cover of the book. “Why does he have to have an angle? Can't he just like me?”

“Sure he can. You're totally lovable, but I'm suspicious by nature.”

Jess's words made her think. Could Free have ulterior motives?

“You got awful quiet. What aren't you saying?”

“Nothing. I was thinking about whether Free might be after something. But I've got nothing. He's nice guy. I like him.” She put the book back in the bag. “And I hope he calls me and asks me out.”

“Aw, man, you gave him your number?”

Sam imagined Jess's eyes rolling back in her head, making her looked possessed. “Yes. He said his mom might be interested in doing a book drive for the shelter, so I gave him my number to pass on to her.”

“If it was just about a donation, why not give the shelter's number?”

“He offered to give me his mom's number, but I decided he could have mine. Plus, like I said, I'm hoping he'll take the hint and call me.”

Jess's sigh came rolling over the line. She'd known Jess since freshman year. They were roommates and Jess had constantly teased her about being too naïve about everything. She wasn't naïve; she chose to see the good in people.

“I'm fine, Jess.”

“I want to meet this guy. Check him out myself.”

“Believe it or not, I'm capable of going out on a date without your approval.”

“And look how those have turned out.”

“Shut up.” She stood and bundled up for her walk to the el. “Besides, he might not even call me.”

“We'll see. Drinks tomorrow night?”

“If I get my homework done, sure. Call me in the afternoon.”

Free had been restless since he left Samantha the previous afternoon. The little bits of time with her at the coffee shop had become his favorite parts of the week, but he wanted more. So he called the one guy who could help him. Hunter.

He'd called and woken Hunter up this morning and made lunch plans. Now he sat in his car outside the sub shop waiting. As usual.

Free ran through his lines for extra practice while he waited. Hunter tapped on the window as he walked by, not waiting for Free to get out of his car.

Inside the restaurant, Hunter pointed at Free's hat. “Didn't we outgrow that stuff about fifteen years ago?”

Free shrugged. “It's warm.”

“So, what's wrong?”

“Who said anything was wrong?”

“You called me at five thirty this morning to make lunch plans. What's her name?”

Free pulled off his hat, bunching the pom-poms in his fist, and blew out a breath. He hated that Hunter knew him so well. “Let's order first.”

“I knew it.”

They placed their orders for foot-long Italian subs, extra dressing. They grabbed a booth and as they unwrapped their sandwiches, Hunter said, “Shoot.”

Without looking up from his food, Free said, “There's this girl, Samantha.”

“Knew it,” Hunter said with a smirk.

“I met her at the coffee shop near the gym where I meet Cary.”

“Have you talked to her yet?”

“Yeah. A couple of times.” He bit into his sandwich. “I even bought her a cup of coffee.”

“Wait a minute. You said you met her after the gym?”

Free nodded.

“So you were wearing one of your crazy costumes.”

“That's just it. Every time I've seen her, I've been coming from the gym. She's only seen me in costume.”

“Hmm . . . I don't know if it's a positive or negative. She's seen you at your craziest: plus. If she's not weirded out by it: negative.”

Free shrugged. “I think she likes it. Even before I talked to her, I saw her watching me, like waiting to see how I'd be dressed. The last time, she asked to take my picture.”

“Are you sure she's not a crazy?”

“She seems normal. She's studying to be a social worker, so she's in the area every day for volunteer work at some shelter.”

“So what's the problem?”

“She's only seen me in costume at the coffee shop. How do I move past that?”

“That's your problem? Easy—ask her out.”

“Easy for you maybe.” Free picked at the lettuce on his sandwich.

Hunter set down his half-eaten sub and wiped his hands on a napkin. “When will you see her again?”

Free shrugged.

“Next time, tell her that although you like your brief meetings, you'd like to extend your time with her. Ask her if she's free for dinner.”

“Just like that? Tell her I want to go out with her?” He'd asked girls out before and it was definitely a hit-or-miss thing. Usually miss.

“Yeah. Did you think there was some magic to it? I just ask. She has no way of knowing how you feel unless you tell her. Maybe she's thinking you're a strange guy who likes to chat over coffee. I've seen you flirt. You can't throw out a line to save your life. You need the direct approach.” Hunter dove back into his sandwich. “The worst that happens is that she says no.”

He swallowed hard. The thought of being rejected by Samantha stung. He wasn't ready to lose their short conversations. “Then what?”

“If you really want her, you try again. Some women appreciate persistence.”

“And some would call you a stalker.”

Hunter laughed. “Hopefully, you get the hint before that point.”

Free didn't tell Hunter that he had Samantha's phone number, because Hunter would pressure him to use it now. Free wasn't sure if he'd have better luck over the phone or in person.

They finished their lunches and discussed more about New Year's Eve. Hunter seemed to be quietly accepting that he couldn't have the blowout he wanted because both Free and Adam were working on getting dates. As ridiculous as the deal seemed, Hunter had offered it. Not having an apartment full of strangers to wade through might be worth putting himself out there and asking Samantha for a date.

Last year's party had been “epic” in Hunter's words, but Free had been miserable. He hardly knew anyone and it was so loud, conversation had been impossible. He wanted this year to be different.

They separated after lunch and Free sat in his car again, this time holding his phone and the scrap of paper with Samantha's number. He flipped the paper over in his fingers and attempted to gather the courage Hunter spoke so flippantly about.

Screw it. Hunter had said to just ask.

So Free sent a text, carefully crafting it so he wouldn't come off like a stalker.