Thank You for Listening(96)
He raised a suspicious brow. “Why do I feel like I’m in a scene from Grease?”
Sewanee giggled coyly. “Let’s get a celebration drink first, mister, and see where that takes us.”
“Tell me you mean booze and not a milk shake.”
“Why, of course, you silly!”
He sidled up close to her, his fingers finding their way to the back pocket of her jeans. “Is it weird this whole retro thing is turning me on?”
She slapped his hand away. “You behave yourself, Nicholas Sullivan.”
Nick groaned. “Is this payback for last night, Sandra Dee?”
Sewanee stopped, turned around, all wide doll eyes, and placed her hand on her chest. “Why, whatever do you mean?” Never breaking eye contact, she slowly slid her hand downward, and then around both breasts, and then out for him to take. Daintily. Like a lady. “Shall we?”
Just as he was about to take it, she turned and kept walking.
“Oh, we are going to ‘shall we’ all right,” Nick promised, trotting after her.
They crossed a piazza, the open door of a taverna on the other side beckoning. There were a few tables set up outside, folded wooden chairs leaning against them. They sat and waited for the server to come and take their order. Normally Sewanee would have ventured inside to get someone’s attention, but not today, not now. Every extra minute she played Nick was an hour in Nick time. Besides, she was more than content to be sitting in a somewhat rickety chair, at a somewhat rickety table, with a very solid Nick. A solid if somewhat frustrated, somewhat derailed, somewhat put-out Nick.
Before the waiter even landed at the table, Nick held up two fingers and called out to him, “Prosecco, grazie.”
The waiter spun right around and went back inside.
Nick was silent, looking out at the piazza. He drummed his fingers on the table between them.
“What are you thinking?” she asked in her normal voice.
“What I want to do to you first,” he answered without hesitation.
Would his honest directness ever not catch her off guard? It was so disarmingly sexy.
She looked down at his hand. At the ring on his middle finger. She reached over and touched it. “Does this have a story?”
He interlaced their fingers. “It was Tom’s. June’s ex-partner? She refused to marry him. And she didn’t believe in rings. But he did, so he wore one.”
“That’s sweet.”
“No, it’s not. It was a fight. Everything with them was a fight. You don’t want to marry me? Fine! I’ll wear a ring anyway, how do you like that?” Nick had to chuckle. “Maniacs.” His focus went back to it. “I found it in her stuff after she died. I never knew she’d taken it with her when she moved us back to the States.”
“Is he still around?”
“He is. I’m actually going to stop over in Dublin on the way home. Check on him.” He looked into her eye. “He took it hard. Even though it’s been, what, twenty years since they split. I think he always believed she’d come back to him.”
The waiter dropped off two glasses of bubbly and Nick gave him cash, told him to keep the change. When he was gone, they raised their glasses.
“To . . .” Nick said, an echo of their Vegas toast. He waited for Sewanee to join in, but she took a moment and then said instead: “To June.”
“Of course,” he murmured, “to Junie.” Then, “For bringing you to me.”
“And you to me.”
They both sipped.
“I decided last night I’m officially done,” Nick said, setting down his glass. “Casanova’s gonna be Brock’s last project.”
“Really?”
Nick waved a hand. “I’m ready. And I couldn’t have a higher note to go out on.” He smiled. “Besides, Sarah Westholme’s spoiled me for any other co-narrator and she’s retreating back into the mists of retirement.”
Sewanee watched the bubbles rise up in her glass. “I actually don’t know about that.” Nick quirked his head at her and she met his gaze. “I liked it. I liked doing Romance.”
Nick put his hand over the top of her glass. “Don’t drink any more of this, I think they put something in it.”
Sewanee chuckled, shrugged. “I’m serious.”
“But you hate the HEA bullshit.”
At his skeptical look, she took back her glass. “I mean, yes. I hated the premise that all we have to do is endure the twists and trope-y turns of life and then, bam, we get rewarded. Ridiculous.”
“Indeed.”
“But recently I’ve been thinking . . .” She looked out at the piazza. “I haven’t got this totally figured out, but I think my problem was that it promised something unattainable. We can now rest assured these people will go forth and live happily ever after. But, really, HEA comes from fairy tales and fairy tales end with: and they lived happily ever after. Lived. Not live. Past tense, not present. And that works for me.”
Nick’s brow crinkled. He leaned forward. “Sorry, the tense change made it work for you?”
“Granted, I’m a word nerd, but yeah.” He still looked confused so she leaned forward, too. “To live HEA is to say, from today onward life will be happy. I mean, how can you know that? Shit happens. Over and over. It’s what Stu was saying at dinner, that’s what got me thinking about this. That life isn’t linear. About that incredible dish being a plate of failure.” Sewanee took a sip. “I don’t think you can know if you lived happily ever after until your life’s over.” She set down her glass. “Maybe that’s why your whole life flashes before your eyes when you die. So you can see the movie from beginning to end and know.”