If Ever(39)

"Hey, Tom. Did I ever tell you about the time I went to confession and accidentally picked up a call girl?" Hank asks.

The waitress delivers our food and as we eat, Hank regales us with one crazy story after another. Our laughter attracts Sonya and Dominic, and soon our private booth is surrounded by a handful of others enjoying the show, but ruining what should be my private time with Tom.

After a while, my side aching from all the laughter, Tom says, "I hate to break up the party, but I've got to get to the airport."

My heart drops.

"Ah darn it, and here I was jabbering away when all you wanted to do was corner the girl and count her freckles."

Pavel and Sonya laugh and say their goodbyes. Hank shuffles out of the booth and whispers in my ear.

"It's always good to keep 'em wanting more." He winks at me and shakes Tom's hand. "Best of luck to you, son. You better bring your A game with this one."

"Thanks, Sir, I'll do my best." Tom and I slide out of the booth.

"I'm sorry about the interruptions," I say. "I swear this never happens when you're not here. You are a people magnet."

"I think there was a conspiracy to keep us from being alone, but it was fun. Hank's a riot." He gestures toward the door. "Any chance I could convince you to ride along with me to the airport?"

And spend more time with him? "Of course."

I think he visibly relaxed at my response. His hand is at the small of my back as he guides me toward a black town car.

"I ordered it earlier," he explains opening the door for me.

"Pretty swanky." I slide in and he follows, telling the driver his airline. The driver pulls into traffic. I turn to Tom. "Thank you for coming."

But he isn't listening. He sweeps me into his arms. His lips crush mine and I lose myself to the touch of his kisses. He coaxes my lips apart and his tongue mingles with mine. I place my hand on his chest and soak in his scent. He is solid and real and he flew across the country just to see me.

"Oh, Chelsea. You have no idea what you do to me," he whispers in my ear, tickling my skin with his breath.

I'm at a loss. I want to beg him not to go, but that wouldn't be fair. He can't stay, and I can't follow. I press my cheek to his. "I hate that you have to go." The town car pulls into the kiss and fly lane at the airport. How appropriate.

He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. "I'm so glad I came."

"So am I. You have no idea."

"All I want is to be with you and get to know everything about you."

"I'll be in New York before you know it," I say more for my own benefit.

"I'm counting on that."

The interior lights come on. Tom pulls out his wallet. "Here's for my fare." He pulls out a few twenties. "This should be enough to drive my friend back to her apartment."

The driver nods his thanks.

Tom sighs and steps out of the car. I stand next to the open door, longing to follow him back to New York.

He lowers his forehead to mine. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He smiles, kisses me quick on the forehead, and turns to enter the terminal. I duck back into the car, so my last memory isn't of him disappearing from sight. That would be too much to bear.

As the car pulls into traffic, I struggle between the grin that covers my face and the ache in my heart.





13





Los Angeles





"If I'd known meeting a guy would put you in such a great mood that you'd work this hard, I would have been parading men through here from week one," Dominic says after we're safe for another week.

I toss an empty water bottle at him. "You're not even close to funny, and I'm too happy to fight with you."

"Good, because we have a lot more work to do."

And since Tom's busy on the other side of the country, I dive into rehearsals with a new passion. It's ten o'clock before I get home, and I could really use hearing Tom's voice. He texted an hour ago, so maybe he's still up.

It's an unseasonably balmy night, so I sit on my tiny deck overlooking the parking lot of my apartment when Tom's accented voice answers. "Hey, love."

My heart flips every time he says that. I know it's just a common English phrase, but I like to pretend it means more. "Am I calling too late?"

"Not at all. A bunch of us went out after the show for a friend's birthday. I'm walking home now."

"Hank was voted off tonight."

"I'm sorry. He's a terrific guy, but he never could dance."

Which is absolutely true, but it didn't matter. He was always nice. "I'm going to miss him. He introduced me to bourbon."

"You drink bourbon?" He asks, surprised.

"Only with Hank," I laugh, feeling melancholy. The stars are out and the moon illuminates the puffy clouds. Whenever someone leaves in my life, it's always painful. "So, how was your show tonight?"

"A quiet audience, so we had to work harder to get a reaction out of them."

"I suppose a Tuesday isn't a wild night for theatre."

“Not necessarily. After the show a couple of housewives were feeling up my backside when I posed for a picture with them,” he says.