She’d finally done it.
My Lauren was getting married.
I didn’t know how to process it, not entirely. I’d expected to feel like I was losing her, that as soon as she got that ring on her finger the girl I had grown up and shared secrets and talked about boys with would just vanish into thin air – poof! – and in her place there’d be this complete stranger, a woman who had a whole new life that didn’t include me at all… but I didn’t. I wasn’t losing her at all.
She was gaining everything she had ever wanted. Her happiness was my happiness. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
And the thing is, for all the shit I’d talked about Drew over the years, there was no way of getting around the fact that he looked for all the world like a man in love. When Lauren made her way to end of the aisle, it was like the rest of the world ceased to exist for him: all his friends, his family, his loved ones, gone in an instant. The only person that mattered was wearing white and standing just in front of him, ready to start their new lives together.
And yes, I cried. I cried when the music started playing and Lauren began her walk down the aisle. I cried when they made their vows – when Drew really managed to lay out how he felt about her. Who would have thought he was such a wordsmith on the quiet? Then again, by that point at least I wasn’t alone. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Between the bridesmaids, the bride and the collective older female relatives, it’s a wonder Lauren and Drew didn’t get charged extra for flood damage.
But it was done. When the officiant announced that Drew could kiss the bride, the whole crowd assembled broke into cheers and applause. Whatever it had taken, it had been worth it. They had earned it.
And now it was time to relax – for them and me both.
Whoever had been in charge of arranging the reception had obviously got the advance notice that Carter wasn’t coming, so it wasn’t as though I had to spend the whole evening staring at an empty seat and an empty plate. No one mentioned the fact that our table seemed to be one guest short, and I was grateful for that; today of all days, I didn’t feel like explaining why I was going stag.
For all intents and purposes, and at least as far as tonight is concerned, Carter no longer exists. I’m surprisingly OK with the fact.
It’s not that I don’t miss him, or that I wish things hadn’t ended between us the way they did: of course I do. I’m sure I’ll miss him for a long time, and the way that he broke things off was shitty in the extreme, but that doesn’t change the facts. We’re broken up. He’s gone – or maybe I’m gone. He’s made no effort to contact me. He doesn’t want to be with me anymore.
I deserve better than that.
I deserve one good night, at least. Even though it’s Lauren’s day, I feel a little bit like I’m in the middle of a fairy tale – not my fairy tale, exactly, not where I’m the lead character… but like a supporting cast member. I might not get my own fairy godmother, but I still get to marvel at the magic of it all. And who knows? Maybe things will all work out for the best either way, even without Carter. Cinderella never went looking for her Prince Charming, after all. She just wanted a pretty dress and a night on the town. I could make do with that, for now at least. And if you’re going to let your hair down a little, where better to do it than New Orleans?
But for whatever reason, dancing is the last thing on my mind. Ordinarily, I would have been right up there on the floor with everyone else, spinning and whirling and laughing and having a whale of a time… but tonight, I’m happy to just watch the others have fun. It’s so rare to see such a large group of people filled with such unrestrained joy. The energy of it all was infectious. Between watching Jessica make friends with a couple of Drew’s nieces, who have spent the night following her around like her own personal fan club, and watching Danielle attempt to climb one of Drew’s brothers like a tree, there are plenty of opportunities to enjoy myself without leaving my chair.
It’s an hour or so later before I feel a heavy tap on my shoulder. ‘Hey, Ella?’ Paige asks. She’s slurring a little bit, but smiling the smile of someone on her third Mai Tai of the evening with no signs of slowing down.
‘Yeah?’
‘Isn’t that your friend?’
You never really look at the band at a wedding. Unless something goes wrong, they’re just sort of there, playing away while everyone else has a good time around them. Between making sure all the guests were having fun, deflecting stress away from the bride and groom and trying to stop myself from thinking about Carter, I hadn’t looked over at them once. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t spotted him, despite the fact that his face had been swirling through my mind all night; it was the only explanation I could think of, anyway.
I follow the point of Paige’s finger over to the bandstand, and sure enough, there he is – seated behind the piano, looking right at me as though he’d been waiting all night to catch my eye.
Jackson Robichaux, in the flesh.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I wait for a gap in the music to try and catch Jack’s eye, but even though I know for a fact he’s seen me, it’s not until the band takes a quick fifteen that he steps away from the keyboard and comes to find me at the bar.
‘Hey,’ he says.
It’s a little underwhelming, I have to admit. Hey? I think. What the hell do you mean, hey? Why are you at my friend’s wedding? Why didn’t you mention it earlier? And since when do you play the piano?
Eventually, I settle on ‘What are you doing here?’
It seems like a good place to start.
‘I’m filling in for a buddy,’ he says, holding up his hand. ‘He broke his finger, spent all of Friday in the ER, but he didn’t want to let the bride down. It’s bad for business for him, and I could use the money, so…’
‘I can imagine,’ I say. I think back to the whole flower fiasco, and I’m immensely glad that we didn’t have this fresh shitshow to deal with. I don’t know how we would have coped if we’d had to find a new band as well. ‘Did you know?’
‘Know what?’
‘Did you know that this was the wedding you were filling in at?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, I didn’t. I swear. It was all real last minute. Turn up, hit the piano, play for an hour or two, collect my cut. I didn’t really question it.’ Jack pauses. ‘I’d be lying if I said I’m not glad, though.’
‘Glad?’
‘Yeah, glad.’ He points across to the bride and groom, still wrapped up in each other. ‘They seem really happy together. It’s nice to be a small part of that.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Yeah, they really do.’ As I watch Lauren and Drew revel in being the centre of attention, Paige appears as if by magic, gives a hushed whisper between the two of them and points in our direction. I see Lauren squint her eyes at us, as though she’s checking to make sure that what she thinks she’s seeing is really there, and then a look of realisation crosses her face and she smiles like a lighthouse beam. We’re going to have a long, long conversation about this later, I’m sure of it – if I know Lauren, she’ll pretty much insist – but in the meantime she’s content to stand off on the sidelines like a mother hen.
I can practically hear her voice in my ear from the other night: Oh, El… you are totally hooking up with a musician at my wedding. It seemed ridiculous then, but now…
‘Do you want to dance?’ Jack asks.
‘What? Dance? Now?’
‘Well, I mean, it is a wedding. I think that’s what people do, right?’
‘Yeah, but you’re…’
He grins. ‘The help?’
‘Working.’
‘I’m on my break. Besides, I haven’t seen you even set foot on the dancefloor all night. I’m starting to think I’m going to have to show you how it’s done.’
‘I know how to dance. You saw me at your little bar. I’m just… you know.’
‘Do I? Want to explain it?’
Yeah, maybe he’s got me there. The truth of it is, I don’t
know what the hell is going on. I’ve been in kind of a tailspin since Paige pointed him out.
He’s here, I think. You wanted to see him again, and now he’s here. Don’t overthink it. Just… enjoy the moment, for once in your life. No plans. No doubts. Just live in the now.
What could go wrong?
‘Look,’ he says. ‘I’ve got about ten minutes left before that CD player runs out and I have to go and hit the keys again. I just found you again in about the least likely situation I could imagine, and I’d really, really like a dance with you. So what do you say? You think your friend will object?’
I look across at Lauren, who’s grinning at me with a megawatt smile in between what I can only assume is her explaining the situation to Drew. ‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t think she’ll mind at all.’
‘Good.’ He takes my hand and leads me gently to the dancefloor as though I’m walking on air. Maybe it’s the singular glass of champagne I’ve had going to my head, or maybe it’s just the tough of his fingers on my skin, but the sensation is electric. I fold myself into him as the CD slips into a slower song; around us, couples who’ve known each other their entire lives sway gently to the music, inviting us to join them, whatever we are. The music is all that matters.
‘I looked for you,’ I say as we dance. ‘Yesterday morning, I mean. After you left.’
His brow furrows, and I feel his grip on my hand tighten ever-so-slightly. ‘I left you a note,’ he says. ‘In the bathroom. Did you not get it?’
‘Yeah, I got it. I mean I went looking for you. Back to the Coeur de Vie. I wanted to thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘Saving me?’
‘You already thanked me plenty for that.’
‘Staying, then. For taking such good care of me.’
‘I’m not sure I did such a great job of that either. You tried to walk your way into every lamppost and pothole between the bar and your hotel. I’m surprised you’re not still hungover.’
‘What about for staying with me, then?’ I say. ‘For staying, and for being a gentleman.’ Even though I really, really wanted you to be anything but.
He pauses, and then smiles. ‘Yeah, we can go with that if you like. For being a gentleman. I can live with that. Did you manage to get your phone unlocked, at least?’
I nod. ‘Yeah. 1959?’
‘Hmm?’
‘The passcode. You set it to 1959.’
‘Oh, yeah. Miles Davis, Kind of Blue.’
‘That’s the first thing you thought of? Really?’
He grins. ‘What can I say? I’m a predictable kind of guy. You didn’t miss anything important, did you?’
‘No,’ I say. It’s funny… since I punched that new passcode into my phone, I’ve barely looked at it. Compare that to two days ago when I was spending hours staring at my call list, just praying that Carter would finally come to his senses and drop me a line. Now… I don’t know. If he called right now, I’m not even sure I’d answer. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Good,’ he says. ‘I’d hate to think I caused you any problems.’
‘Oh really? That’s not the vibe I’m getting.’
‘Has anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of argumentative when you’re drunk?’
‘I’m very argumentative period, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Oh, believe me… it’s kind of hard to miss.’
‘I wasn’t too terrible, was I?’
‘You mean other than the part where I had to pretty much carry you up the stairs?’
I punch his arm gently. ‘Liar.’
‘Little bit.’ He twirls me around, and I realise just how easy it would have been for him to carry me if it came down to it; in his arms I feel light, ephemeral. ‘You were fine, Ella. Great. It was… an interesting night, put it that way.’
‘Even with me hitting on you?’
‘Oh, is that what you were doing? I must have missed that.’
‘Jerk.’
‘Yep. Jerk and a liar, that’s me. Third date and you’ve already got me pegged.’
‘Date?’ I say. ‘Is that what you think this is?’
He dips me so low that my hair almost skims the ground. ‘Depends. How am I doing?’
‘Pretty well. Solid eight.’
‘I’ll take it.’
‘I really am sorry if I was a pain in the ass the other night. I didn’t mean to get so out of hand.’
He shakes his head. ‘Really, you were fine. I promise.’
‘You didn’t have to stay with me. I would have been OK.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt about that. I stayed because I wanted to.’
‘Because my drunk ass is such good company?’
‘Every version of you I’ve met so far has been good company. You know. For a troublemaker.’
‘I’m no such thing.’
‘Good company?’
‘A troublemaker. You know what I mean.’
‘Sure I do.’
‘Smartass.’
He nods. ‘I’ll add it to the list.’
‘Right next to surprisingly good dancer.’
‘You reckon so? I’m glad you approve. You know, you’re not all that bad yourself.’
‘At dancing?’
‘Among other things.’
‘Flatterer.’
‘Hey, I calls ‘em like I sees ‘em, remember?’
‘Oh, I remember. How could I forget?’
He pauses, and the grin fades slightly. ‘You’re… really quite something, Ella. You really are.’
Yeah, sure I am. A drunk mess. An obsessive planner. A real stick-in-the-mud who couldn’t even have a good time at her best friend’s bachelorette party without finding a way to mess it up. There was no way around it: before tonight, Jack hadn’t seen me at my best. Then again, Carter had seen me at my best for five years, and look where that had got me.
‘Come on, Jack. Please.’
‘I mean it,’ he says. ‘Honest to God, it’s not just some line. I knew you were something special right from that day at the Coeur de Vie.’
‘Now I know you’re lying.’
‘Cross my heart.’
‘How could you have possibly known?’
‘Oh, honey,’ he says. ‘How could I ever have not? It’s just… there. Constantly, no matter what you do. You’re smart even when you’re wasted. You’re charming even though you’re possibly the most argumentative person I’ve ever met – and you’re beautiful. Straight-up, top-to-toe beautiful. No qualifier on that one.’ He smiles, soft and warm and honest. ‘Can you really blame me for wanting to see more of you?’
Well, I think, when you put it like that…
‘You know I leave tomorrow, right?’ I say.
‘Then we’d better make the most of tonight, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, I do. Definitely.’ Do I ever.
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ he says, pulling away from me for the first time in what feels like hours. ‘But for right now, I’ve got to go.’
‘Go?’
‘Not like that.’ He gestures over his shoulder to the stage. ‘That’s my cue,’ he says. The CD piping music into the reception hall is coming to an end; out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jack’s bandmates getting ready to pick things up again. They’re waiting for him, and as much as I wish I could keep him all for myself – and I really, really wish I could – it’s Lauren’s wedding, and he has a job to do.
‘How long are you on for?’ I ask. ‘How many more songs?’
‘Until ten,’ he says. ‘An hour and a half, that’s all. Plus an encore, if it goes well.’
‘And then?’
He twists a strand of hair from the back of my neck around his finger, and leans in close – so close that I can feel his breath even before his words register in my ear. ‘And then I’ll come and find you. I promise.’
I watch as he turns away from me, his fingers playing across the skin of my arm just for
a second until distance forces him to break contact, and then taking his seat at the piano and giving the cue for the band to start up again.
As they seamlessly blend in with the end of the music on the CD, I smile to myself.
That’s a promise I can’t wait for him to keep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He kisses me softly, his lips on mine as he holds my hand gently and spins me around the dance floor, and I’m in a world of my own.
The wedding is just about coming to a close by now; the rest of the band took off over an hour ago, to be replaced by the hotel’s sound system and a carefully curated MP3 playlist to keep the party flowing into the early hours. This is New Orleans, after all; the southern hospitality doesn’t stop until everyone has had their fill. Between the food and the drink and the dancing, the night has been perfect.
The day belonged to Lauren… but the evening has belonged to Jack. From the moment I saw him, he was the only thing on my mind.
I watched him play, just as I had that night at the Coeur de Vie. I watched him draw the audience onto the dancefloor, encouraging even the most reluctant to have a good time. I saw the glances he cast in my direction, as if making sure that I was still there, that I hadn’t snuck out the back door while he wasn’t looking.
But I wasn’t going anywhere.
And then the finale: ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve been Jackson Robichaux, and it’s been my absolute honour to play for you this evening.’ The rest of the band making their congratulations and well-wishes to the bride and groom, and taking hearty backslaps from people who’d enjoy the performance. The slow drift of guests back to their cars, their Ubers, their hotel rooms for the night.
But not Jack.
He takes my hand in his – so tender, so gentle, like a tiny bird he’s trying not to injure between his dextrous fingers – and leads me out to the floor. I still find myself strangely reticent, but I’m easily swayed once Jack draws near. ‘You’re not one of those girls who doesn’t dance, are you?’ he asks, once we’ve already started.
Smooth: A New Love Romance Novel (Bad Boy Musicians) Page 16