7
ELEANOR
When Luke parks, I’m not sure we’re in the right place. It’s a relatively quiet street. Mostly warehouses, or warehouses converted into luxury apartments. Not nearly as lively as 6th Street. Luke told me Franklin’s was a little out of the way, but this seems a little too out of the way.
“Uh. Are you sure we’re in the right place?” I ask, peering out the window.
Luke laughs. “I’ve been to Franklin’s a million times. You think I don’t know where it is?”
“It’s just so quiet,” I say.
He unbuckles his seatbelt, pushes his door open, and sticks one long leg outside. “It’s Austin’s music scene’s worst kept secret.”
I sit in the car a few moments longer and scan the street. “Seems like a pretty well-kept secret to me,” I mumble to myself.
Luke is still a stranger to me. And while he’s been nothing but kind, what if I’m making a mistake trusting him? I haven’t gotten a single bad vibe from him. Not even on the drive over here. But now my anxiety is reeling. I shouldn’t have let him pick me up, shouldn’t have let him drive me in his car, shouldn’t—
Down the street, I spy a door opening and orange light pouring out onto the street. A couple stumbles out, giggling and grabbing for each other’s hands, totally intoxicated by the night they’ve had.
I let out a taut sigh. Alright, maybe I was overreacting.
My door opens and Luke drops his hand down for me. Okay, gentleman . I look up at him as I take his hand, mumbling a soft, “Thank you.”
He helps me to stand, and closes the door of his slick black Audi behind me before leading me onto the sidewalk and toward the building the couple just emerged from. “This way.”
When we arrive at the door, I realize it is indeed marked with a small sign over the door, albeit it’s quite faded. The pale letters in Franklin’s are now ghosts of their former selves, specifically the “L” which is almost invisible.
Continuing his streak as gentleman, Luke opens the door for me. “After you.”
We have our IDs checked by the bouncer and then descend a long, warmly lit staircase side by side. On the walls are pictures upon pictures of musicians from years past. I admire them as we go.
“I bet you’d like these for your collection,” Luke says with a cheeky smile.
I smile in kind. “You read my mind.”
The lower we go, the louder the music gets. The plangent croon of a trumpet solo, soft rapping of the drums, and a bleating piano. I feel like I’m back at the Green Mill where I’d spent many a night in Chicago.
By the time we arrive in the doorway of the venue, the song is peeling into its last notes and people are already clapping. Though no one is smoking, I can’t help but feel the room is smoky, a haze looming over everyone. The small stage is across the room, crowded with musicians of all ages, a full jazz band. Cabaret tables litter the space, most of them full of lovers and friends. Across the ceiling are delicate chandeliers, and along the rightmost wall is a bar with mirrors arching behind the bartenders and rows and rows of liquor bottles.
“Tables look full. Should we grab a seat at the bar?” Luke asks me.
I nod. “Sounds good.” That feels a little less intimate too. That way, we aren’t leaned over a tiny little table. Better for my heart. Since our lunch the other day, I haven’t forgotten how he nearly choked on his mineral water because I dared to ask if he was asking me on a date. That made it very clear that he sees me firmly as a friend, just the way he’d described me to Kenny.
That’s fine with me. It’s better if we remain colleagues through this process anyway.
We wind through the little tables and find two bar seats beside one another.
Luke pulls the chair out for me; this man never quits with the gentility, does he? Before I can utter a thank you, he mutters, “You look really nice tonight, Eleanor.”
My heart lunges into the back of my mouth. “Really nice” isn’t a flirtatious choice of words, but knowing he’s even taken a moment to look me over and take in my outfit means a lot considering how I fretted over it before he picked me up.
In the days leading up to today, I studied Pinterest boards of Austin street style and even had Jolene direct me to some boutiques that might give me a fighting chance at fitting in. Of course, that meant I blew my budget for the month on this airy, boho floral number.
“Thank you,” I say as I settle into my seat, holding back a, “So do you,” for fear my voice might pitch a little too high and I’ll sound silly. But it’s true, he looks nice. Of course he does. That seems to be Luke Wyatt’s prerogative at all times. Tonight, he’s opted for a rust-colored jacket over a black dress shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date with a guy who is wearing a suit coat.
Not that this is a date.
“What would you like to drink?” Luke asks.
“Gin and tonic,” I say.
He grins. “Why am I not surprised?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Luke holds up his hands. He’s got broad palms. Hard to ignore the idea of how they’d feel sliding around my back. “Just feels very Chicago of you.”
I scoff. “You’ve never been to Chicago, have you?”
“Once.”
“It shows.”
He laughs, all his teeth visible. I laugh too.
“Okay, gin and tonic, got it.” He lifts his gaze toward one of the bartenders.
I hurriedly reach into my bag for my wallet. “Don’t pull a fast one. This is on me.”
“Oh, of course, how could I forget?” Luke smirks.
I ignore the pretty way his lips contort and whip out my cardholder.
“Just hope you brought cash . . .” he trails off.
I furrow my brow. “What?”
Luke directs a finger to a sign hanging behind the bar. Sure enough, in red, vintage-looking font, the words, “Cash Only” are written.
My jaw falls. “I . . . who carries cash anymore?”
He chuckles and pulls out his wallet. “You’re in luck. I do.”
I drop my wallet back in my bag. “You hustled me.”
“See, most people would say hustling is trying to take money away from you, not the other way around,” Luke says, leaning in just close enough that his breath brushes up against my ear.
He smells amazing. I don’t know much about the notes of certain types of colognes, but it smells expensive and leathery.
However, he doesn’t linger long. The bartender comes over and takes Luke’s order. I watch him hand over some crisp bills in payment.
Across the room, the band begins their next song. I glance at the group and smile to myself. “You think I could take some pictures?” I ask Luke.
“Don’t see why not,” he replies.
I take my camera out of my bag and begin to adjust the settings to the lighting of the room.
“You take that thing with you everywhere, huh?”
I push my eye as close as it will go to the viewfinder what with my glasses in the way, squinting, cheek tensing. “Why wouldn’t I?” As I try to find my focal point, I land on a tall and lanky Black man with graying facial hair and gaunt cheeks who licks the reed of his saxophone in preparation to play. His eyes are shaded by a porkpie hat. I jerk my camera down. “Is that him?”
Luke follows my gaze. “Sutton? Yep. That’s him. Looks like he’s getting ready to blow the house down.”
Bobby Sutton plays a few notes on his tenor saxophone, almost like an unfamiliar, yet welcomed caress.
I pull my camera back up and snap a few shots of the band with Bobby as the focal point. Then I drop my camera down for a few moments to take in the scene.
“Drink?”
I jolt my attention over to Luke who holding my gin and tonic. “Oh, yes. Sorry.”
He frowns as I take the drink from him. “For what?”
“I always do this,” I say, lifting my camera up for emphasis and then placing it carefully on the bar. “I’ve been told I’m not very good company, what with the camera and all.”
“You don’t need to apologize on my account,” Luke says.
Perhaps it’s because I’ve been inundated with accents ever since I arrived in Austin, but Luke’s is just starting to settle over me. It’s very slight, but it’s there, the way his vowels scoop into the back of his mouth. A drawl, they might call it.
Very sexy.
“In fact, I like watching you. Makes me reconsider what I’m looking at, you know? I’d love to see the world the way you see it,” Luke goes on.
I’d like to ignore how that comment makes my heart flutter. I spent a good deal of my early twenties learning that people didn’t want to see the world the way I saw it. Rejection after rejection for shows and publications and competitions, over and over. “I can’t help but feel you probably have better ways to spend a night out rather than waiting to talk to a jazz musician with me,” I say before swigging my drink. Gotta get some of this liquid courage pumping ASAP.
“You seem pretty intent on me not enjoying time spent with you, Eleanor,” Luke says. “Is that a Chicago thing too?”
“No, I just . . .” I roll my eyes and sigh. Fine. I’ll just say it. “Luke, you’re a catch. And to be on a not date with a woman on a Thursday night feels like it might be a waste of your time.”
Luke’s eyebrows lift and he laughs to himself, almost sadly. He sips his whiskey neat and leans back on the bar, looking out at the band. His profile is beautiful and would make for a great photograph if we weren’t mid-conversation. The hard edge of his jaw, a straight, definitive nose . . .
“I do my best to be honest,” he says, not drawing his eyes away from the band. “And honestly, Eleanor, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” He pulls his chin over his shoulder to look at me. “And I’d appreciate it if you took my word for it this time.”
I nibble on my lower lip and nod. “Okay. Sorry.”
His seriousness splits with a signature smile. “And stop saying sorry.”
I huff, shoulders falling. “I’m a disgrace to feminism.”
Luke laughs, extends his arm out along the bar behind me. Almost like he’s embracing me, but not really. The ghost of an embrace. “You’re mean to yourself. For no good reason.”
Though the music is calling my attention, the tenor sax of Bobby Sutton approaching a fever pitch, I am trapped by Luke’s eyes. We are only a few inches away from one another. Something so intimate about a darkened bar, smoky liquor, and jazz.
If this was a date, this would probably be an appropriate moment for a chaste kiss or a subtle touch. Instead, we maintain our respectful distance and merely look.
Except there’s nothing mere about the look he’s giving me. Nothing at all.
The moment is interrupted as an older woman who was heading toward the door stops and leans into the space between us. “You two are so cute together,” she says, clasping a hand to her chest.
I sit up stock straight, at a loss for words.
The man on her arm tries to pull her away. “Come on, Marlene.”
Luke hums and gives her a nod of courtesy. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Her eyes find mine, smile dimpling her cheeks. “You keep an eye on that one. When your back is turned someone might swoop in and steal him away.”
“Not while I’m around,” I say, getting a little push of inspiration.
The woman, Marlene, laughs and lets her husband drag her toward the door. I watch them go, both of them on a cloud of intoxication and laughter. They seem like the type who’ve known each other a long, long while.
I crave something like that.
Luke leans in toward my ear again. “I think I’d be more worried someone might swoop in and steal you away, Eleanor.”
I look up at him. His plush lips are only an inch away.
A kiss would change everything.
Instead, I box him on the shoulder playfully, sending him back into his own air space. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Luke laughs and we settle back into a comfortable silence as the music swells around us, taking complete control of our minds and bodies.
And I can’t help but feel that I’m right where I belong. Even if it’s just for tonight.