He flashes me another smile. “Wardrobe choices aside, do you like theplace?”
My eyes follow his swooping hand as he gestures around the room. The lights are so dim I can barely make out the faces of the other people here, but each booth is set up with a miniature candelabrum of tiny, flickering flames. They make the crystal glasses and dark wood of the tables glimmer in the near-dark.
“Yeah,” I answer. “It’s got a very classicfeel.”
“Just wait until the pianist gets here. You’ll feel like you’ve stepped back intime.”
He’s poetic,I think.A definiteplus.
“Here,” he says, handing me a drink menu, “or do you already know what you’dlike?”
“I have my fallbacks, but that collection over there is tempting me to try somethingnew.”
I glance down at the menu and feel my breath get lodged in my throat. I wouldn’t even consider paying some of these prices for an entire meal, never mind for just a cocktail. I let my eyes wander up and down the page, already knowing I’m going to order the cheapest thing I can find. Even if Drew takes the bill, there’s no way I’m ordering a twenty-two dollardrink.
I flick my gaze up towards Drew and see that he’s staring out across the bar, so I take the chance to give him a detailed looking over. He’s slightly older than I remembered, but I usually go for older guys anyways. He’s not good looking enough to induce instant swooning, but there’s something eye-catching about the sharpness of his face, all chiselled angles andintensity.
He turns his head and catches me looking at him, smiling the same smile he did after kissing myhand.
Okay, maybe there’s just a littletoomuch intensity in thatface.
A server in a waistcoat approaches and takes our order. I go for a simple gin and tonic, while Drew orders an old fashioned. I’m relieved he’s not the type to go for a ridiculously pricedcocktail.
We spend the next twenty minutes chatting about his job and my school. He cracks a few jokes about his office and seems genuinely interested in learning about what I study in each of my courses. Our drinks sit almost untouched in front of us, the conversation flowing so well that there are no long pauses filled with awkwardsipping.
I’m just about to ask Drew where he went to school when he holds up a finger, looking towards thepiano.
“This pianist is here,” he announces, like he’s informing me that a member of the royal family just walked in the room. A grey-haired man in tails takes a seat at the piano bench and starts shuffling some sheet musicaround.
“Oh,” I respond. “Do you knowhim?”
“I come here a lot to hear him play. Do you mind if we just enjoy the music for amoment?”
I’d suspect this of being some kind of act to make himself seem sensitive and romantic, if it weren’t for the serious look on his face and how his eyes have been latched onto the piano for a solid minute now. I nod my agreement and we sit in silence as the tinkling sound of a jazz song starts to fill theroom.
Once we’re about halfway through the song, I turn my attention from the piano back to Drew, expecting him to be ready to continue our conversation. Instead, I find him with his eyes closed, one finger still held up in the air as he sways to themelody.
I sit and watch as he stays that way for the rest of the song, only opening his eyes when the final note hasfaded.
“I hope you don’t mind me telling you this,” he says, his expression dreamy, “but it’s a pleasure to hear something so beautiful, in the company of such a beautifulwoman.”
I can’t stop the laugh that comes out of my mouth from sounding shrill. “That’s um, quite the compliment,” Istammer.
Before I can come up with anything else to say, the pianist starts on another song and Drew once again turns towards the sound, closing his eyes. I stare openly, not quite believing what I’m seeing as he continues to sit there ignoring me. I glance around the restaurant to make sure this isn’t some kind of show we’re supposed to be enjoying in silence, but everyone else is continuing their conversations asusual.
I give him until the end of the song, expecting him to turn back and give me some sort of explanation. Instead he keeps staring at thepiano.
I cough. “So you’re, uh, a big jazzfan?”
He gives a slow nod, like he’s caught in ahaze.
The third song of the night starts up, but I keep talking. “Play anyinstruments?”
He shifts his eyes towards me. “Do you mind if we talk after the song isdone?”
I blink. “Uh, yeah. Okay. I’m just going to...go to thebathroom.”
I shimmy out of the booth and take off towards the sign for the women’s restroom. I pull the door open and I’m almost blinded by the glimmering white tile walls. My wedges echo on the polished floor as I cross the room and lock myself in one of the three stalls. Pulling my phone out of my purse, I shoot a text off toAlice.
