Crap. Do I have time for a singing lesson?
I peer back at Doug sitting at our table, waiting for me to return.
Yeah, no time for lessons.
But then… inMy Best Friend’s Wedding, Kimmy most definitely didn’t have singing lessons. She still ends up with the guy.
Some—like Professor Ellington—may call me crazy, but I truly believe in the romcom.
To. My. Core.
Happily ever after may not have been a reality in my home, but it is a possibility in life. The Hunters were proof of that. My childhood friend’s parents were the first to show me that love, romance, and happiness in marriage can be a reality. Itisa possibility in the world we live in, despite the current divorce rate. The fact is, love is a true prospect. It’s an offering on the table, one I will be taking.
Right now. Right here. On this very stage.
With Doug.
“You’re up,” my DJ friend says.
I wave Doug onto the stage. He has a little perspiration building on his forehead. That’s okay—he’s going to get through this with me by his side.
See? Support and nurture. Things are already working out.
The words string across the monitor in front of us, and when Doug doesn’t start right away, I lay my hand on his upper arm and sing his part of the duet. I keep my voice low and encouraging, helping the man along.
Wouldn’t I be the best girlfriend?
He smiles at me—it’s a nice smile, and if I could check the time and make a note of the happenings inside of my body, I would.
Halfway through the first verse, Doug joins me. After a couple words, I filter out and let him continue. His voice grows louder, sweeter, even tender. It turns out that Doug should be singing all of the time! He is a regular Josh Groban. He’s killing it. And he’s just as surprised by his talent as I am. His smile grows wider as he belts out the last words of Troy’s verse.
My turn.
My heart patters and my adrenaline rushes—in the best of ways.
So… I’m not Josh Groban or any kind of vocalist. I’m mediocre at best. But that doesn’t matter. We are experiencing this moment together.
My voice grows until I’m singing as loud and as jubilant as Doug. It’s glorious until… suddenly, Doug gives me the kill sign. His finger slides across the throat over and over again.
Why is he doing that?
Is he telling me he’s going to kill me? Or just to be quiet? Either way—rude.
I peer out at the audience. Are they seeing what I’m seeing? I don’t stop, though—it’s my part, andman, I love this song.
The chorus with both of our voices swells, and Doug’s signals increase. I keep singing and focus my gaze on the very back of the room and not on the kill signal happening directly next to me. A group of guys sit around one long table back there. They are the only ones in this bar paying attention to me and JoshDouglasGroban. One man with short brown hair and a sweet jawline slumps in his chair. He watches me with a crooked grin on his lips. When Doug shushes me with yet another kill sign, the man laughs.
I blink, looking from Doug, the superstar, back to the amused man, his eyes still glued to me, his hand around a glass filled to the brim. His eyes crease as if sleepy, though that grin says he is clearly entertained.
I’m unsure if that look is a compliment or a roast. But then, I am a hopeless romantic. So, I’m going to choose thatthissong andourvoices put a grin on that tired man’s face.
The chorus winds down. There isn’t another verse to sing, but Doug and I stand on stage, listening to the instrumental ending of the song. It’s possible this isn’t a match made in heaven. But it wasn’t horrible. And I still lived out my remake.
“That was…interesting.” Doug’s brows furrow. We’re still on stage, and he’s studying me as if this song were an experiment and I am the subject.
“Yeah. You’re excellent. Talk about self-discovery. Huh?” I lock my gaze on Doug’s. Maybe I misread that whole finger-across-the-throat action. Maybe he’s Scandinavian or Turkish, or from some other culture I know nothing about, and that action means something completely different there.
Doug’s nose wrinkles, and he shoves both hands into his pockets. “You aren’t very good, are you?”
