"Have you met Ellie?" Bell asks me.
"Yeah, I have. She seems . . . competent."
"Yeah, competent is one way to describe her."
I look at her and laugh as she squeezes her way to the bar. She orders us two shots. Handing one over to me she says, "To women who think they're all that, may their boobs drop at a young age."
I laugh so hard I can barely down my shot. She orders another and this time I make the toast: "To women who see through the women who think they're all that."
Bell sucks in a breath to control her laughter and drinks her shot then asks, "You're not worried about her, are you?"
"No."
"Well good, because you have no reason to be. My brother loves you."
I smile at her. "I know."
"Speaking of my brother, what are you doing for his birthday?"
I look at her blankly. "Shit Bell, it's this Saturday, isn't it? I have no idea. With everything . . ." I'm not sure if she knows about Ben yet, even though everyone seems to know everything before I do. "I've been so busy I haven't even thought about it."
"Lucky for you I'm an awesome party planner."
"I don't know about a party, though. There's so much going on with the tour right now . . ."
"Nonsense, that's the perfect reason to have a blowout party-to celebrate River's birthday and the band's departure. Let's make it a surprise."
I look at her questioningly.
"Dahlia, I'll take care of everything. You just get him out of the house for a few hours Saturday. Take him to dinner or something for his birthday."
As my eyes roam the bar, they fall on River's table, where Ellie is leaning over him, handing him a shot. Her chest is on full display and I roll my eyes. "Okay Bell. If you're sure. Come on, my turn to buy a round."
Three shots and two beers later, I am feeling no pain. Bell has changed topics so many times I'm having a hard time keeping up. She went from talking about birth control and how she can never remember to take the pill at the same time every day to her recent shopping spree at Avery's, and now she's telling me her plans for the party. I'm trying to stay focused, listening and nodding, but my mind keeps going back to Grace. I can't stop thinking about how we left things.
But the sound of a familiar voice brings me to full attention. My eyes dart to the stage and I see him up there looking at ease, relaxed, like the stage is his second home.
"Hello everyone," his deep voice welcomes the crowd. When I see him up there like that I can't believe he's mine. He stands with a power that commands attention. His toned muscles flex under his T-shirt with every twist and turn he makes as he adjusts the microphone height with his guitar slung around him, hugging his back.
For some reason every time I see him like that onstage it steals my breath away. His smile is wide, his dimples always on full display, his eyes bright. He's so steady and sure and his passion for singing couldn't be clearer. When he's up there I know it's where he's meant to be. For a moment I wish it could always stay this simple for him-just write songs and bring them to life, no talk of touring and moving up to a grander scale. But the band is on the rise and he deserves the fame and all that goes with it. I just hope he learns to be happy with it.
"I'm going to sing a few songs tonight that I wrote for my girl," he says, his eyes shining on me. The way he looks at me sends prickles along my skin. He pulls his guitar around him. "One, two, one, two, three, four," he mouths before the opening music surges throughout the room.
You were my once in a lifetime.
This I knew from the moment your eyes met mine.
You were my once in a lifetime.
This I knew the first time I whispered into your ear and my heart stopped.
You were my once in a lifetime.
This I knew when your face touched my spirit.
You were my once in a lifetime.
This I knew when I kissed your lips and felt it in my soul.
So where did you go, where did you go?
My concerns about Grace flee for the moment in my excitement at watching him perform. Hearing him sing about us, his feelings for me, brings such peace. His evocative voice captures the audience's attention. Couples start dancing, people begin to sway, and everyone is singing along. But he's singing it to me as if we were alone, and that thrills me. He stops playing the guitar and lets it drop. Grabbing the mic with both hands his eyes close. With his legs shoulder-width apart he taps his thigh to the beat. He owns the music-of that there is no doubt. As the song ends he sways back and forth, playing a last few notes on his guitar and ending with an ever-so-slight bow.