“I’d say to go for it with him, because he’s got that whole tall, dark and broody thing going on, but he doesn’t date actresses.”
My head swims from hearing this the second time today. Is this some commonly known fact about him? “Oh yeah?” I ask, trying to sound as disinterested as I want to be.
“Yeah, ever since Madeline Blaine—” then she cuts herself off. “Hey beautiful!” She catches someone’s eye and waves. I follow her gaze, and my heart leaps to my throat when I see him. Patrick walks over to us and wraps Shelby in a big hug. When he lets go of her, it’s my turn to be the recipient of a Patrick hug. I wish I could say it happens in slow motion, and he lingers on me, and that it feels like coming home—this first real contact of ours. But all I know is the embrace ends far too quickly.
“Hey Jill! How are you?”
“Great!”
The bartender scurries over, and I can only surmise that he recognizes Patrick. “What can I get for you, sir?”
“I’ll have what they’re having,” he says, placing one hand on my shoulder and one on Shelby’s, as if the three of us are long-time friends now. Shelby was right—he is the nicest guy.
As he waits for his beer, the three of us chat about today’s rehearsal, then Shelby excuses herself for the restroom, leaning in to whisper to me, “Go for it.”
It’s now or never, I reason, and it’s just Patrick and me at the wooden bar. One Republic’s “Feel Again” plays on the bar’s stereo system, and I will forever remember this as the soundtrack to the moment I’ve waited for, for so long.
“I love this song,” I say, as I begin. “We should add it to our demo.”
He snaps his fingers in approval, then launches into the song, singing to me. His voice is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, like a dream, and it gives me chills. He drowns out One Republic in seconds and Patrick is all I hear, every note, every word, making my heart beat wildly.
The lyrics feel so true, and he’s not dismissing a song I love. Instead, he’s inviting me into it, gesturing for me to join him. I layer on the next words and here we are again, meant to be. Clearly, we are meant to sing together, and perhaps, to be together. Our voices mesh, even in the bar with the sounds of glasses being washed and beer being poured and orders being taken.
Then, meeting my eyes, we sing the chorus together.
“With you I feel again…”
When we stop, he smiles at me. It’s such a magnetic smile, sweet and beguiling at the same time. Six years from afar have led me to now. I take a deep breath and go for it. “The flowers I sent you after Guys and Dolls? I hope you’re not seeing anyone, because if you’re not, I’m seizing the moment and thinking maybe six years later, I could try again and ask you to have coffee with me.”
“A date?” He asks cautiously, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes, as if he likes the idea. It’s enough for me to keep going.
“Yes.”
He steps closer, takes my hands as if he’s some sort of old-fashioned gentleman come to court me. Oh, how I love that idea. Court me, take me, romance me. He looks at me softly, and I’m halfway to heaven as he gives the only answer I’ve ever wanted. “I would love to go on a date with you, Jill.”
Then there’s a pause, and I wait nervously for him to fill it.
“But…”
That word punches me in the chest with its three awful letters, and I wait for the rest of rejection.
“I have a rule about dating co-workers during the delicate stage of a show’s rehearsal, because we all want to make sure the show is the best it can be. Let’s use this time to get to know each other as friends. Learn if we can hang out together as well as we sing together.”
“Yes,” I say and we’re still holding hands, so I squeeze back, and it feels good. Warm and friendly.
“Why don’t we have coffee this weekend? Maybe even Sunday afternoon?”
Honestly, he doesn’t even have to finish the sentence. He could be taking me to see a revival of Cats at three in the morning. I can’t stand that show, but I’d say yes.
“Yes.”
“So it’s not-a-date, then,” he says in a playful voice as Shelby returns.
“How are you two doing?”
“Fantastic,” Patrick says then winks at me, and like that, my day has moved from utterly confusing to thoroughly wonderful.
Then, my skirt is soaked. “What the…?”
I turn around to see Alexis has crashed into me, and the beer she was holding is now spreading in a puddle across my clothes.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” she starts, feigning contrition. Then her tone turns dismissive. “Whatever your name is.”
“It’s Jill, and you just spilled your beer all over me,” I say, annoyed.
She narrows her eyes and looks down her nose at me. “I said I was sorry. You don’t have to be snotty.”
I hold up my hands. “I wasn’t snotty. I’m just covered in hops now.”
Patrick hands me a napkin, ever the knight in shining armor. I try to blot up the mess, but it’s all over me.
“Excuse me,” I say, and head for the bathroom because I’d rather not paw at my skirt in front of everyone. I rub the cloth napkin against my clothes, but I’m fighting a losing battle. Even my tights are wet. “This sucks,” I mutter.