His eyebrows shoot up. Getting a shot on the festival stage is as good as an anointing in terms of declaring which indie bands will ascend to glory. It’s practically a guarantee that they’re going to explode. It’s meant to launch Night View into the national spotlight, but it could be amazing for us as the openers.
“The festival stage?” he says in a whisper shout. “Thefestivalstage?”
These are the times I love that Josh used to spend so much time on the Austin music scene; I don’t have to explain why this matters. I only nod.
He collapses against the back of his chair, a dopey smile on his face. “The festival stage. My girl is a literal rock star.”
“Maybe,” I say, and when his eyebrows shoot up again, I actually giggle. “Okay, probably.”
“Definitely. This is incredible. We have to celebrate.”
“That’s why we’re here.” I gesture to the restaurant around us.
He glances around. “I’m glad you shared this place with me, and I can’t wait to try the food. But did you bring me here because our schedules are too packed to go out at night?”
“Yeah, but it’s cool. I love this place.”
“I’ll love it too,” he says. “But this is life-changing news. The kind of news you make time for. If our schedules weren’t an issue, where would you want to go to celebrate the best news ever?”
I shift again, this time slightly nervous. “It hasn’t happened yet.”
He leans forward and meets my eyes, picking up my hand and lacing his fingers through mine. “It will.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds before I give him another grin. “Yeah, it will.”
“So, the celebration of your dreams,” he prompts.
I think about it, an image forming in my mind. “Spencer’s. A fancy dress and their best wine.” I’ve never been. It’s the kind of place girls from Hillsboro don’t go. I’m not sure even brisket-eating Browers from Austin would fit in at Spencer’s. It’s absurd. Over the top. And so is the idea of my band getting signed.
“Done.” He’s already pulling out his phone. “I’ll get the first available reservation, and we’re going.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Now I’m embarrassed, asking for something so over the top. I’d meant to give it to him as a point of reference, a vibe, not a hint.
“I would have suggested it myself if I’d thought it was your thing,” he said. “That was our family special occasion place.”
“Why wouldn’t it be my thing?” I tense, bracing for whatever he’s about to say. There’s no answer he can give that won’t offend me, and I need to prepare not to overreact.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. You usually like way cooler stuff. But even if it’s kind of old school, it’s delicious. We can make fun of the stuck-up people while we eat. I saw the governor last time we were there.”
Oh. I guess there wasoneanswer that wasn’t going to get him in trouble.
He looks up from his phone. “There’s one opening on Tuesday night at eight. Kind of late for dinner, but would it work?”
I nod. “It’ll work.”
And I mean: this will work. He will work. We will work.
I don’t know how, but somehow, even with our crazy schedules, long days, and workaholic tendencies, it will. I can’t believe the knowledge doesn’t send me flying out of Delia’s in search of a getaway.
Instead, I reach over and take his other hand, lacing those fingers together too, and repeat, “It’ll work.”
Not that I’m telling Ruby. Yet.
“Youlookamazing,”Joshsays when I open the front door to his knock Tuesday night. He takes my hand and has me do a twirl to check out the gold dress I’m wearing. It’s a satin slip dress, but the open back really makes it, and he gives a low rumble of appreciation when he sees it, the fabric dipping well below the middle of my back, the hem grazing my knees.
“You do too.” He’s wearing a black suit with a gray and black tie against a gray shirt. It looks sharp. “Silver and gold.”
“I’ll take second place to you any night,” he says.
