“What kind of music do you like?” I ask.
“All kinds, really,” Lucy says. “But currently, I’m addicted to musicals:Hamilton,Les Miserables,Phantom of the Opera.”
Well, damn. The universe is definitely messing with me.
“I love musicals,” I say, already walking towards her—my magnetic north. “Hamilton’s probably my current favorite, but I love some of the older ones likeFiddler on the Roof. Some of the movie musicals are really awesome too, likeTheGreatest Showman.”
Lucy’s eyes light up. “Oh my God,TheGreatest Showmanis one of my favorite movies! I listen to that soundtrack on repeat.”
Somehow this doesn’t surprise me in the least. That’s exactly the kind of musical she would love—the themes of acceptance, self-love, and following your passion would appeal to her. They resonate with me too. The more I get to know her, the more I realize how our core values match. “Can I guess your favorite song?”
Lucy grins. “Sure.”
“‘This is Me,’” I say, without hesitation.
Her mouth drops open. “How did you know?”
“It’s you,” I wink.
“Oh my God, you are so bad with the puns.” She’s laughing and just like in Coffee Conglomerate, it’s delightfully infectious, and I can’t help but join in.
It sounds like…escape, freedom, and joy.
“I love that song,” I say, unnerved. “That one and ‘A Million Dreams’ have always spoken to me.”
Lucy stares at me. “Same. I guess we’re more similar than I realized.”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling choked up for some reason.
“Will you play me something?” Lucy glances up at me, her finger still depressing a key.
“Sure. Do you sing?” I settle down on the bench and pat the space next to me. Immediately, I’m surprised by the naturalness of my gesture. When I'm with her…I don't overthink everything.
After a beat, Lucy settles next to me, her thigh pressing against mine, sending tingles everywhere. Maybe it’s a mistake to sit so close to her, but I don't regret asking.
“Definitely not. At most, in the shower.”
The thought of Lucy naked under a cascade of water makes me short-circuit. And this woman is currentlyin my apartment.
Fuck, get it together, Whitlock. She’s not just being cute—she’s opening up to you. And that’s a gift. “Why not?”
Lucy continues to hit random keys, probably so she doesn’t have to meet my eyes. “I have terrible stage fright. Put me in the spotlight, and I gape like a fish. Nothing comes out.”
My heart aches for her. “When’s the last time you tried to sing? Because I can tell from your voice that you probably sing beautifully.”
Lucy hesitates for a moment, her body tensing up. Something’s not right, and it takes all my willpower to not pull her into my arms. “Elementary school. It didn’t go well. My mom was right to point me elsewhere.”
I’m not an angry guy at baseline, but that admission fills me with fury.
What the fuck? What kind of parent would dissuade a kid not to pursue something just because they freeze up once?
Then I remember my own parents.
Welp. Parents officially suck ass.
Because Lucy is clearly uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation, I switch on the keyboard and start running through some scales. All I want is for her to feel secure and grounded. “Well, I hope one day you’ll sing with me.”
Then I start playing the intro to “All I Ask of You” fromPhantom of the Opera. The first part is sung by Raoul, the man who becomes the love interest for Christine, the opera singer trained by the Phantom.
