Method

“I figured that much, but surely the movie can’t be ready?”

“It’s not totally, you’ll see.”

“This is so exciting!”

He leans over and smashes his mouth to mine to shut me up, and my laughter bubbles between us. He pulls away, shaking his head.

“Okay, I’m using my inside voice. So, this is how it works, they pull regular people off the street?”

He nods. “It’s the best way to get a genuine reaction.”

“How did you know they would pick us?”

“We’re the top of the food chain demographic wise. People our age don’t go to movies that often. They want our input too.”

“That’s smart. And you do this with every movie?”

“No, rarely ever. But I don’t come to watch the movie,” he juts his chin toward the people seated. “I come to watch them.”

“Alone?”

“Not anymore,” he says, squeezing my hand. “As long as I bring a muzzle.”

“Har, har.” He’s joking, but I can sense the slightly new strain in his posture. “Has it ever been bad?”

“Yes.” He looks over at me, and I see a small hint of distress in his eyes. “Could be bad tonight,” he shrugs, “but it wouldn’t be my first disaster.”

It takes guts to do this, to surround yourself by the public, to be judged for something you spent endless hours giving your everything to and he seems mostly okay with it. It’s admirable. I open my mouth to tell him just that when a man with a mic walks to the middle of the front row to address the theater.

We amble out of the theater, Lucas taking long strides and practically dragging me with him.

“Did you see their faces! That was amazing!” My heart pounds in time with my steps as he keeps us walking.

“Lucas, you’re jerking my arm out of the socket,” I say as he keeps his stride. “That part where you imitated Bruce Willis with Yippee Ki Yay, was hilarious.” My man is possessed by movement, and nothing I say seems to be reaching him. I barely managed to fill out the form with my feedback before he yanked me out of the theater.

“Hey,” I order after another agonizing minute of silence. “Stop.”

“We’re almost to the limo,” he says in a tone I can’t decipher. Paul pops out of the driver’s side just in time to get the door open before we climb inside. Lucas covers his face with his hands. I sit there, breath heaving, watching him have what looks like a panic attack. After seconds of indecision, he finally brings his eyes to meet mine.

“They were clapping, Lucas, that movie was amazing, and I don’t even like action.”

His grin lights up his face, and it’s then I see it. He’s happy.

Throwing myself in his arms, we embrace as he buries his head in my neck. “You scared me,” I muffle into his neck as he holds me tightly to him. “Why did you run off like that?”

“Adrenaline,” he answers on an exhale. “I had to get rid of some of it.”

“So,” I pull away. “You believe me?”

“You’re biased, but I want to believe them.”

I don’t take offense. “Then believe them.”

He grips me tighter as relief washes over him, the adrenaline leaving when he sags against me. He cares about his work, he truly cares about the work he’s doing, and my respect grows.

“Let’s get you a drink.”

He pulls away, nodding, eyes full of light. “Night’s not over, beauty.”