The Last Phone Booth in Manhattan(35)
“I . . . I can’t believe you remembered that.” I took a second sniff, and somehow they smelled even sweeter than they had moments before.
He smiled and nodded. “I remember a lot of things. For example, I remember that our favorite French bistro is only a few blocks from here, and I made us reservations. I was hoping we could grab a late lunch together if you’re free? Please say you are?”
I thought about the charming French bistro we used to visit several times a month when we dated. The delicious Chablis that paired perfectly with their unforgettable fondue, the candlelit atmosphere, and the Parisian-style accordion player who worked Thursday through Saturday nights. It was our place, and I hadn’t been back in at least a couple of years. Even still, I could smell the garlicky seafood broth of their moules frites special, and the flakey baguettes they served with it.
“That’s really thoughtful, but I still have about two hours left in my shift. Maybe we can do it another time?” I still wasn’t sure what to make of Gabe’s unexpected presence in my life. The scars from Adam had barely started to heal, and it was hard to imagine ever opening myself up to someone again in that same way. But Gabe wasn’t just someone.
Reading my hesitation, his face fell slightly, even though it was evident he was trying to hide the hurt. “You showing up at my door like that on Christmas can’t just be coincidence. And I’m sure it’s hard for you to trust me again, probably to trust anyone. But, Avery, I know what I lost, and I’m not prepared to let that happen a second time. So, if it’s okay, I’ll wait for you, right here, until your shift is over. I need you to know how much I’ve changed.”
“You want to wait for me? Here?” I tried to suppress a smile, his resolve winning me over.
“Yeah, I’d like to see a few more of your numbers.”
Flattered, I glanced around the busy diner and relented. “Well, you’re welcome to wait, but uh . . . you’ll need to order something if you’re going to occupy a space at the counter.”
“Great! I came hungry for lunch anyway. What’s good here?”
I passed him a menu. “Well, the Ham-ilton and Cheese is fairly popular. So’s the Holdin’ Out for a Meatball Hero. We also have a Fried Chicken Breast Side Story that’s really good.”
“I’ll take the Holdin’ Out for a Meatball Hero, and since I’m playing the long game here,” he said, scanning the back page, “the Bend and Gingersnaps for dessert.”
“Great choices.” I nodded. “Anything to drink? How about a Fanta of the Opera?”
Gabe scrunched up his face. “Is it possible to just get an iced tea?”
“Of course, one Sweet Chari-tea, comin’ right up.” I winked at him and scribbled his order on a notepad I pulled out from my pocket.
With the bouquet tucked in my arm, I turned to leave, but Gabe caught me by the elbow and said, “Has anyone ever told you that you look good in green? Beautiful, actually.”
“Maybe,” I said with a cheeky smile, then hurried away before the blush igniting in the apples of my cheeks started to turn my face a ruddy brown again.
After punching in Gabe’s order, I headed back to the dressing room to take off the green makeup for the rest of my shift, a little easier said than done. Without access to a shower, I balled up a handful of remover wipes and did my best to rub off as much as I could.
Minutes later, Charlie came up behind me. “You have a little something there,” he said, pointing to my hairline before I swatted his hand away, still annoyed he hadn’t given me a heads-up about his last-minute adjustment to my set list.
I leaned forward toward the mirror and scrubbed my forehead harder. “Thanks,” I huffed, then tossed the wipe into the garbage can and spun around to face him. “Why’d you change the song? I told you I wasn’t ready.”
“Actually, you never said that. You said, ‘We’ll see.’ So how was I supposed to know you were actively avoiding singing it? It really wasn’t that bad. You’ve got the chops, now you just need the confidence.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thank you for your diagnosis, Doc.”
“Avery . . . I thought I was helping,” he said with a shrug.
“Well, you weren’t,” I snapped back. I took one last look in the mirror, stood up, and tied my apron around my waist. “I should probably get back out there, I have a bunch of tables waiting on their orders.”
Charlie backed away, his expression a bit wounded. “Yeah, the lunch crowd should get moving if they’re going to make curtain. Oh, before I forget, Kai got called in at the last minute to cover in The Lion King matinee.”
“So you’ll be duetting me?” I asked.
“If that’s okay?”
I forced a smile back on my face. “Yeah, of course it is.”
“Good.”
I stepped back into the crowded dining room and spotted Gabe clapping and singing along to “Dancing Queen” from Mamma Mia!—a sight I never thought I’d see. I twirled over to his stool and sang a few bars to him. Gabe pulled a cheesy bite from his meatball sandwich and bobbed his head along with me to the music before I shimmied over to my other tables to take their orders.
An hour later, following a Sondheim tribute that included an immersive Sweeney Todd moment that left Lyla covered in fake blood and minced meat, it was time for me to perform again. Charlie swung his acoustic guitar over his shoulder, and we met underneath the mainstage spotlight. After adjusting our mics, we sat down on two stools facing the audience. Lifting his pick, Charlie strummed the opening notes to “Falling Slowly” from Once.