Chapter 15
15
I never aspired to be a rock star, a crooner, or a Broadway belter.
I certainly didn’t have it on my vision board to be a lounge singer. (If I had a vision board, which I don’t and have never had.)
Singing was one of those things that I discovered I could simply do , though I never did anything with it. Growing up, there was no glee club, band, or a cappella group for me.
I started singing out of necessity.
Like many who came before me and many who will come after, I was forced to play the piano by my parents.
There was no love at first note. More like loathing.
I wanted to play sports, throw a ball, run across a field. But twice a week, I had to sit down and play. During one lesson my mother suggested I sing along to make the songs that—as I’d put it— bored me to tears more interesting.
The words somehow unlocked the music, and suddenly, piano was fun. It was a game I was good at. A chance, frankly, to show off.
Once I realized I could do it, singing was like juggling. It was a party trick. I was the guy who could nail “Happy Birthday” at a group dinner, I was a pro at “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” at Yankee Stadium, and when Christmas rolled around and you needed someone to belt out “Deck the Halls,” I was your guy.
Then Sloane came around. She cheered the loudest when I sang karaoke at the charity event the night we met.
Later, during one of our dates, she said, “You should just do it. You have the voice for it. Go sing at a club.”
I laughed it off. I had no aspirations to be Michael Bublé, thank you very much.
“But you don’t have to make money at it,” she’d said. “You don’t have to make albums. You could just make music for fun. Think about it. Do it because it’s something that you enjoy. Do it because it’s an adventure.”
Her idea weaved its way under my skin as she encouraged me.
“You have a real passion and a real gift. Don’t let it pass you by. Singing doesn’t have to be everything. But maybe it can be just enough to be your adventure.”
She was right. It has been a fantastic journey. And for the first time since that fateful night I met her, I’m singing with her in the house.
All I have to do is remember she’s not mine.
She can’t be mine.
None of the obstacles between us have vanished. Her father is still my business partner. He’s absolutely my mentor.
In fact, the hurdles are stacked even higher now that Sloane and I are working in the same damn space every day.
But tonight, we’re here.
Gin Joint feels about as far away from the clinic as North Dakota is to Tahiti.
Tonight is for Tahiti.
* * *
I’m not nervous. I’m fired up when she walks in at the start of my set looking so damn blonde. Her golden hair cascades down her back and curls over her shoulders in soft waves. Her little black dress hugs her hips, and the silver pendant resting against her pale skin draws my eyes to her chest.
But her eyes lure me in.
They always have. They did that night I met her at a fundraiser for several local shelters. This was long before she’d started hers, back when she’d just finished her bachelor’s degree and was trying to figure out what to do next.
I was already a vet, searching for a new job. We connected in an instant when I sang, and I knew I had to meet the gorgeous blonde in the front row.
As soon as I stepped off the stage, I made a beeline to her.
We shared a drink, then we shared a night.
Our connection was instant and intense, and more than physical attraction. I hadn’t experienced that type of electric chemistry before, and even though I wanted her beneath me in my bed, I also enjoyed spending time with her. Her wit, her charm, her confidence—they hooked me. She was younger than I was. Twenty-two to my twenty-eight, and while that’s not a big difference, neither was it the reason I took it slow. There was something worth slowing down for with her.
Until the day I walked into a job interview and spotted a framed photo of her on the desk.
When I told her we had to end it, her eyes filled with sadness.
Now, tonight, those deep brown depths are filled with an intensity that’s so damn enticing as she watches me sing a Sinatra tune, since there’s nothing better to open an act with.
When I finish my first number, I dive into a brief chat with the audience, as I often do.
“Ever invite a girl to an event? A woman who you’ve maybe had your eye on? Maybe for a while. Possibly for a long time?”
A couple of guys in the front row nod. They get me. The sliver of a knowing smile sneaking across Sloane’s face tells me, too, that we both know the score. We’re both aware that we’ve stolen a moment tonight. That we’ve tangoed around each other all week, and we made our own loophole—one drink to celebrate.
Tonight is a bubble, and I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it until it pops. Because it will.
But for now, we’re in an alternate universe. And in this world, you bet your ass I’m going to let the woman know that I fucking love singing to her.
I make my way back to the piano. “And then she shows up. As soon as you see her, as soon as your eyes meet hers, you’re grinning. Because she’s here. Because she made it.”
I scan the audience, and now those guys are nodding. In her seat at a table in the front, the woman in question keeps her eyes on me. “Then you meet her gaze. And all you can think is ‘Doesn’t she look wonderful tonight?’”
A few women in the audience sigh contentedly. A couple of the guys look at their dates. Sloane glances down then back up, a grin tugging at her lips. When her eyes meet mine once more, I finish. “And then you understand a song completely.”
I launch into one of the greatest love songs of all time, and when I’m done with “Wonderful Tonight,” I can feel the energy vibrating from the crowd. It’s electric and palpable. It’s hot and bothered. A hum seems to radiate through the audience. Maybe everyone here is getting lucky tonight. Maybe everyone looks wonderful.
I ride that high, making my way through the rest of my tunes, sliding from Dean Martin to Tony Bennett, from Chris Isaak to Sam Cooke.
The more I sing, the more charged I feel.
My skin is buzzing; my bones are humming. I’ve been plugged in, and now I’m lit up from the music and the woman and the crowd. It’s a perfect storm of energy and electricity, and we’re feeding off of each other. Soon it’s time to finish the act with “I Ain’t Got Nobody.”
“ Won't somebody come and take a chance with me? I'll sing you love songs, honey, all the time. ”
When I’m done, I understand the words on another level.
Take a chance.
I haven’t figured out how to jump over those hurdles that still exist. I don’t know that I will anytime soon.
Sloane is off-limits, and probably always will be.
But I also know from her body language and her laughter that neither of us came here tonight for just one drink.
I thank the crowd and head straight to the woman who came for me.