The Comic-Con panel was going well. The jokes and behind-the-scenes factoids the moderator told warmed the audience to an excited buzz and the seats were full despite it being a solo appearance. The conference room was not too hot or cold, though the people in the audience might disagree.
But now it was the Q&A portion, a minefield full of pleas for spoilers and questions that no one should ever be asked to answer publicly. It was difficult to dodge or deflect questions like that at a solo panel, but it was getting easier.
The first batch of questions were complementary and story-focused. The answers came almost automatically, but that was ok. The fans that noticed the repetition would forgive him. Mostly. There were always a few that expected too much. The second and third rounds passed with laughs, creative theories, and just one awkward question about romantic relationships on set.
By the time the fourth round of fans lined up behind the mics, the two water bottles that had been provided were empty and the need to visit the bathroom was growing, but this would be the final round, so it wasn't an emergency.
Eventually, there were only two questions left. The penultimate question came from a woman that made the jetlag worth it.
"Hi," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears and smiling, but not quite making eye contact.
"Hi, sweetheart." She made eye contact then. The affectionate moniker came out without thought, but no regret followed. She was cute, with an air of quirky kindness that was irresistible.
Her mouth fell open and morphed into a wide smile before she caught her tongue between her teeth. "Sweetheart, huh?"
That earned her a smile in return. "Sorry. Too familiar?"
"Oh no, it's fine," she said, then twisted away from the mic, pointing fingers at random people on both sides of the aisle. "Somebody got that on video, right? Anybody?" A teenage girl a few rows back stood up and waved her hand, declaring that she had caught the moment on her phone.
"Great! I'll find you after. Now I just need to figure out how to make a GIF." Laughter rolled through the audience as she turned back to the stage.
Her confidence and sense of humor were delightful, but it was impossible to ignore the blush spreading across her cheeks and chest. The ache that came from smiling almost non-stop for the last hour couldn't stop the grin that blush deserved.
"You never introduced yourself. What's your name, sweetheart?"
She let out a breathy laugh and said her name. It was a good name, the kind of name that would fit perfectly into a moan.
"Now that that's out of the way," she said, her smile still plastered on as she asked a question that wasn't familiar at all. It struck at the heart of the character the panel was about, the story behind the plot that played out on screen.
It took a few minutes to answer, but the smiles remained through all the words, two winks, and one bitten bottom lip. Too soon, the moderator thanked her and attention turned to the last fan at the mic who asked a question about movie makeup.
After the thank yous and applause, the rush of bodies headed to the exits blocked any possibility of a last glimpse. It was time to sign autographs.
There were two hours scheduled to sign autographs and three hours worth of people standing in line. A sore hand sucked, but letting down fans was worse. Walking the line between efficiency and connection would not be easy.
An hour and a half in, the hand cramp was on the wrong side of bearable, but everyone had been understanding of the need to keep the line moving. And then, there she was. Sweet, blushing question cutie. Sweetheart.
Her smile was bright and wide and she curved her fingers into a wave and walked up to the table. "Hello again," she said.
"Hello, hello."
She produced a velvet bound notebook and flipped toward the back to find a blank page before handing it over.
"Did you find the girl with the video?"
She shook her head, popping her tongue against her teeth to make a disappointed sound. "No, but maybe I'll get lucky and find it on Tumblr."
"Well, you're gonna need more than a signature to make up for that. We taking a picture together later?"
She laughed as her bright blush returned. "No," she said, with what sounded like regret. "I've got other autographs to get. But I've got my phone." She patted the front of the messenger bag slung on her hip. "Wanna take a selfie together?"
The temptation of the closeness a selfie required was almost enough to forget about the mass of people still in line who would also want pictures, but the consequences made themselves known when one of the nearby Comic-Con employees cleared their throat and nodded toward the line while tapping the smartwatch on their wrist. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'd love to, but you take one and you have to take a lot more than one."
"I understand. I can still get an autograph though, right?" She looked down at the blank notebook page with raised eyebrows.
"Of course." The ink was drying when the realization hit. "I didn't even ask you how to spell your name. Did I get it right?"
"Yeah, you did." Her smile melted into a relaxed sigh as she reached for the notebook. "Thank you." Her fingers were warm as they wrapped around the edge of the notebook and began to pull it away.
"Wait." It was a ridiculous, stupid move that could backfire in too many ways to count. But when the ink set, there were still no regrets. When she reached for the notebook again it was flipped closed, but her fingers were still warm. "I hope you get all your autographs."
"Thanks. I hope you don't get roped into any weird photos."
"Oh, I'm definitely going to be in some weird photos. That's usually my favorite part of a con. This time though..."
"What? Find a new favorite?"
She asked so innocently it was hard to tell if she really didn't recognize the flirty line. Before another word was said, the employee with an itchy throat approached and said the line had to get moving again. She apologized, putting her notebook in her bag as she walked away. Before she disappeared behind another line of people, she turned and gave one last smile.
Now, there were more autographs to sign and soon there'd be pictures to take. Then there'd be nothing to do but order room service and see if the postscript on the autograph had been a mistake.
"Oh my god! He was totally flirting with you. I cannot believe this! How are you not freaking out?"
Once he was out of sight, hidden behind a zigzag of bodies, the whole exchange felt like a hazy daydream. "He was really nice, but he wasn't flirting."
"Uh, yeah, he was, sweetheart. I was there. I saw it. I watched your whole chat while everyone behind you stared daggers into your back."
"He's a movie star. He was not flirting with me." No need to mention the belly butterflies. They were only a one-way indication of attraction. Movie stars don't fall for fans. "I bet he picks someone at every con to call sweetheart."
"Maybe. What'd he write in your notebook?"
The autograph. He'd added something. After the correctly spelled name, he'd written, Thanks for the great question, sweetheart. Below the scrawl of his signature it continued, P.S. I owe you a photo. Beneath that was ten numbers separated by two dashes. A phone number. His phone number? That was not possible. There was no way he would share that. Movie stars don't give out their phone number.
"So, what'd he write?"
"Um…."
The notebook was snatched away.
"Oh. My. God."
The hotel food was decent. There were not a thousand missed calls and texts. That was a win. But there were no missed calls or texts from any unknown numbers at all.
It had been a long shot. Probably came off as creepy. Then again, maybe she hadn't looked at the message yet. She said she had a lot of autographs to get. How could she have missed it though?
There were not a thousand notifications. That was more than enough to be thankful for.
Jetlag meant bedtime was two hours earlier than it should have been, but at least there was no flight to catch the next day.
The buzzing vibration of the phone almost went unnoticed on the nightstand. Almost. It was a text. From an unknown number.
Is this actually you?
-Sweetheart
Jetlag was no match for Sweetheart. It was time to take some sleepy selfies.