One True Loves(31)

It feels so good to flirt. No one ever talks about that. But in that moment, I felt like flirting was the very thing that made the world go around.

The excitement of wondering what the other person will say next. The thrill of knowing someone is looking at you, liking what they see. The rush of looking at someone and liking what you see in them. Flirting is probably just as much about falling in love with yourself as it is with someone else.

It’s about seeing yourself through someone’s eyes and realizing there is plenty to like about yourself, plenty of reasons someone might hang on your every word.

“So you’re a music teacher,” I told him. “Where do you teach?”

“Actually, not far from Blair Books. I’m just over in Concord,” he said.

“Are you serious?” I said. “You’ve been that close by and you never stopped in to say hello?”

Sam looked at me and said, very sincerely, “If I had known you’d be there, I assure you, I’d have rushed over.”

I could not stop the smile from spreading across my face. I grabbed my gimlet and took a sip. Sam’s beer was almost finished.

“Why don’t I get you another?” I said.

He nodded and I waved the bartender over.

“Your most expensive beer on the menu,” I said to her gallantly. Sam laughed.

“That’s a pretty rich stout, are you sure you want that?” the bartender asked.

I looked at Sam. He put his hands in the air as if to say, “You’re in charge.”

“That’ll be fine,” I said to her.

She left and I turned back to him. We were both quiet for a minute, unsure what to say next.

“What’s your favorite song to play?” I asked him. It was a stupid question. I knew it when I asked it.

“On the piano?”

“Sure.”

“What do you want to hear?” he asked.

I laughed. “I didn’t mean now. There’s no piano now.”

“What are you talking about? We played ‘Chopsticks’ right here on this bar.”

I laughed at him, game to play, but suddenly having a hard time remembering what songs are played on a piano. “How about ‘Piano Man’?”

Sam made a face. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“It’s all I could think of!”

“All right, all right,” he said. “It’s actually a good choice anyway because it has a nice bit of show-off flair at the beginning.”

He straightened his posture and rolled up his sleeves, as if he were playing an actual instrument. He moved a napkin out of the way and then picked up my drink. “If you could please get this out of my way, miss,” he said.

“Certainly, sir,” I said.

He interlaced his fingers and stretched them out away from his chest.

“Are you ready?” he asked me.

“I was born ready.”

He nodded his head dramatically and began to run his hands over the bar, as if there were a full piano right there in front of him. I watched as his fingers glided over the nonexistent keys. He was so confident as he pretended to play that I almost believed it.

“Excuse me,” he said as he was playing, “but I believe the harmonica would have come in by now.”

“What? I can’t play the harmonica.”

“Sure you can.”

“I don’t know the first thing.”

“You must know how musicians hold harmonicas. I assume you’ve seen at least one blues band in your life.”

“I mean, sure.”

He kept his head down, looking at the bar, playing. People were starting to look at us. He didn’t care. Neither did I.

“Let’s hear it.”

I surprised myself and I did it. I put my hands up to my mouth as if there were a harmonica between them and I ran my mouth over the space it would have occupied.

“Slower,” Sam said. “You’re not Neil Young.”

I laughed and stopped for a minute. “I don’t even know what I’m doing!”

“You’re doing great! Don’t stop.”

So I played along.

“All right, wait for a minute; there’s no harmonica in this part.”

I put my fake harmonica down as he kept playing. I could tell he was going through the full song, each note. I watched how effortless it was for him, how his fingers seemed to move with the expectation they’d make a beautiful sound. And yet they were making no sound at all.

“Now!” he said. “Get that harmonica going. This is your moment.”

“It is? I didn’t know!” I said, desperately pulling my hands up to my face and really committing to it.

And then Sam slowed and I could tell the song was ending. I took my hands down and I watched him as he hit the last few notes. And then he was done. And he looked at me.

“Next request?” he asked.

“Have dinner with me?” I asked him.

It just popped out of my mouth. I wanted to talk more, to spend more time with him, to hear more about him. I wanted more. “We can eat here or anywhere nearby if you’re in the mood for something in particular.”

“Emma . . .” he said seriously.

“Yeah?”