Then There Was You(48)

“Really? Oh my gosh. Thank you.” She pressed a tight hand to her heart, fluttering her eyelids. “I love you so much. I know all of your songs by heart,” she chattered.

Chris smiled and cleared his throat. “Thank you. I love my fans, too. You take care of yourself, okay?”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she squeaked, bouncing around in place.

This was an interesting experience for me. Clearly, she idolized him, but I only saw Chris as Chris. Not as the sexy rock star. He was just Chris to me.

“You’re welcome, Emma. Take care.” Chris winked at her.

The sweet girl skipped away with her new prized possession clutched to her chest.

After she walked away, Chris leaned back in his chair and caught my gaze. I wondered what he was thinking.

I giggled. “Well, that was—”

“Crazy? I know,” Chris nodded, exasperated. “But, it comes with the territory.”

“You handle it so well, with such patience and grace.”

“I learned fast. I had to get used to all this attention, when really all I wanted to do was just get up on stage and sing, you know?”

I nodded, remembering the way he owned the stage last night. I confirmed with a mischievous grin, “You do that well, too.”

“Thanks, Mrs. H—” He caught himself again and corrected, “I mean, Salem. I can’t get used to calling you that. Anyway, you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Um… thanks… I think,” I stammered, hoping he meant it as a compliment.

As if he could read my mind, he said, “Oh, it’s definitely a compliment.” He flashed me a knowing smile.

As if someone had flipped a switch inside me, something instantly changed. Blushing, I instinctively covered my mouth, attempting to hide my grin. I stared him, surprised by how forward he was being, and suddenly it hit me—the difference in Chris.

This was a man sitting in front of me. A very attractive, very confident man. And that’s when I felt it for the very first time—the pitter patter of my heart in my chest.

“It’s true, Salem,” he continued, shyly glancing up at me from the now wadded napkin he’d been messing with. “Not many adults paid much attention to me at all back then. You were like a mother figure to me.”

The word ‘mother’ planted me in my seat. Instantly my chest deflated like a balloon, and I looked down. I was a mother figure to him. I couldn’t dare get my hopes up for anything else. Pipe down, Salem, Former counselor… remember?

Chris sat up, placing his elbows on the tiny round table for two. He leaned toward me, and I fought the urge to pull away. A strong scent of cool, refreshing masculinity invaded my senses. He stared profoundly into my eyes and in a hushed voice said, “I owe everything to you, Salem.”

Just hearing my name on his lips sent shivers down my spine—a riveting experience that I never expected.

In a flash, the moment was over. He pulled away, leaning back against his chair. His dark, stormy irises held a tempest of emotions that I couldn’t decipher, and yet they felt like magnets to my guarded heart. I was frozen. I peered back into them, feeling something. I wasn’t exactly sure what, but it felt strange. Clearly he was no longer that moody teenager, but rather a handsome, compassionate man, luring me in with his delicious, dark chocolate eyes.

Shaking his head as if to snap himself out of a trance, he stammered, “Sorry, I… I… Where is our waiter?” He looked around the room, avoiding the obvious heat of the moment.

My heart slammed in my chest as I tried to clear my head of the dizzying fog he’d left me in. I glanced down at the hands trembling in my lap. Trying to free myself from the vortex of emotions that was spinning inside of me, I inhaled a deep breath, but the bewildering moment continued to linger. What has gotten into you, Salem? This is a former client.

“Salem.” Chris’s husky voice interrupted my thoughts. “I don’t have much time here. I’m leaving first thing in the morning. I feel like we have so much to catch up on. Why don’t we get our orders to go, and you come spend time with me in my apartment.”

His apartment? No. I cleared my throat, shaking away the mental picture of being in his space, seeing his things, sitting on his couch… I shook my head adamantly. “Chris, I can’t.”

His eyes widened. “I don’t mean like that,” he insinuated, blinking his eyes as if he were shaking the picture of it out of his head too. “I just want to talk. I feel like all eyes are on us here. I can’t let my guard down. I have so much to talk to you about, and so many listening ears. What do you say?” The boyish hopefulness on his face was hard to say no to.