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.
As he and I sang about redemption and second chances through the airy and delicate notes of the ballad, I let the music overtake my soul, and this time, my voice didn’t crack—it soared. Our tight harmonies and the apropos lyrics about sinking boats and concepts of home swelled through the diner as Gabe’s eyes settled firmly on me, full of pride and admiration. He was seeing me, really seeing me.
I glanced at Charlie, who was beaming as we took our bows. He slung the guitar behind his back and grabbed our stools to exit the stage. Nodding in the direction of all the dollar bills spilling out of our tip jar, he said, “You sounded fantastic. Looks like you found your new showstopper.”
“Our new showstopper,” I replied. “We sounded fantastic together!”
“Yeah, we sure did,” he agreed.
“Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I guess I’m just getting my sea legs back and haven’t been feeling all that sturdy lately. I didn’t mean to bite your head off,” I said, squeezing him on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I just . . . kinda selfishly, couldn’t wait to hear you sing it. It was good, you know. You were good.”
The words signaled an unspoken truce, any awkwardness from earlier evaporating with their sound into the coffee-scented air. Taking us out of the moment with his excited voice, Gabe found his way over to where Charlie and I were standing together.
“Avery, that was incredible. You sounded amazing. You too, man,” Gabe said, jutting his arm out for a handshake. “I’m Gabe.”
“Hey,” Charlie said, reaching for Gabe’s proffered hand, “it’s good to finally be able to put a face with the name.”
Gabe’s eyebrows furrowed and his eyes shot to me, clearly confused by Charlie’s comment.
I interjected, “Charlie and I waited tables together back when I used to work here during college. He’s the manager now.”
“That’s right. I remember,” Gabe said.
Charlie’s eyes zeroed in on him. “Yeah, I remember you too. Avery used to talk about you a lot.”
Gabe lowered his head and nodded. “I can imagine that they weren’t the most flattering things back then, if we’re being honest. But a lot of time’s passed”—Gabe shifted his gaze to me—“and I’m not that same guy.”
Charlie repositioned the guitar on his back and glanced between me and Gabe, suddenly aware he was now the third wheel. He looked at his watch, cleared his throat, and said, “You only have a few minutes left in your shift. If you want, you two kids can take off. I’ll clock you out.”
“Thanks man, appreciate it,” Gabe said.
“Gabe, just give me a minute. I have to grab my things and put this apron away. Be right back.”
I scurried to the dressing room, shoved my apron in my locker, and grabbed my coat and purse. When I rejoined Gabe in the restaurant, he took my hand and led me, not to the door, but instead to the dance floor in front of the stage. Surprised by the gesture, my face broke out into a wide grin as he twirled me around and then pulled me into his broad chest, his arm wrapping around my waist. I put my head on his shoulder, and we swayed to “Tonight” from West Side Story, and for just a moment, he was Tony and I was Maria and nobody else existed in the diner, New York City, or the whole damn world.
A sudden vibration from his phone rattled all the way up to his chest, and I pulled my head back to look at him. “Do you need to get that?”
He slid his hand into his pocket, once again silencing the ringer like he had at the coffee shop, and drew me into his embrace. With an alluring smile and attentive gaze, he caressed a hand over my back.
“No, my dear, it’s only you tonight,” he said, and pulled me in a little closer.
Chapter Eighteen