•

Stephen smiled. I saw it from the corner of my eye.

The edges of his lips curled as he softly exhaled, pressing his eyes shut and tucking his chin into his chest. He was laughing at me.

"What? Did I read it wrong?"

He shook his head, marking something on his copy of the script, "No, you just didn't get the joke. It's fine. Don't worry about it. We still have time for—"

"No," I said, "I got it. I just— I didn't think it was very funny. That's all."

Jim choked, and the crew cracked up.

My brow knit. I wasn't sure what was going on, "...Did I say something?"

Michael, who'd been reading the stage directions, removed his glasses and gently folded them before reaching for a bottle of water, "It's not you. They're laughing because Stephen wrote that line."

Fuck. My lips parted as I turned to face him, "I'm sorry. It probably was really funny. I— I don't know anything about comedy, just ignore me."

"No—" He rattled again, flashing a grin. Somehow, Stephen looked more amused than upset, like what I said fascinated him, "It's okay, really."

Frowning, I touched his forearm, "Are you sure? I didn't mean to offend you."

Smiling still, he chuckled, "You didn't," and my heart clenched.

I bit my lip. Shit.