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I’d hoped she hadn’t noticed. But then again, most nights in our old apartment were spent with my fingers plucking at the strings of my guitar, Talia at my feet as I played her a song.
Always our song.
I haven’t picked up my guitar since the night of my seizure, the novelty of it has worn clean off.
“I wanted to try something new, and this is therapeutic, not to mention practical.” I attempt to change the subject. “Missing a button? I’m your guy.”
“Good to know.” There’s a shift in her expression. Is she nervous? Her eyes flit from her fidgeting fingers to the clock on the wall. I think it’s something I’ve said until she inhales deeply, and on the exhale, releases a jumble of words. “Doyouwanttocometothecharitygalawithme?”
“Come again?”
It clearly pains her to repeat herself. I understood her, but I want her to ask again, as if she isn’t about to undergo a lobotomy.
She jumps to stand and paces in front of me. “The firm’s annual gala is this weekend and well, uh, if you haven’t thought about what to do for our next date, maybe we could go. Together. No pressure.”
A range of emotions shutter through me.
Happiness: she is the one instigating a date, which has to be a good sign.
Regret: she went alone last year because I had a meeting with the label—a meeting I’m still trying to repent for.
Talia takes my silence as rejection and pauses her marching. “But if you have plans, I can go alone. It doesn’t matter. They’re probably not as fun as you remember them. Last year’s wasn’t even—”
I’m on my feet, looming over her before she can finish her sentence. “I’d love to go, Tally Girl. A night watching you dressed up in something pretty? A dream.”
She nibbles her bottom lip. I’m tempted to reach out and pluck it free, testing the pillowy softness against the rough pad of my thumb, but I’ve lost count of my number of strikes, and if I’m going to earn another mark against my name touching her, it better be for good reason before I use up all my chances. “I organized it this year, so I might be a little preoccupied in the evening.”
“That’s fine.” To ease the swelling tension, I pull away and pick up a magazine from the table, showing her a bright purple crochet poncho. “Maybe I can make you a dress? How about this one?”
She snorts, her trepidation ebbing. “I bought one the other week, so I’ll pass.”
“Your loss. Just make sure you save me a dance.”
Talia headed over to the venue early to set up for the charity gala, and I’m itching to lay my eyes on her.
The glass chandelier sends glimmers of light across the hotel lobby, my boots clacking on the porcelain tiles. A couple of guests do a double take as I pass by them, and I dip my head in greeting.
I don’t bother hiding my identity. It’s a private function, and Talia reassures me most of the guests will be respectful of my privacy, and thinking back to Vanessa’s advice, maybe the attention my name and face attract can be used to my advantage.
The function room is full. Most people mingle near the bar and on the dance floor, the white-clothed tables set for a three-course dinner, and on the stage is the charity’s logo next to Baker and Foley’s. This year they’re raising money for a domestic violence nonprofit. A few of Talia’s colleagues recognize me, waving and smiling, but I’m too busy scanning the crowd for my redhead.
Like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to her, my body igniting when I spot her in the middle of the room talking to one of the hotel employees.
I pat my chest, checking my heart hasn’t quit on me as I take her in.
Yellow. She’s wearing yellow. My favorite color.
The satin dress shimmers, like liquid gold dripping down her body, flowing down the curves of her breasts and hips before it pools just above her ankles. The neckline is low, with two flimsy straps of material hanging off her shoulders. Creamy skin, soft as velvet, decorated with constellations of freckles and beauty marks. And her hair, Jesus, I love her hair. Auburn curls styled into a bun, a few errant strands framing her pretty heart-shaped face.
She’s a literal angel.
When the employee walks away, her smile tips into a small frown, and then she turns to me, as if she felt my gaze. She looks shocked to see me, but her surprise quickly morphs into happiness as her cherry lips melt into a smile.
Like the Red Sea parting, the crowd splits as she sashays toward me.
She’s so perfect and stunning and almost mine again. I can’t stand it. I can’t breathe. And then her vanilla scent hits me and I’m a goner. This is it. She is it.
She is everything.
