The Old Deep and Dark by Ellen Hart Page A

and that, as a bonus, he’d be living in one of the most culturally progressive cities in the nation. She knew how sick to death he was of Nashville.
    In the end, Booker had taken her advice. After receiving his BFA in theater studies, instead of entering the graduate program as his mother had wanted, he’d moved to New York and worked his way through every grunt position he could find, getting the hands-on theater experience he needed. During that time, he began to grow up.
    Turning at the sound of footsteps, Booker came face to face with a woman he hadn’t seen in fifteen years, not since she’d graduated from the arts high school in Nashville, the same one he’d attended. He’d known he might run into her at some point during his visit because it was her play that the Thorn sisters had chosen to produce for their initial offering. He wished he’d worn something other than a pair of frayed jeans, an untucked cotton shirt, and a navy-blue hoodie.
    Surprisingly, Erin O’Brian hadn’t changed all that much. She still had the same strawberry-blond hair, the same light spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks. The glasses had been replaced by contacts. Like him, she’d never run with the popular crowd, though she’d been pretty enough to be included. She’d been one of Chloe’s friends, two years older than him. While he rarely paid attention to the people his sister brought home, he had noticed Erin. In fact, even before he bumped into her at the house, he’d begun a quiet campaign of scoping her out at school.
    Booker understood that some might have found this behavior unacceptable, even obsessive, though he didn’t see it that way. Whatever the truth was, he had enough smarts to keep his feelings to himself. He saw no point in expressing himself only to get shot down by Erin—or be shuffled off to a therapist, his parents’ favorite child-rearing practice. Booker had never expected to see Erin again after high school, though memories of her had grooved themselves deeply into his brain.
    When she smiled at him now, approaching him somewhat hesitantly, he felt the same frisson of sexual tension he used to feel when spying her in the school lunchroom or eavesdropping on her and Chloe studying together down in the basement family room. The only time they’d ever had a real conversation was sitting in the bleachers one late spring afternoon, watching the school track team practice. It was a surprisingly intimate conversation right from the start, as if they didn’t need to make the usual smalltalk before they said what was on their minds. He couldn’t remember now what they’d talked about, just that she had a way with words and a way of approaching life that completely fascinated him. And she had dreams. Wild, fierce, risky dreams for her future. He’d been deeply affected by that. He gave himself extra points because he was as taken by her mind as he was by her looks. It made him feel better about himself for about fifteen minutes.
    â€œDo you remember me?” she asked, stepping up to the window but keeping her distance.
    â€œErin O’Brian,” he said, returning her smile. “Of course I remember you.”
    She played with a button at the top of her sweater. “I hear you may help stage my play. Feels like a small world sometimes, doesn’t it?”
    â€œI haven’t taken the job yet.”
    â€œNo? Because?”
    He shrugged, returned his attention to the park across the street. “I love New York. It’s my home. If I accept the position, I’d have to move here.”
    â€œThe Twin Cities not cosmopolitan enough for you?”
    He didn’t want to tell her the real reason, the fact that moving to Minneapolis would put him closer to his parents for part of each year, something he absolutely did not want. “Just … a lot of things to weigh.” When he looked at her again, he saw