Page 43 of Sing For Me

Eva

When I left the gala with a promise from Will that he’d be in touch to set up the date soon, I couldn’t help but feel a little skeptical. I had been sure that he was into me once before, and that had only led to me waiting by the phone for days, feeling more and more despondent. What if he did the same thing again? What if, once I was out of his sight, he started remembering whatever his reasons had been for not wanting to get involved with a professional musician?

But all the doubts flew out the window when I got a text from him literal seconds after climbing into the limo.

I’m glad we ran into each other tonight, it said.I probably didn’t deserve a second chance not to blow it, but I’m not going to make that mistake twice.

It wasn’t the last text I got from him, either. We messaged back and forth that night while I got ready for bed. We messaged the next day while he was stuck in the shop office doing paperwork. When he suggested a day and time for the date, I agreed immediately.

For the first time in a really long time, I’m actually excited about something. And, even crazier, my excitement isn’t tinged with the usual bitterness of anxiety. I’m not afraid that I’m going to freak out with Will. I’m not afraid that I’m going to blow it before it can even get started.

Of course, once I’m in the back of the town car and on my way, the nerves kick in. But they’re not my usual panicky thoughts about men who are bigger than me and crowds and strangers. No, this is your run of the mill first date nerves.

And somehow that makes me feel better. This is the way that most people feel when they’re going to meet someone they really like. It’snormal.

I hold tight to normal as often as I can these days.

Will is waiting in the lobby of the shop. From outside, I can see him through the plate-glass windows. His arms are crossed over his chest as he leans into the reception desk, his expression flat and closed off.

But the moment I open the door and he sees me, his features soften, lips tugging up at the corners into an almost smile. “You came.”

I look around for a clock. “Am I late?”

“No, you’re right on time. I just kept thinking that this whole thing can’t really be happening.” He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I mean, a girl like you hanging out with a guy like me? Pretty unbelievable.”

I roll my eyes. “If you’re fishing for compliments, it won’t work.”

He barks out a laugh. “I wasn’t, but I appreciate you calling me on it all the same.”

Our gazes hold across the small space. He’s a little more dressed up than he had been the first time I was here, his jeans dark and free of holes, faded t-shirt replaced with a long sleeved grey Henley that clings perfectly to every inch of his sculpted chest and arms. The material looks soft and my fingers itch to touch him. His beard is slightly scruffier than it was at the gala, and instead of being slicked neatly back, his longish hair is a little unruly.

He’s the picture-perfect specimen of man, and I actually feel a little weak in the knees.

Something in his eyes flashes and he strides across the shop to me, placing his hands on my shoulders and pulling me closer so he can lean down and press his lips to my cheek.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. “So do you.”

He raises an eyebrow, mouth twitching. “Beautiful, huh? I don’t think anyone has ever called me that.”

“They should,” I blurt. Because it’s true. I think he might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

He looks amused as he holds out his hand. “You ready to go?”

We had agreed on something casual for this first date—lunch at a burger joint near Will’s shop. As he pulls me out into the typical southern Californian day—warm and sunny—he doesn’t drop my hand. The sensation of his fingers wrapped around mine makes me feel way more giddy than holding hands should. Apparently, I’ve reverted back to pre-teen status.

But I don’t have very long to enjoy the feeling. We only pass two store fronts before he points ahead at a red neon sign for Ollie’s. “Here we are.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said this place was close by.”

He grins. “Probably the top perk of our location. Most of the guys at the shop practically live on Ollie’s fries.”

The restaurant is packed and I feel a vague thrum of unease. There’s a line at the counter and the thought of cramming myself in with all of those people has my palms sweating. I try to tug my hand from Will’s but he tightens his grip, leading me away from the line and towards a corner in the back of the restaurant, where it’s much less crowded. We’re a few feet from the red leather booth when I notice the small sign sitting on the table.Reserved.

I raise an eyebrow at Will. “Interesting. I don’t know if I’ve ever been to a counter service restaurant that takes reservations.”

His smile is sheepish. “I know a guy.”