The bartender returned with Dhillon’s drinks. “Tell her Annika says hi.”
“Will do.” Dhillon grabbed the beers and made his way over to Riya.
“Just ran into friends of yours. Daniel and Annika?” He was facing the singer, as if all he wanted was to listen to someone butcher a song, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning to face Riya. To see if she reacted to Daniel’s name with any sign of attraction or interest.
He really was a sad, sad case.
Her eyes did widen with excitement. “Daniel’s here? Awesome. I wanted to talk to him about something.”
“What?”
Riya averted her gaze to the stage and shook her head. “Just a work thing.”
That she wouldn’t talk to him about, because he did not approve of her work.
They sipped their beers without talking for a few minutes, his thoughts jumbling around between Lucky and Riya. The air was on inside the bar, but it was only just enough to take the edge off the heat. Just as he was relaxing into the possibility that they were not going to have to sing karaoke, a man with a fair amount of gray on his head and in his beard announced Riya’s name. And only her name. Dhillon relaxed some. She was sparing him.
He raised his glass to her as she hopped off her stool and headed for the stage. She looked completely at home in the spotlight in her cutoff shorts and loose T-shirt. Dhillon took in the muscles in her legs and arms. The level of comfort Riya had with her body was evident. The song started immediately, and Riya began singing.
Riya was wonderful at many things. She was an amazing cook, she could bake like a pastry chef, she saved lives. Singing, however, was not one of the things she was good at. At all. Not that her lack of talent kept her from the microphone. She sang her heart out, oblivious to how bad she sounded, her gaze intent on him. In it, he saw her pain over losing Lucky, and her desire to do something other than wallow in it.
The song ended, Riya took her bow to moderate applause, and she turned that mischievous smile on him.
Oh, no.
She leaned into the mic. “I’d like to invite my once-partner-in-crime to join me on stage for this next number.” She brought the mic close to her mouth and deepened her voice. “Dhillon.”
He shook his head as if that would somehow alter the fact that he had to go up there.
“Please join me on stage, Dhillon-V,” she pressed, and the crowd applauded. That was the third time tonight that she’d used her name for him.
When they’d first met, as five-year-olds, they had been introduced with first and last names. Riya had a cousin named Dylan. So, to differentiate, she’d called him Dhillon-V. He, in turn, called her Riya-D, which had seemed extremely logical to his five-year-old brain. As they got older, those were the names they called each other.
Until they stopped addressing one another completely. When she’d used it earlier, he didn’t think she’d even realized it. And even now, it wasn’t a manipulation: it was coming from her heart.
And Dhillon-V never could refuse Riya-D anything.
He inhaled and downed the rest of his beer. She immediately started applauding. “I’d also love for all of you—” she pointed to the patrons “—to pick our song.”
No, she didn’t. Yes. Yes, she did. Just great. Blood rushed to his face, and he was ever-grateful for dark skin and the scruff on his face that would hide his flush. He focused on Riya and approached the stage to great applause.
She glowed, and though her eyes were moist, her face was filled with sorrowful joy. Her laugh as she hugged him was victorious, and she handed him the mic with a smirk. He melted. The crowd shouted out song titles until the DJ picked one and started playing it. The music started, and the words flashed on a screen in front of them. He was first.
Of course it was a classic by Sir Elton John begging someone to not break his heart.
Riya watched him as she sang the next line, in which she promised she wouldn’t.
And so it went.
He could thank Sir Elton John for this moment with Riya.
The twist here was that he actually could sing. He’d never had formal lessons, but he could hold a tune. This surprised the onlookers, and a whoop of cheering went up as they realized he had some game.
He concentrated on Riya as he sang. They were in sync, a team again. They sang a second song, and by the time that was done, Dhillon’s heart was light. No thoughts of firefighters or work or loss. He was in the moment. And the moment included no one but his Riya-D.
They took their bow, laughing and holding hands as they left the stage. Her hand molded perfectly to his, warm and soft and strong. She squeezed his hand as they made it back to their table. Daniel came around as they sat down and deposited their soups.
Riya looked at Dhillon and spoke softly. “You ordered the soup for us?”
