Jim keeps his arm around me for balance as we walk, not letting go until our feet hit the concrete sidewalk that leads away from the beach. Handing me my shoes, he offers a forearm for balance as I slip them on. “I still can’t believe you’re a sappy romantic.”
He rolls his eyes. “I just think that love looks different to everyone. Some people meet and care about each other and make it work, even if maybe they aren’t, quote-unquote, soulmates. But then I think there are people who meet and it’s an instantaneous feeling. Not lust, but they know that this person is different and means something to them, and they figure there’s no sense in waiting when time won’t change how they feel.”
I furrow my brow. He said exactly what I was wondering earlier, but I’m still surprised to hear such sentiment coming from him. “Such a girly way to look at it.”
He smirks, but doesn’t respond to my comment. He watches the group leave and walk down the sidewalk towards the bars, while I watch him. The summer sun has bronzed his skin and given him natural highlights to go with his blond locks. He’s incredibly handsome and charming. Smart. Funny. Driven with his career. And the main reason I had so much fun tonight. It takes a lot to bring me out of my shell, and Jim does it so easily.
I link my arm in his, leaning in slightly as we take the final steps into the hotel. He holds the door open for me and we’re hit with a breeze of A/C and the sound of music echoing from down the hall.
“Is that live music?”
He points to a sign by the door. “Looks like a jazz quartet in the bar tonight.”
I pause, reading the sign and recognizing the name of the quartet as one of the better bands the city has to offer.
“Is someone rethinking their decision to have a drink with me?”
I grab his bicep with both hands, walking backwards and pulling him through the double doors and into the bar with me. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m staying for the music.” I wink as his steps falter and he fakes a shot to the heart.
“I’ll admit, I’m not a fan of jazz, but I’ll do anything to keep that smile on your face as long as possible.”
We round the corner, and the beauty of the room astounds me. White marble floors guide patrons directly into the seating area. Semi-private booths line the wall that leads up to the small stage, and the bar runs parallel to the seating area. Soft jazz comes from a quartet in the corner, and I’m surprised by the number of guests still here given the late hour.
The music echoes throughout the long room, floating into my pores and entering my bloodstream, causing such a visceral reaction that my body starts softly swaying with the beat. I losemyself for a few minutes, hovering in the doorway, before I feel a soft breath to the shell of my ear and a hand on my hip.
“You really love this, don’t you?”
Jim’s voice is so close, his deep baritone mixed with the mellow music seduces me in a way I can’t describe. Goosebumps pepper my skin as I turn towards him, smiling. “Let’s get that drink.”
Chapter Three
“Ithought I said I was only staying for one drink?” I ask as Jim flags the bartender over for another round.
“You say a lot of things, but judging by how you haven’t stopped tapping your feet since we walked through the doors, I’d say your heart is far from calling it a night.”
He has me there. I’m about to tell him this isactuallymy last one when I hear the familiar intro to“I’ll Be Seeing You” flow from the piano. I latch onto Jim’s arm so I don’t pass out from excitement.
“Oh myGod,” I moan, closing my eyes and dropping my head to feel the melody. “‘I’ll Be Seeing You.’ Originally recorded by Dick Todd in the early 1940s, but made more popular by Bing Crosby later that decade. In my opinion, of all the versions out there, Billie Holiday sings it the best.”
No voice can top Billie Holiday.
Billie is the queen.
“This will forever be my favorite song. It’s about love. Real fucking love. Not that type of love you think you know when you have your first crush, or when you’re fifteen and an older boy smiles at you in the hall. This is the type of love where you canstill feel someone, even if they aren’t physically around. When your chest aches at the thought of life without them.”
This song will forever be my happy place. At two and six years old, my sister, Marissa, and I were thrust into the system and bounced from foster home to foster home for the next few years. Most people didn’t want to take on two kids at once, and even though I was still a child, I had the attitude of a teenager. They had to split us up temporarily, and Marissa’s third birthday was celebrated without me. Thank God for the case worker who insisted we be placed together, even if it meant moving to the other side of the city, because that led us to our forever home.
My foster parents said it was supposed to be a short-term thing. They were both in their later fifties at the time, hearts so big they couldn’t say no to a set of siblings that needed care. Never in a million years did they think they’d end up adopting the both of us as soon as they were eligible.
We walked into their home, and I knew, justknewthat this was it. That this was my home where my sister and I could be safe and we could be together. After a dinner of homemade sloppy joes and tater tots, they showed us the den where we could watch cartoons. My sister was drawn to a rerun ofMickey Mousewhen I wandered over to check out their wall-to-wall collection of vinyl records.
I was a bratty tween with a poor record of disastrous outbursts behind me. No home had ever trusted me, but my foster dad never hesitated to show me how to use his antique turntable. He let me pick out a record, any record I wanted. I saw Billie with a white gardenia tucked in her hair and I knew she was the one. He carefully explained how to place a record on the platter and how to lower the stylus so I didn’t scratch it in the process.
My sister and I laid on the carpet most of the evening, listening to my dad play song after song, telling us stories to go along with them. I fell into a deep sleep, curled up at her sidewhile listening to Billie Holiday croon these words to me, and it will forever be the best day of my life.
“It’s about real love,” I tell him again. “Obsessive love. The type of love I’m not sure I believe in.”
I finally break my gaze from the band to look up at Jim, and the look in his eyes as he stares back nearly chokes me. “What?”
