Page 21 of Lost Love on 6th Street

“You seem pretty intent on me not enjoying time spent with you, Eleanor,” Luke says. “Is that a Chicago thing too?”

“No, I just . . .” I roll my eyes and sigh. Fine. I’ll just say it. “Luke, you’re a catch. And to be on a not date with a woman on a Thursday night feels like it might be a waste of your time.”

Luke’s eyebrows lift and he laughs to himself, almost sadly. He sips his whiskey neat and leans back on the bar, looking out at the band. His profile is beautiful and would make for a great photograph if we weren’t mid-conversation. The hard edge of his jaw, a straight, definitive nose . . .

“I do my best to be honest,” he says, not drawing his eyes away from the band. “And honestly, Eleanor, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” He pulls his chin over his shoulder to look at me. “And I’d appreciate it if you took my word for it this time.”

I nibble on my lower lip and nod. “Okay. Sorry.”

His seriousness splits with a signature smile. “And stop saying sorry.”

I huff, shoulders falling. “I’m a disgrace to feminism.”

Luke laughs, extends his arm out along the bar behind me. Almost like he’s embracing me, but not really. The ghost of an embrace. “You’re mean to yourself. For no good reason.”

Though the music is calling my attention, the tenor sax of Bobby Sutton approaching a fever pitch, I am trapped by Luke’s eyes. We are only a few inches away from one another. Something so intimate about a darkened bar, smoky liquor, and jazz.

If this was a date, this would probably be an appropriate moment for a chaste kiss or a subtle touch. Instead, we maintain our respectful distance and merely look.

Except there’s nothing mere about the look he’s giving me. Nothing at all.

The moment is interrupted as an older woman who was heading toward the door stops and leans into the space between us. “You two are so cute together,” she says, clasping a hand to her chest.

I sit up stock straight, at a loss for words.

The man on her arm tries to pull her away. “Come on, Marlene.”

Luke hums and gives her a nod of courtesy. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Her eyes find mine, smile dimpling her cheeks. “You keep an eye on that one. When your back is turned someone might swoop in and steal him away.”

“Not while I’m around,” I say, getting a little push of inspiration.

The woman, Marlene, laughs and lets her husband drag her toward the door. I watch them go, both of them on a cloud of intoxication and laughter. They seem like the type who’ve known each other a long, long while.

I crave something like that.

Luke leans in toward my ear again. “I think I’d be more worried someone might swoop in and steal you away, Eleanor.”

I look up at him. His plush lips are only an inch away.

A kiss would change everything.

Instead, I box him on the shoulder playfully, sending him back into his own air space. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Luke laughs and we settle back into a comfortable silence as the music swells around us, taking complete control of our minds and bodies.

And I can’t help but feel that I’m right where I belong. Even if it’s just for tonight.

8

LUKE

If this was a date, I’d have Eleanor hold my hand as I lead her through the crowds, past the stage, and through the “Performers Only” door. That way I couldn’t lose her, and she wouldn’t be lost in the crowd.

But despite the observations of well-meaning older folks, this isn’t a date, and we aren’t cute together. We’re friends. Colleagues maybe. On a mission. She's made that abundantly clear.

“Are you sure we’re allowed back here?” she asks.

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