They shook their heads as she handed them each a welcome package. “Dinner is in the staff dining hall from four until seven sharp, every night.” She looked at her watch. “But I believe rehearsal is still going on. Perhaps the three of you should hustle over there first.” She pulled a map out and began marking it with firm Xs like she’d done it a thousand times, which she probably had. “We are here, your bunks are here. You can drop off your bags, get changed, and head here.” She Xed another building down by the lake. “This is the theater. There’s a door for the talent in the back.” She handed the map to Archer and passed them each a room key. “Heads up, Stewart doesn’t like to be interrupted, but better that than missing altogether, hmm? Well, don’t stand there blinking at me, off you go!”

The three of them were assigned the same four-person room in one of the staff dorms, their beds waiting empty and neat. The bed on the end was rumpled and covered in clothes. They dropped their bags, threw on their rehearsal gear, and ventured in the direction of the theater, map in hand.

The building was old but lovingly refurbished. A wraparound veranda with cozy bench seating looked like the perfect spot for a drink before or after the show. They could hear “Ladies’ Night” blaring before they even opened the back door. It was dark inside, but lights from the stage reached them through the side-masking draperies and down a short flight of stairs. Archer realized he was holding his breath as they climbed the stairs and approached the stage. The air thrummed and the pounding of feet on the boards shivered down his spine. He exhaled as he took in the movement.

The troupe danced like a well-oiled machine, like the most seasoned of Broadway performers, tight, deep in the pocket, not a step missed, not a finger out of line. And young, so young. Most of them looked to be early twenties, at best. Except for one face at the front—a face that sent Archer’s jaw plummeting to the floor. A handsome face—gorgeous, really—that had been featured on his bedroom wall from the ages of fourteen through eighteen. Black hair, heavy, serious brow, a stick-straight nose, full lips, square jaw. Mateo Dixon, Broadway star, all-around breathtakingly talented and devastatingly hot. Archer was distantly aware his mouth was hanging open, but his body was not responding to signals from his brain.

Archer’s parents took him to New York City for his fourteenth birthday, and he had fallen in love with Mateo Dixon when he saw him as Danny in Grease. Archer had followed Mateo’s career, until, five years ago, Mateo had abruptly left a show and disappeared off the face of the earth.

What the fuck was he doing here?