“I get that.” He squeezed her closer, resting his head on hers. “Want to talk about it?”
“Yes. No.” She sighed. Something about him made it so tempting to open up and pour all of her sorrows out. “Sometimes when I wake up, I forget for a second that he’s dead. Then, I roll over and see the empty bed … and I remember. And then I can’t forget, no matter how hard I try.”
Compassion shone from his eyes, and he kissed the top of her head. “I can’t even imagine a loss like that. I’m sorry.”
He’d lost his parents. He probably knew all too well how it felt. “I keep waiting for it to get easier.” She blinked back tears. “It has to get easier at some point, doesn’t it?”
“I hope so.” He ran his fingers over the line of her cheek, his touch feather light. “I really do. But until then, feel free to cry on my shoulder. I’m here.”
And he meant that, too. She could hear the sincerity in his voice. “I have tons of family and friends trying to force me to talk on a daily basis, whom I avoid, but here I am. Talking to you, a guy I barely know.”
“Perhaps that’s why you can talk to me.”
He had a point. “Maybe.”
“I guess that’s just another funny trick fate played on us. You needed to talk,” he dropped his hand. “And I’m good at listening.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’m sorry for kissing you like I did earlier. I-I had no idea about any of this.”
“Don’t apologize for that.” She looked up at him. “Tonight is the first night in over a year that I’ve actually had fun.”
He smiled. “Good. Because I’m not actually sorry. It was a hell of a kiss, and I know you agree with me.”
“Oh my God,” she said through her laughter. “Your ego is astounding.”
“Comes with the job.”
She gave him a hug but then moved out of his arms. They’d been too close for too long. “Thanks for being so understanding. This day’s been a long time coming.”
He nodded. “I’ll do my best to make it as tolerable as possible.”
“Okay, enough about me. Earlier you mentioned you needed a distraction.” She pointed at him, desperate to change the topic from herself. “Time for you to spill your guts. What’s bothering you?”
He clenched his jaw and traced an invisible path on the bench, his graceful fingers moving smoothly. For a second, she thought he wouldn’t answer. “Honestly? Opening night jitters. Nothing huge.”
Aw, stage crew gets nervous, too? How cute. “I’m sure you’ll do great. Equipment is the same in London as it is here, right? Lights, echoes, and all that.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “I wish it was that simple.”
“Imagine how much more nervous you would be if you were in the show.”
His laughter died off, and he dragged a hand through his hair. “I can only imagine.”
“Sing me a song.” A siren sounded behind them. The cops must be chasing another murderer or robber. Where was Spider-man when you needed him? “I want to hear you before anyone else does. Before you’re famous.”
He looked past her at the crowded sidewalk. Nearby, a mom with a screaming toddler stood, trying to rock the child to sleep. Next to her, a man practically shouted at his secretary over his cell. “Here? Now? You won’t even be able to hear me over all of this noise.” The mom shot him a dirty look and walked further away from him. He winced. “I didn’t mean the baby. I mean all of it.”
“All of it is New York City. Get used to it.” She motioned him on. “Now sing a song from Les Miserables for me.”
“I thought you hated musicals and singers.”
“I do,” she said softly, feeling the need to be honest. She liked the way he laughed. She liked the way he made her laugh. “But I like you.”
His eyes darkened, and he leaned in close. When he opened his mouth and sang low in her ear, her breath caught in her throat. He was singing of falling in love at first sight—about his world being turned upside down by the mere sight of a girl.
And he absolutely should be on a stage. He was tantalizing and perfect. He sang so quietly that no one else could hear him over the city noise. A few feet away, a fighting couple gestured wildly and drew attention. The screaming baby still screamed. And she saw another police car go by with its sirens on, but with his soft, perfect voice filling her head … she didn’t hear a single sound.
He surrounded her.
The fact that he sang for her and her alone made her shift on her seat. And it also made her want to throw her arms around him and kiss him. A lot.
And maybe tie him up in her bed so he could sing for her all day long.
He broke off, his cheeks red. “There. You’re the first to hear me.”
She took a deep breath. “Wow. You’re really, really good.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “I have no doubt that you’ll make it one day. Maybe I’ll even come see you when you do.”
“You’d brave the hated theater to see me?” He held a hand to his heart. “I’m touched. Truly.”
She scoffed. “I have seen a few shows. I just don’t like them. I mean, really, who sings while fighting a revolution?”
“French people,” he deadpanned.
She burst into laughter. “Remind me never to go to France, then. I wouldn’t fit in.”
“I don’t know. I think you’d fit in just fine. You’ve got a certain je ne sais quoi.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his compliment, but she forced herself to ignore the fluttering of attraction. Wrong time. Wrong man. “You’ve obviously never heard me sing.”
He latched onto her eyes, not letting go. “I showed you mine. You should show me yours.”
“Never. Happening,” she said, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. He made her feel so different and alive. “I don’t sound anything like you.”
His fingers brushed against hers on the bench, sending a hum of electricity through her blood, and he took a deep breath. His gaze collided with hers, and he slowly slid his hand over hers and held on tight. She tried to look away from him, to break contact, but she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. There was something between them.
Something she was terrified to name.
Chapter Three
Justin took a sip of his beer and eyed Lexi over the rim. Why in the bloody hell did Americans insist on cold beer? Give him warm ale in a pub any day over this swill. But she had insisted he be “American” today, and … well … for her he would.